#hero of sorrows

[madigan-thompson]

explodes back into existence

BEHOLD! THE SECOND STEP IS COMPLETED! She now has color!

[mediumgayitalian]

The crooked, creaky door of the cluttered infirmary storage room pushes open and slams shut in the span of a second, just barely allowing someone to dart through. Nico jumps, banging his head on the shelf he’s hiding under, chomping full force on his lip to bite back a shout. The shadows, on lucky reflex, bend around him and shroud his face. The rest of him he tucks further into the forgotten corner between two filing cabinets, holding his breath.

Under the unflattering light of the single swinging lightbulb, Will looks dull.

A thin headband attempts to hold back his frizzy hair, although it does very little. Curls stick out oddly and many shorter hairs are plastered to his temples and the back of his neck. His skin is unusually lacklustre, even pale, except for the high flush around his cheekbones. The bruising under his eyes rivals Nico’s. He has been wearing the same scrubs for the last two days.

With one last look at the closed door, nothing but garbled voices filtering through the heavy wood, he slumps. He drops his face into his chapped and bleeding hands, heels pressed into his eyes, and holds them there for ten seconds, twenty. Slowly, with trembles so minute they are at first glance unnoticeable, his shoulders begin to shake. The long fingers flexed and tensed around his forehead curl tightly, and he twitches, whole body trembling, teeth sunk hard into his bottom lip to stop his chin from quivering.

It does not work.

The first sob is quiet. He catches it quickly, forcing it back down, breathing heavily through his nose and out his mouth to beat it back. The second follows quickly, though, and it’s harder to choke down. When his face crumples, his resolve goes with it, and his knees hit the floor, sharp crack swallowed by the stillness of the room. He curls forward until his nose nearly hits his knees, hands sliding through his hair and over his ears and settling finally clutching together in the dip of his chest, bouncing with every heave of his chest. It’s quiet, his crying, enough that every dropped tear can be heard as it hits the dusty floor. The only time his sobs are ever audible is when he opens his mouth, trying desperately to soak up enough air to catch himself, to carry himself through.

Mute horror holds Nico’s tongue hostage.

He’d escaped in here the second Will had been called away this morning, dragged for the umpteenth time to handle a crashing patient or a complicated hymn or to soothe someone’s nerves. For the past two days he’s been doing his best to monitor Nico and a handful of other front liners who’d exhausted themselves in battle, but his focus has been split and the infirmary has been crowded. Whenever he runs off to put out whatever fire had cropped up — sometimes literally — the whispers start, the glances, the skin crawling up Nico’s back. Nico can hardly tell anymore what’s the shadows and what’s the people around him, watching him out of the corners of their eyes like they’re waiting for him to bust out a scythe and a black hooded cloak and start reaping.

The storage room is supposed to be an escape. Out of the way and forgotten as it is, it is supposed to be the place he can hide for an hour, escape the heavy gaze of the rest of the camp, collect himself before braving it all again.

Clearly, though, he’s not the only one who thinks so.

There’s something disorienting about seeing Will Solace cry. In the few times Nico has spoken with him during his visits to camp, he’s been a barely-contained explosion of energy, whether talking Nico’s ear off with updates about people he barely knows and references he hardly understands or cussing him out for overextending himself. He’s used — as much as he can be to someone he’s only beginning to really get to know — to his wildly flailing hands and widely playful grin, his loud drawling voice, his painful, constant brightness.

His hands, now, clench until they’re bloodless, trembling. There is no hint of his wide smile or twinkling eyes, because his face is hidden by all the hair that his given up on the pretence of the hairband, and the only sound from him are his gasping breaths and swallowed-back sobs. Nico watches him because he cannot look away. He flinches because every cry, every rough, scraping inhale, sounds like shattering rock, like an iceberg breaking off a glacier.

A quiet beeping startles them both.

For a stretch of time Will is motionless. The beeping continues, steady and soft, bouncing off the cluttered shelves and fading before they echo. After the third round — and Nico counts, if anything for something to do besides watch the chafed skin on Will’s hands crack and bleed with every flex — he drags himself upright, nails drawing lines in the thick dust of the floorboards, and rests back on his heels. He breathes for a moment, shuddering, hands pressed flat to his face; in, beep, beep, beep; out, beep, beep, beep. None of his breaths are ever steady, but he wastes no more time, swiping under his eyes and pinching his cheeks to restore his face to some of its usual colour. He grips onto each board of the shelf to his right as he yanks himself upwards, hand over hand, until he’s stretched, finally, to stand, although there remains a slouch to his broad shoulders.

The beeping continues, emanating from the watch on his left hand, growing softer or louder as he trails his fingers over the shelves from one end to the other, from the first, the second, the third. He pauses finally on a collection of bottles, turning them carefully to read the labels, then tucks them each gently into his already bulging pockets until he is left with what he must carry between his fingers.

The shadows bend to cover Nico again as Will turns, unknowingly facing him, and pulls himself suddenly straight-backed, chin set high, shoulders squared. He smiles, wide, fractured, squinting his eyes deliberately. The beeping stops. He breathes, in, smile, out, nod, and turns, striding, back to the door, opening it with flourish and swiping the dust off his clothes.

“Found them! Sorry it took so long, I really had to look —”

The door swings shut behind him, cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Nico stares at it with bile churning in his too-empty stomach.

———

art by the incredible @clingonlikeclingwrap

[luck-of-the-drawings]

smth smth about 'the thing that the character did that you thought was rly rly funny in the moment is actually linked to a terrible trauma that lies within said character.' or wahtever.

[benevolentspidey]

[betasuppe]

You know, I've never been happy with any Tron or Rinzler designs I've done... so I'm just trying again lol & starting with the sad boyo first uwu

Please accept this hurried & rushed mess as I try YET AGAIN to figure him outtttttt

[lesfir]

When people say to me: "oh, what a character growth from a awful person he's become a hero almost, a monster hunter" I hear: "oh what a terrible regression from a awful man, he could have become a brilliant villain, whom the monsters serve, with gold cups, palace, decadence and lover ally. What a waste"

Character growth is not synonymous with the character becoming "better" or a "hero". Staying on the side of darkness if there is an opportunity for redemption is not "not growth". Evil character growth is also growth.

[cloudyfacewithjam]

"We British don't have these pointless conversations."

[spotaus]

Coda and Ichor! (Catacombtale Style!)

These two don't have a *ton* of interaction in the Main story, but since Ichor and Balance are the only two characters I've fully designed, Coda gets stuck next to him, haha!

BONUS art jumpscare:

These two actually exist in another project I'm working on too called Codex, which is basically just removing the UT aspects of Catacombtale and doing a lot more worldbuilding and character design!

Coda is older in Codex and is marked by an old God (which should get him jailed or killed, as it means for everyone else) but he hides it for years and years before he finally flees the complex he's living in to go confront the gods and stop their destructive path. Meanwhile Ichor is much the same, only he's much more ready and willing to help Coda without much prompting. Here he's also sort of a Koi Fish! (His brother is a Betta Fish)

[girldickdotcom]

when i was a kid i really liked watching monster jam crash videos and my favorite was one that had duality by slipknot as the music and that really set the course of my life

[bigmommycommie]

fully embracing the romantic hero inside of me (pathetic and full of anguish)

[cr1ms0nesp3ra-ac3]

Inspired and based on this song:

We are the prophets

With the answers you seek

Time with the past, and the future we see

There is a way, where you must confront it

But there is one problem we saw..

What?

I see a world risking your life

I see your heart bursting in pain

I see your friend with their inflicting pain, and shadows lurking her

I hear a song of the remorse

I hear a desperation scream

We see a boy who has moved on in his own life..

But you're no longer you...

[ Swingset AU belongs to @foxett ]

[madigan-thompson]

Aaaand here she is in all of her glory.

Behold the Hero of Sorrows, Knil.

*Cue epic but creepy music because it's Majora's Mask, come on, now*

[h0estar]

catching up to bnha (spoilers for chapters 387-390)

i did not thug it out fr.

the way 2021 me was anticipating a todoroki family confrontation, getting excited about it, and predicting that i would 100% cry. well, fast forward to 3 years later and she was absolutely right.

how did 4 chapters of a shonen manga manage to scrape off 50 years of my lifespan? every page i turned felt like my heart was going to bleed out from my chest.

the reveal that toya always had rei's quirk was actually a punch in the gut!! i was in my little corner crying over the parallels of how every time toya would self destruct, his mother in her own way kept him in check... and when he was about to literally blow up and take everything down with him, rei physically showed to stop him and oh! i can't do this ahahafkkadks

"Everyone's...watching me. Is this what it feels like? If it was... so simple a thing, then why? Why not... sooner?"

i'm not even going to lie. the chapters had my ass looking like this. i was full on sobbing from chapter 387 and it just got worse with each page. it was hell on earth. pain. so much pain. pain everywhere.

"why not sooner?"

hey, haha. so i actually disintegrated :)

all this boy ever wanted was for his family to look at him. to watch him. to acknowledge him. to know he was trying his best. to help him. be there for him. and every time i think about this, my heart hurts every single fucking time because it really was a simple thing, but why? why had no one done it sooner ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ

seeing rei, fuyumi, and natsuo show up in the battlefield to confront toya, endeavor hugging toya mid-battle, toya's vision of his whole family (except shoto ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ) surrounding him, happy and proud; shoto showing up and saying he alone wasn't enough to stop him and that maybe he wasn't actually the family's masterpiece (while looking at toya djwkdkw).

shoto's inner monologue of how he wants to cry for others, and how right now he's trying his best to stop toya with his family because he still has so many things he wants to say, so many arguments he still wants to have with his older brother and with his family. and it's painful to think that despite being siblings, toya and shoto barely interacted before all this. they never had a chance to build that brotherly connection, yet shoto still sees him as a his older brother and wants to understand him better more despite toya probably not feeling the same way faijfkwkd.

and you know what takes the absolute fcking cake for me?

their parents apologizing.

i actually full on sobbed when endeavor finally took full responsibility. when rei and endeavor apologized. when endeavor was dragging his feet to hold the defeated toya in his arms and say sorry for not showing up. when endeavor apologized for what he put every member in his family through. from toya to rei, fuyumi, natsuo, and shoto. when toya was saying how much he hated his family, and endeavor sat there accepting everything... i was crying with them. i was in so much pain, genuinely.

the tragedy of the todoroki family being my favorite mha subplot speaks a lot. again, i feel so much for toya and i love him with all my heart and seeing this depressing family patch up and confront their past together, without leaving anyone behind actually formed a huge gap in my soul, sanity, mind, and whatever's left of my heart.

these chapters were mad depressing, and i will be sending horikoshi my therapy bills pretty soon.

featuring the manga panels that sucked my tear ducts dry.

[a-mess-called-cheerio]

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

It can’t all be sorrow, can it?

Baurus, to the Hero of Kvatch, after Martin's sacrifice, probably

[lovely-v]

Something insane and melancholic about Snapchat sending me the profile of my childhood best friend who I haven’t spoken to in years and saying “You have 2+ friends in common, do you know each other?” Like do I know her? Yes Snapchat I know her better than your algorithm could ever comprehend. But also no, why would you even ask, I don’t know her at all.