#tags: emotional hurt/comfort

[theoceanofasanoya]

day 5: lighthouse (tags: canon divergence, emotional hurt/comfort, anxiousness)

The boulder in his stomach is familiar. Nishinoya stares into the darkness of his room, with intentional darkness, and the boulder becomes heavier.

It clicks like an instinct built up through several years of volleyball: fear. He can’t remember the last time he was excited to feel this fear.

He knows, rationally, that it was during their Date Tech match, soon after Hinata and Kageyama joined. He felt it when Aone pointed at Asahi before the match. But now, his body betrays him, betrays his training, continuing to feel fear, and continues to worry his brain.

Noya gets up from his corner and leaps towards the front door, his breathing uneven as he opens the door of his room to let in the light of the living room. The owners, still on their sofa and watching their Italian show, turn to him, and the woman says, “good?”

“Good.” Noya says. He’s come across the world, and he’s in a place with nobody, and he’s got money that’s gotten stolen several times. He needs to keep it on himself from now. He needs to be careful with the owner couple too. What if their kindness is only a facade? They must be struggling financially too, if they’re letting in a non-Italian, frugal foreigner who barely speaks their language, or even good enough English.

“Mr. Nishinoya?” She asks.

Shit, Noya thinks. He froze up again. He shakes his head and walks back into his room. He turns on all the switches, uncaring that it turns on the porch light of their house.

He takes a seat on his bed instead. He takes out his phone, and ignoring his instinct to open up Instagram and check everything, he dials to Asahi.

It’s too late for him, cut the call, Nishinoya thinks. But he shakes his head. There’s something wrong with him. He’s scared and freezing up and there’s no Grandpa with him right now. If he’s learnt anything from years of facing his fears, it’s to do something. To attack before the fear can solidify. He must work on this.

When the ringing stops, Asahi’s rough voice answers, “Hello?”

“Asahi-san, I’m afraid.” That’s the worst way to start a conversation, Noya thinks, but he must go on. “I’ve become afraid again.”

“Afraid of what?” Asahi sounds worried, but his voice stays calm, and for a second, Noya is proud of him. “Are you safe, Noya?”

“I am. I’m in the room,” Noya says. “I’ve become scared of everything again. I’m thinking. I’m thinking too much. I don’t know what to do. I hate feeling this. I don’t want to feel this. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.”

This is probably the longest he’s spoken when he’s feeling something bad. He’s not like this. He processes his emotions better than this. He’s Asahi’s rock, the fearless one.

“That’s okay, Noya.” Asahi’s voice changes something akin to his therapist’s. “Did something happen recently?”

“No.” Noya says, then pauses for a moment. He thinks. A pickpocket stole his wallet in the beginning of the week, that was the fourth time this month; Wednesday, he was held at knife-point with three strangers in the bathroom of a cafe; today, the owners raised his weekly rent to almost double, and said he’d have to leave tomorrow if he can’t pay it. He corrects himself, “yeah. A lot.”

“What happened, Noya?”

“You’ll worry,” Noya mumbles into the phone. He lays on his back, on his bed, and stares at the ceiling.

“More than now, when you’re calling... at 4am in the morning?”

Noya sighs. “Yeah.”

There’s silence on the otherside for a minute. Noya thinks maybe Asahi fell asleep again, until his rough voice startles him. “Come back to Japan. Stay with me for a few days.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to book a ticket, let alone fly again, Asahi-san.”

“Yuu.” Asahi takes a deep breath. “Nishinoya Yuu, it will be difficult in the beginning. It will be scary, but it will stop being scary the second time.”

“But it’s scary again, Asahi-san.” Noya bites his lower lip, grabbing his blanket until his fists turn white. “It’ll be scary again, and I don’t like it.”

The rapid heartbeat is back again, from when he was a kid, and so are the damn tears in his eyes. He hates crying because he’s scared. Grandpa said crying never solves anything. And here is, crying that he’s scared again to the love of his life.

“Noya? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Noya says, and his body betrays him again. A sob escapes and he turns, bites his pillow to stop anymore from coming. He mumbles into the phone, “I’ll be okay.”

“Nishi, listen to me. This feeling won’t be forever. You won’t be scared forever, Noya.” Asahi’s therapist-voice is pretty assertive and it catches Noya’s attention for long enough. “Are you scared of riding a cycle again?”

Noya chuckles. “No.”

“Of a really strong server?”

“No,” Noya says, now smiling. The boulder in his stomach is lighter at the reminder. There’s a flicker of excitement, thinking of Oikawa’s serve, the burn his forearms felt, the cheers from his teammates. The cheer from Asahi, the ‘Good job, Noya!’ from Daichi.

“See? Some fears can come back, some won’t. You’ll be okay.” Asahi breathes out into the phone, and Noya realises what he’s doing. He’s breathing loud and clear for Noya to copy. “Do you believe me?”

“I do, now.”

“So you’ll come back to Japan for a few weeks, for me?”

Noya takes a deep breath too. He wipes his tears away, wipes the snot on the back of his hand, and breathes out carefully. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Asahi chuckles. “Should I book your tickets?”

“No, Asahi-san, I’ll do it myself.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for you.”

Noya grins. “You know, Asahi-san, you’re like my lighthouse. Always guiding me towards you.”

“Noya,” Asahi whines, clearly missing the compliment Noya meant it as. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A lot better, thanks to you.”

“Let me know when you’re coming, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[paingoes]

actually obsessed with restoring dignity in recovery

[ddocson]

Hi ranchers community ............... i am thinking about them

[the-bloody-sadist]

Hurt comfort/aftermath of Mori’s abuse comm exclusively on ptrn! Full here

[froizetta]

Prompt fill for DC Gotcha For Gaza 2024.

Rating: Teen Fandom: DCU Pairing(s): Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Length: 4k Chapters: 1/1 Summary:

Bruce gets hit with fear toxin and is determined to go through it alone. Clark is determined not to let him.

“God, fear toxin?” Clark hissed, stomach plummeting. “Bruce, that’s—that’s serious, why didn’t you—” “It’s not serious,” Bruce said. “I’m inoculated, so the effects are significantly weaker. Like I said, I’m fine. The symptoms are mild.” “Yeah, you sure look fine,” Clark muttered. “What the heck does that mean, ‘mild symptoms’? You mean your hallucinations are only mild instead of severe?” Bruce said nothing. Clark’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” “They’re fine, Clark.” “I’d argue,” Clark said, carefully even, “that any degree of fear toxin-induced hallucination isn’t fine.”

[defectivehero]

warnings: suicidal ideation, conversations about death and morality, blood & violence

The hero looks out into the faces of strangers gathered around the coffin and takes a deep breath. The effort isn't easy, and it takes a few moments for them to calm their racing heart rate. This is all an act, they remind themself. It's all just an act—a farce, a trick, whatever one wants to call it.

When the agency had offered an olive branch to the villain, the hero's enemy, the hero didn't know what to think. They thought their agency was misguided—or, more likely, desperate—to attempt a truce with the villain. The hero knew their enemy well enough to know that a promise of peace wouldn't be sufficient enough to guarantee the city's safety.

Yet here they are, standing over their enemy's elegant black coffin. The agency had spared no expense in maintaining the act, it seemed. Beside the coffin is a photograph of the villain—one from their civilian life. And next to it stands the hero, who was chosen to speak at the funeral—to pose as a grieving friend. They initially opposed the idea, but eventually agreed upon realizing the charade was necessary to maintain the façade.

For this fake funeral to work, the hero had to learn about the villain. They learned more than they would have ever hoped to know—everything from the villain's upbringing to the circumstances behind their second job. The hero had studied up on Jordan: the person behind the villainous mask. Yet, as the hero stands over the villain's coffin, they can't help but think that they didn't prepare enough.

"Jordan was a close friend," the hero begins. The air is silent around them and the weary afternoon sun casts shadows across the malnourished grass. "A sibling to some, a coworker to others." The hero adds. They're doing well so far, they think. Out of the corner of their eyes, as they continue speaking, they can see nods of agreement.

The hero can't quite register what they're saying, as the words begin to escape them. They launch into a fake anecdote of sorts and their focus slips elsewhere. Their fists are clenched at their sides and their eyes refuse to leave the ornate coffin marring the center of their vision with a blackened smudge. They come back to themself at the end of the anecdote, recognizing that they need to find some way to wrap it all up neatly. (They need some way to finish this, please-)

"I can't imagine what my life would have been like without them," the hero realizes aloud. Indeed, their life would be very different if they had never met the villain. The hero glances at the coffin and a shiver runs down their spine. "And now that they're gone..." Their voice cracks at the end of that statement. Their eyes are unwittingly drawn to to the tree in the distance—where they know the villain to be hiding. Their enemy has enhanced hearing, and the hero knows they will be listening with rapt attention. The hero tries to focus on something else, but their thoughts continue to spiral.

The hero sees the villain's dead body sprawled across the pavement... They see dried blood stains sinking into the cement, the only sign of their enemy's existence... They see an empty glaze to the villain's normally bright eyes...

The hero sees themself waking up in the middle of the night and moving to the sink mechanically to wash the unseen blood from their hands, as they grow accustomed to nightmares where the villain revisits them... The hero sees themself slowly fading away into obscurity, their morality teetering on the precipice of something darker...

Someone in the crowd coughs, jerking the hero from their thoughts. They remember themself. "Now that they're gone..." The hero resumes, "...I don't know what to do with myself." Their throat is burning. They turn their head to the side and blink tears from their eyes, before taking a deep breath. With a shaky breath, they step away from the coffin and walk away from the funeral.

The hero would have walked straight past the villain, if not for the sudden grip on their arm. The villain tugs them off their predestined path and pulls them behind the cover of the conveniently large tree.

"Bravo," the villain says. It's only then that the hero allows themself to look up from the ground and meet their enemy's gaze. They're surprised to find the amused glimmer in the villain's eyes, the playful smile on their face. "That was rather convincing. Perhaps you should pursue acting."

"I-" I don't think I was acting, the hero thinks to themself. Imagining life without you genuinely made me feel... empty. "Ha, yeah." Their voice sounds off and the villain raises an eyebrow. There are a few moments of silence, but their enemy mercifully does not poke or prod at the subject any further.

"So," the villain drawls, burrowing their hands in their jacket pockets. The hero envies their collectedness and composure in this moment, but also worries for how unaffected they are despite it all. "I'm dead now."

"You're not dead," the hero feels the need to say. They're not sure who exactly that remark is meant for, but they have a feeling they uttered it to remind themself of the truth.

"Legally, I am," the villain points out. They cross their arms over their chest. "It's kind of freeing, in a way. Maybe I should pursue death as a long-term solution to all of my problems."

The hero's stomach lurches and everything around them seems to fall to silence. "Stop." They don't realize they've spoken until they see the villain's mask shudder around them, their eyes momentarily widening before returning to an expression of uncaring. "Stop it," the hero repeats, "I- Don't joke about something like that."

The villain regards them with interest. "Who says I'm joking?" They ask, nothing but sincerity in their voice. The hero is hit with a wave of nausea.

"That's- Please just- It's not funny. It never was." The words are crawling from their lips entirely of their own volition.

"I wasn't trying to be funny," the villain says softly, their voice almost a whisper. They're telling the truth, the hero realizes. And something in the hero just breaks. The frail string they had been hanging from simply... snaps.

"I don't want you to die," the hero finally chokes out. "Okay?" Is that what you wanted to hear—what you were trying to coax out of me? Well, I've said it. How fucking pathetic I must be, for caring."

"I wasn't acting. It was all real—real to me. I tried to imagine my life without you and I couldn't.

"I'm sorry," the hero spits, their hands shaking now. Tears are falling down their face now, blurring their vision. They feel deeply humiliated and embarrassed, especially in the wake of the villain's callous and uncaring gaze.

When they turn to leave, they don't expect a hand to fall onto their shoulder—and the hero certainly doesn't expect to be pulled into an embrace. The villain's arms wrap around them and the hero instinctively returns the gesture. Even if this is a trick, or some convoluted way to make them feel even more ashamed, they take comfort in the visceral feeling of the villain's touch and the physical confirmation that they're still alive.

"Don't apologize," the villain says, placing a hand on the nape of the hero's neck and hugging them tighter. The hero closes their eyes and leans into their enemy's shoulder. "I... I'm sorry for being so morbid." They say, an uncharacteristic depth of emotion present in their voice.

"I don't want you to die," the hero whispers into the villain's shoulder. It's a remark meant for only themself, yet their enemy hears it anyway. The villain stiffens for a moment, their shoulders tightening, before they grasp the hero with dueling tenderness and strength. Suddenly, the villain's hands are on their cheeks as the hero is pulled back to look at their enemy. The villain's gaze is determined and entirely honest.

"Then I won't die," the villain asserts. "Simple as that."

The hero knows it's illogical, knows that the villain will have to die some day—as everyone does. But the conviction in their enemy's voice is enough to dissuade them. The villain's grip is reassuring enough, real enough for the hero to breathe again.

©2024, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. reblogs are appreciated, just please don't steal my writing or share outside of Tumblr.

tag list: @lateuplight @wit-is-wisdom @greengableswriting @whump-me-all-night-long @noawhite @rekhyt-of-arcadia @the-blind-one-speaks @sufferfictionalcharacters @basically-psyduck @alexkolax @subval01 @emerald-blade @felicia609 @surplus-of-sarcasm @ilickedanenvelopeandilikedit @a-chaotic-gremlin @unknownogre @prompt-fills-and-writing-spills @whatwhumpcomments @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @agayprince @starsick1979 @a-lonely-little-ghost @agayprince @plum-tello

click here if you’d like to be on/off the tag list!

[doctorsiren]

I wrote a one shot based on this comic I had drawn a while back. Haven’t written fic stuff in a while, so I’m a bit rusty. Hope you enjoy :3

[bumblingbabooshka]

Resistance. Blood Won The Poll! [Patreon | Commissions]

[babybirbb]

i need more carmy stuttering fics. i need more richie taking care of carmy fics. i need more adhd carmy fics. i need more hurt/whump carmy fics

[catguangcorner]

ok started working on a short shiguang fic (lu guang pov!!) and wanted to share the first little bit (hopefully i end up fleshing out/finishing the full thing. if so i'll definitely be posting on ao3. if not then enjoy this little tidbit anyway!)

Lu Guang doesn't remember being scared of storms.

He does remember the fear he'd lose Cheng Xiaoshi the moment he met him though. A pang in his heart when Cheng Xiaoshi turned away, waving goodbye, his white shirt sticking to his back, sweaty, his smile satisfied as he glanced over his shoulder at Lu Guang.

"Let's play again tomorrow!"

He doesn't remember if he waved—Lu Guang doesn't often forget details—or if he stood there, stunned by the light receding into the distant horizon, almost golden. A boy walking away. A raised hand in response he wouldn't, didn't see. Maybe Lu Guang's splitting hairs over the details. But the details are all he has.

So he doesn't remember being scared of storms, and he surprises himself when the sound of thunder and flash of lightning freezes him in place, eyes snapping shut. Cheng Xiaoshi is saying something—they're in their room and Cheng Xiaoshi is only partially illuminated by the cool lamplight, the bed above obscuring parts of him in shadow—and Lu Guang grips onto the chilled metal of the ladder as if he's bracing himself.

"Uh—Lu Guang?"

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Though The Path May Be Long, I Shall Find You; Ruggie Bucchi

A path lies ahead, some are more treacherous than others. At the end of the winding, coloured footsteps is where they can rest; a bird directing them forward, made out of precious stone.

Main Character; Ruggie Bucchi

Supporting Roles; Grandma Bucchi, Rho (Ruggie's bird)

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match), gender-neutral reader, this can be read as platonic, familial, or romantic, hurt/comfort, I get emotional yet again about Ruggie, stressed reader

Content Warning; Ruggie's backstory (his mom's death and I mention childbirth, but describe nothing), self-doubt (reader), allusions of depression (reader), anxiety attacks (reader)

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators' - works into AI; that shit steals.

Prologue & Leona's Story | Jack's Story

Ruggie was out with the adults, tagging along to collect honey to bring back to the village. He followed silently behind his grandmother, holding her hand. Ahead of them two birds flew ahead, honeyguides, singing their song to alert the beastmen that there was a hive ahead. A hive full of sweet honey, a rare treat saved for the elderly and the young of the village.

“You see those birds, Ruggie,” his grandmother nodded up to where the birds flew. “Those are honeyguides. Your mother…” The woman paused, taking in a calming breath. It’s been nearly five years since her daughter, her only child, had passed away due to complications from childbirth. Unfortunately, it was common for many first-time hyena beastmen to pass while delivering… and such a fate fell upon her. She shook her head, continuing with her tale. “Your mother, her messenger was a honeyguide.”

Ruggie looked up to his grandmother. “Mama had one of those birds?” He tried whistling the tune of their leading song, but it just came out as raspberries.

His grandmother chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Yes, and oh the trouble those two got into. How do you think I got all this grey hair?” She tugged at a few strands to prove her point. She did their whistle, going slowly so that Ruggie could practice alongside her. “Like this.”

Ruggie eventually got the call down and whistled towards the other adults, and the two honeyguides. “Gramma?” He tugged at her shirt. She looked down and picked him up, putting him up on her shoulders. “Do you think my messenger will be a honeyguide… just like Mama’s?”

She smiled bittersweetly, picturing the rose quartz bird that stood still by the only pictures she had of her daughter. “Hmm, maybe. But that’s for the winds to decide. Regardless though, they’ll bring you great happiness.”

“Gramma?” Ruggie placed his head on top of hers. “What’s your messenger? Did Mama meet her soul match? Did you meet yours?”

The birds stopped, as they arrived at the hive. The adults tasked with smoking the bees out got to their jobs, passing down honey from the rock crevice and putting aside some of the comb for the birds. This harvest looked like it would be enough to feed both the elders and the children, plus some extra left over for the harvesters.

Ruggie’s grandmother hummed to herself. “I think that’s a story for a later time, no? Now come on, try some of this honey, it’s the sweetest I’ve ever had in all my years.”

She never got her messenger. Never had been gifted a soul match by the King of Beasts or the southern winds. And her daughter had met her match, but then he left after her death; her messenger going still after her passing. Leaving the ageing woman all alone, with only a few photos, her daughter’s lifeless messenger, and Ruggie. The person who looked the most like her.

…

The stars twinkled in the night sky, and Ruggie reached his hand out. “Hi, Mama,” he whispered. “I hope you’re doing okay up there in the stars… Tomorrow is my birthday ya know! I’m getting a messenger, just like you did!”

A gentle warm breeze caressed his face, and a shooting star raced against the deep indigo sky. Make a wish. Ruggie clamoured over the window, the breeze playing with his hair. He leaned against the frame, and closed his eyes. “Mama, if you’re up there listening… I wish that you could be my messenger. I know that I never got the chance to meet you, to get to know you, but I want to. I want to get to know you. And I know that you can’t be here, but … I love you, Mama.”

He cracked open his eyes and saw that the entire night sky was filled with shooting stars, a sign of a good omen. The warm breeze tickled his nose before going back out of the window. In the distance, he could hear a lone hyena calling out to its clan, but no one called back. He looked out into the sea of shooting stars and located the star he designated for his mom; an orange star, large, but not super noticeable. A warm amber amongst the darkness of the sky and pale blues of other stars.

He yawned and went back to his bed, clutching on to one of his mom’s old stuffies; a patched up warthog. “Good night, Mama, I love you.” He closed his eyes and was off to the land of dreams.

The light breeze was back, warm and carrying the scent of honey. It carried a small pink crystal bird with it, placing it gently at the foot of the bed, looking after Ruggie’s sleeping form. A honeyguide, much like his own late mother’s. It too being made out of pink crystal, but rhodochrosite, not rose quartz. A crystal meaning compassion, love, comfort, and happiness.

When Ruggie woke up he stared at the bird before cradling it gently to his heart. He walked to his grandmother’s door. “Look, gramma, it’s just like Mama’s!”

His grandmother hugged him, clutching on tightly to his back, tears rolling down her cheeks. Perhaps this life had been cruel to her, but she at least knew that her grandson, her only family, had someone out there. And that maybe, just maybe, her daughter was looking down from the stars smiling and looking out for her son.

…

…

…

Ruggie kept his messenger on him at all times. When he was wearing his dorm uniform, he kept the pink bird on a braided necklace that his grandmother made him for his fifth birthday, using some fabric from one of his mother’s old scarves. Whereas, when he was in the school uniform he kept it in his breast pocket, above his heart. And he would subconsciously check throughout the day to make sure that it was still there, a habit of his. 

It’s been four years, and yet the bird has yet to come to life. But Ruggie didn’t feel bitter, or sad. He knew that life wasn’t fair, he has witnessed that much. He has lived it, experienced that it wasn’t fair. Knew that it was something you could only make the best of. He also knew that he shouldn’t complain. He was thankful that he had at least something to match his mother. A symbol that she was always looking after him. So, even if the messenger never came to life, he could at least have an aspect of his mother. Thankful that there was at least a chance of him having a soul match out there, somewhere.

He hadn’t told his grandmother, as he didn’t want to bring a sense of sadness; had she not gone through enough? The last thing that he wanted to do was to bring more pain to the ageing woman’s heart. He just wanted her to be happy. She had done so much for him, sacrificed so much; the least he could do was give her some hope. That he could bring their family out of poverty. That he could get a well-paying job. That he could find happiness. That she needs not to worry about him. That he would be okay. That they would be okay.

Besides, the new school year was beginning and he was positive that would mean that Leona would give him odd jobs to do. But hey, money is money, and he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said gift horse paid him graciously. 

So, Ruggie was busying himself by rearranging his room, placing the few personal belongings that he had in their spots. The photo of him and his grandmother, and next to it, the warthog plush that belonged to his mom. Everything else was hand-me-downs from Leona, or related to schoolwork. The only other personal things he had was the braided necklace, and of course, his messenger. He whistled the honeyguide call to himself, making sure everything was in place. Leona was off at the ceremony, so he basically had the day free to himself. He could probably go off and work some odd errands, but just for today, he would relax.

He closed his eyes and rubbed the wings of the stone bird. “I know you’re out there. I want to find you,” he sighed, holding the bird to his chest. “Let me find you.” He tried to fight off the drowsiness that was taking hold — it wasn’t even nighttime yet — but it won in the end, and he fell asleep.

As the sun set, and the waning moon rose, a warm breeze carried the scent of hibiscus flowers and honey, ruffling his hair. The stone bird tumbled out of Ruggie’s hand, falling gently onto the blankets. The breeze caressed it, and the stone honeyguide ruffled its feathers for the first time. It hopped upright and nestled in the sleeping hyena-beastman’s hair, singing its guiding call softly.

…

Ruggie stretched awake, the room still dark as the sun had not yet woken up for the day. The waning moon, and stars provided the only light, casting the room in blue and silver light. He walked over to the window and looked out, searching for his mom’s star. “Hi mom,” he said to the warm amber star up in the sky. A warm breeze tickled his ears, and he imagined it was her playing with them. “Can you show me a sign?” About my soul match?

Something shifted under the bedsheets, and Ruggie’s ears twitched at the noise. He crept over to the bed, and lifted up the sheet carefully, unsure of what it could be. Underneath the blanket was the stone honeyguide, twitching in its sleep.

His eyes widened, and he carefully scooped up the little bird, cradling it in his hands. After all of these years. After all of the hardships that he has endured. All of the uncertainty. His soul match was here. He took in a sharp breath, trying to control the well of emotions that had sprung forth; that his soul match was alive, and that maybe his mother, and not the King of Beasts, had sent him a sign. That he wouldn’t be alone in this life. But a lone tear traced down the planes of his face, dropping onto the bird.

This is your sign, take it, my love.

…

…

…

You didn’t know what to make of any of this. Being transported into some dimension and waking up in a coffin of all things. That you now live in a decrepit mansion with some cat-monster and ghosts. That magic existed and you had several life-endangering encounters with said magic. And that you now have a small bird made out of pink crystal, and that it was alive. That it could talk.

“You know,” the bird hopped onto your head, “I can’t explain more than you need to be privy to.” Their voice played in your mind, and you tried to ignore them, instead focusing on the tall stack of books about dimensions; trying to find a way home.

You waved a hand around, forcing the bird to take flight, landing on your desk. “I am well aware of that, since you dodge every single one of my questions,” you huff, flipping over the page since it had nothing relevant about your situation. It only said that giraffes were originally demons hailing from the Boiling Isles, wherever that was. This dimension had evil giraffes, but apparently your dimension without magic was far more ludicrous than that. Predictable. “So if you aren’t going to be helpful, just leave me alone. I don’t need your ‘help’.”

The bird gave you a bombastic glare, huffing to itself it went to a small dark brown leather bound journal with the gold insignia of a lion and a hornbill, placing it in front of you. “No need to get snippy with me. Here, read this, it should explain everything you need to know. I can’t do anything else pertaining to your questions now though, know that.” With that, the bird took off through the window, off to who knows where. 

You sighed, but focused on the journal they put in front of you and cracked open the centuries old leather.

Of all the magic there is in Twisted Wonderland, the most coveted, the most revered, is the magic of soul matches. These matches come in many different forms, different for every person. Platonic. Familial. Romantic. Those are the most common. For the merfolk it is a song that only they can hear, their match tugging at their soul. Gifted to them by the benevolence of the Sea Witch. For fae it is yet to be revealed, as they are a secretive lot. Fearing that should anyone outside of their clan know that that information would be used against them. All that is known by outsiders is that they were gifted from the Thorn Fairy, a blessing. As for beastmen, and anyone hailing from the Sunset Savanaclaw, they were gifted bird messengers made from precious stone. It is said the crystal represents what their match will bring to them. And once they feel that they are ready, a glowing path of footsteps will lead them to their match. The birds will dance, and then they will know that they have found each other.

You placed the journal back down, brows creasing. You weren’t from the Sunset Savannah, let alone this dimension in the first place. How on Earth do you have a messenger? Why do you have a messenger? And what did it mean? I’m not ready for this… I don’t think I’ll ever be.

…

…

Ruggie had formed a friendship with his bird, and he even gave her a name; Rho. She doted over him, and her voice was what he imagined his mother’s was like; confident, caring, and warm. And even though he had a friendship with her, he has yet to see the glowing footsteps. He was more than ready to meet them, so it must mean that his soul match, whoever they were, wasn’t. 

“It’s unlike you to dwell on possibilities,” Rho said, landing on his shoulder, returning from one of her daily flights. “Uncertainty clouds your mind, much as the smoke from a brush fire does. Clogging out any possible light from the bright sun that lies beyond the thick smoke.” Rho also happened to be quite poetic and… concerning? But she was sweet, so he ignored the cryptic verses.

Ruggie shook his head, trying to centre his mind. “Hmm? Just thinking is all. Ya don’t need to worry about me, Rho. Shishishi!” But she was right, as his mind tended to go down the more pessimistic path.

What if his soul match was never ready? What if they didn’t want to find him? What if they would reject him after finding out about the cards he was dealt in life? Would they stay by his side as he pulled himself, his family, and his community out of poverty? Would they… would they be like his ‘dad’ and ditch him in hopes of better prospects elsewhere, never to come back? To leave him behind? Leaving him alone to take care of everything, with no one to turn to for support?

Rho sighed, and hopped onto his head, ruffling his hair. “See, uncertainty. A tree cannot grow if it does not receive sunlight. And you cannot grow if you doubt yourself.”

He rolled his eyes, but she was right, as per usual. “Yeah yeah, I know,” he sounded relaxed but he took the words to heart. It’s something his grandma would also tell him, albeit she would get straight to the point. Something like, Quit doubting yourself. You are more than capable. Plus I love ya, and that’s what matters!

But Rho looked unconvinced. “If you want, I can go… persuade their bird to encourage them to meet you.”

“Thought that was against the rules though?” Messengers aren’t allowed to disclose any information that could change their match’s mind on whether they wanted to meet or not. He had no idea why, but it was seen as a big no-no. “Didn’t take you as the rule breaking type.”

Rho flitted down to the windowsill, looking out into the Savanaclaw Dorm exterior. “As long as I don’t let anything slip, it is fine. A gentle nudge if you will. And technically, I am breaking no rules. Just paying a visit to my counterpart to discuss their progress. That is all.”

Ruggie raised a brow, chuckling to himself. “Shishishi, you’re a horrible liar,” he poked her on the nose. “Just don’t get caught, okay?”

Rho nipped at him and took off into flight. “Need not to worry.” She didn’t add her own thought, which was I’m unsure if they will be able to see me or not. It’s been several weeks since they arrived and I’ve seen no sign of them.

…

The bird has persisted to follow you everywhere you went; to all your classes, and you had to kick it out of the washroom on several occasions as well. Everywhere. And they. Would. Not. Shut. Up.

“Hey! Hey! You really need to find them!” They pulled at your uniform, trying to get your attention. “Hellooooo! Are you even listening to me?”

Unfortunately, yes. All you wanted to do was get back home. Yes, you have made friends here. You had fun. But you didn’t belong here, or least, you felt like you didn’t belong. The magicless Prefect from another, magicless, dimension. The closest thing you could even call family here would be Grim, and the three main ghosts who are still tethered to the Ramshackle Dorm. Stuck here without any clear way out, much like you are.

You glared at the bird, looking away from the nth book about different dimensions, still finding dillidy squat. “Yes,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I heard you the first time. But until I find answers, they can wait. They’ve waited this long, I can survive without them.”

The bird plopped itself onto the book, effectively preventing you from reading any further. “Exactly. They’ve waited for this long. They thought that there was no one out there for them. I know that you’re tired; tired of not getting answers. Tired of being treated as less than due to your situation. Tired of not knowing. But know this; there is someone who wants nothing more than to meet you. They don’t care that you don’t have magic. They don’t care that you’re from a different place. They just want to know you.”

That made you pause in your research, hands trembling. They were right. You are exhausted from everything. 

“Now now,” a second voice played in your head, the voice of a woman. But when you looked up you saw another crystal bird, the only thing differing it from yours was that it had more red and white bands. “No need to be nasty. Dear, come now. What is weighing so heavily on your mind?”

Unlike your bird, this newcomer was gentle, and didn’t prod you. They hopped forward, wiping a tear from your face. Since when had you started crying? But the few pebbles that were trying to hold together the dam came surging forward, and the new bird comforted you, wiping your tears away.

“Dear, you’ll be okay,” they said, handing you a tissue. “You don’t always have to be strong. There is no weakness in admitting that you need help. That not everything is okay. There is strength in that.”

The flood of emotions, of stress, of anxiety, of being overworked, of being everyone’s therapist calmed down from a raging torrent to a gentle trickle. Taking the tissue you blew your nose. “I don’t feel okay… I’m so,” you took in a choked breath, “tired.” It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, admitting to the truth. “I’m just so tired. I should be angry, but I’m just so tired.”

The bird put a wing on your face, holding it with care, with love. They had only just met you but have shown so much more kindness and empathy than anyone else during your stay. “Life has not been kind to you,” they said, rubbing grounding circles onto your palms, guiding your breathing. “You deserve to feel wanted. Deserve compassion. To be comforted when the dark clouds seem like they engulf all light. You deserve to be happy.”

“Why are you telling me all this,” you croaked, voice cracking. “I’ve ignored them-”

The pink bird shook their head, “No, you’ve been surviving, and adapting. But if you wish, if you are ready, you can find him.” They hopped back up to the open window, looking at you warmly. A soft breeze played with the ragged curtains, carrying the scent of honey, but also the smell of home. “Will you be alright?”

You rubbed at your nose, still feeling shaky but better. Not feeling like a water balloon about to burst. “I will be.”

The bird nodded, “Should you need anything do call. Your match calls me Rho.” They took flight, heading back to your match. And you could make out the faintest hints of glowing dandelion-yellow footsteps fading into the distance.

…

…

Ruggie had not had much free time for himself, being busy with schoolwork, lessons from Leona, and his normal workload alongside odd jobs to make some extra cash to send home. But even with the hustle and bustle, he had noticed the footsteps. They were faint, sometimes wavering, but they were there. It means that they’re open to meeting him, but not quite sure. Still some doubt in their mind.

“What did you tell them?” He looked up from the dishes he was scrubbing, filling in a shift at the Mostro Lounge.

Rho popped out from his breast pocket, climbing up to his shoulder. “That they aren’t alone. That they will be okay.”

Ruggie felt like there was something heavy in his throat. They feel alone? They aren’t okay? “Rho,” his grip on the plate that he was scrubbing tightened, and he forced himself to release it before he caused cracks. “What did you do? Where are they?”

“Ruggie, they will be okay. I told them words that they needed to hear. Affirming words.” Rho’s voice took on a more stern tone, which made Ruggie back off, but he still worried. “What did we say about dwelling on things outside of our control?”

Ruggie took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and released, calming his mind. “That it’s like the smoke of a brush fire. That beyond the dark smoke, there is sky beyond it, and fresh air… this too will pass.”

Rho let out a guiding call, “Good-”

Ruggie quickly grabbed her and put Rho in his pocket, hearing the door from the kitchen open. He didn’t want someone to walk in and find him ‘talking to air’ and think he was slacking off. “How is everything goin’ on out there?” He got back to scrubbing dishes, covering up that he was previously not.

“Quiet,” you huffed, putting on an apron and coming to stand next to him. “Azul has been trying to butter me up into making a contract with him… again.” You shook your head, rolling your eyes, “But I reminded him of what happened last time and he left well enough alone.”

Ruggie relaxed, it was just you. “Heyya, Prefect. Long time no see? Decided you were too good for Savanaclaw, huh?” He teased, bumping his shoulder to yours.

You bumped him back. Ever since you had to crash at Savanaclaw, you had formed a friendship with the hyena-beastman. He didn’t hide behind a mask, he was authentic, and that put you at ease. “Pshh,” you swatted at him with a towel, “like you could really get rid of me that easily, gotta come over and bug Leona every now and then. Keep him humble.”

“Pftt,” Ruggie burst out laughing. “Yeah, ‘keep him humble’. Just as long as ya don’t mess with him too much, yeah? Remember, I usually do his work.” There was no bite, and he swatted you back. “These dishes won’t clean themselves, come one, before Azul finds us slackin’ off.”

You quirked a brow but got to work, you would rather do the dishes and make light conversation, or just enjoy the quiet, with Ruggie, than deal with rude customers or being roped into something. So you and Ruggie worked in relative silence, working on getting the large pile of dishes done. The only thing breaking the silence being the distinct whistle Ruggie did quietly.

“Just curious, but what kind of whistle is that?” You put down the large pan you were rinsing off, down to dry, turning to Ruggie.

Ruggie stopped, his left ear twitching. “Ah, it’s just something I picked up when I was younger.” But he could see the curiosity in your eyes, and he decided to humour you. “It’s a honeyguide call, a type of bird. We used to work with them back at home to collect honey.”

Why does it sound so familiar then? Where have I heard it before? “Could you show me how to do it?”

As Ruggie taught you how to make the call, the two of you failed to notice Rho slip out of his pocket, flying up to where your bird rested. “We should just tell them! Look! The footprints are right there! Are they that dense?!” They huffed.

Rho shook her head, “They will do so on their accord. For now, let them be. They’re happy.”

…

…

The footsteps were glowing brightly now, a bright, warm, dandelion yellow. Cheerful, playful, and happy. But you hadn’t followed them yet, doubt still on your mind. Why did someone else get to pick my soul match? Shouldn’t I have a say in this? But every time those doubts came forward, the other pink bird, Rho she said her name was, would come for a visit.

“Good day, Prefect. How are you faring today?” She hopped over to your desk where you had a book about this world open, reading about beastmen and Sunset Savannah cultural practices.

You placed a bookmark on the page you were on, which discussed the caste system. “Doing better. But, Rho?” You held out a finger, and she hopped on. “I’m curious; what kind of bird are you?”

Rho cocked her head, “Ah, I thought you knew. My dear, I am a honeyguide.” She let out a call.

“A honeyguide…” You froze in your seat. It’s a honeyguide call. You knew you had heard that call before, your own messenger waking you up every morning with it. Did that mean… was Ruggie your soul match? The honeyguide. The feeling that everything would work out for the better when you were around Ruggie. He just felt… correct to you. Like home.

You rushed towards the front door, Rho and your own honeyguide clutching onto your uniform for dear life. “AFTER ALL THESE MONTHS YOU CHANGE YOUR HEART?!” Your honeyguide shrieked, falling off.

“Hush you!” Rho scolded, sending off your messenger to find Ruggie. “I take it you connected the dots then? You don’t need to rush, dear.” She said.

You didn’t slow down though, if anything you sped up. “My match is Ruggie, isn’t he?” It was stated like a question, but you knew that it was a statement. “I’ve kept him waiting! Kept him out!” You knew a bit about what Ruggie’s life was like before attending Night Raven College. That fate had seemed to mock him… and you also mocked him unknowingly.

Rho pulled on your ear, pulling you out of your spiral. “You weren’t ready, you cannot and should not blame yourself! You were making the best out of your situation!” This was the first time that Rho had sounded upset.

You stopped your frantic pace, halting in the middle of the hallway. Students passed by, some giving you weird looks, but they continued on their way. But someone stopped, and stepped aside, watching.

“I hurt him!” You shouted, but no one but you, and your match could hear when you spoke to your birds. “Hasn’t he been hurt enough?”

The footsteps were blinding now, he couldn’t be far away.

“Doesn’t he deserve to be happy? Don’t I deserve to be happy?! Why should some long ago king dictate how we should be happy?! We didn’t ask for this! Any of this!” You were heaving, the dam of emotions breaking again, tears rushing down your face in full force. “Rho,” you whispered, “I just want a place to call home. It doesn’t need to be the one I knew. It doesn’t need to be fancy, or elaborate. It doesn’t even need to be a place. He feels like home, where I can rest.”

But Rho wasn’t there anymore, your bird was now on your shoulder, trying to move you forward. “Well, you can’t do that if you just stay there! MOVE!”

You looked up and the footsteps were gone, in front of you was Ruggie with Rho on his shoulder. You hiccupped, be it from crying, the emotions, or the shock that he was right there, within reach. “Did you hear all of that?”

Ruggie nodded, “Yeah, yeah I did.”

Rho and your messenger took flight, performing the soul match dance before Rho landed on your shoulder, and your bird landed on Ruggie’s. And they sang the honeyguide call, indicating that there was something sweet ahead.

“Come on,” he took you to an empty classroom, away from prying eyes. “Here, breathe with me. In; one, two, three.” You breathed in as he instructed. “Hold; one, two, three.” You held. “And out; one, two, three.” And you breathed out. “Better?” He caressed the knuckles of your hand gently.

You nodded. “Ruggie, I’m sor-”

He stopped you, smiling. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. What matters most is that we found each other… That we chose each other.”

Fin

Author's Note; I literally cried writing this (I was emotional at the time). Ruggie's story has been in my brain since I put his name on the list for this AU. It has haunted me for weeks. Have had the honeyguide song stuck in my head for years ever since I first heard it on Wild Kratts of all things. My favourite one I've written as of yet; up there with Jade's.

Tag; @leonistic

Link to Masterlist

[caspira-writes-fanfiction]

Moonlit Confessions

(ao3 link in title)

Blitzø visits Stolas in the hospital, but only when he thinks Stolas doesn't know.

The room was warm despite the evident starlight coming through the draped windows that usually signaled that Stolas should be chilly. He’d been in and out of sleep for the past several days, waking only long enough to eat if prompted or make a few observations about his surroundings. He had been able to relatively consistently remember that daylight=warm. Moonlight=cold, but if asked what day it was or even where he was, Stolas would likely be unable to answer without help. He wasn’t even sure he could answer if asked, he hadn’t spoken aloud in ages.

The magic he had used during the full moon had exhausted him of all his energy. He didn’t fight the sleep when it came, he knew his role right now was to rest: it was the only way he would heal. He also hadn’t tried to fight himself into wakefulness too often. Usually he awoke only to reposition himself or fix the arrangement of his blankets. This time as he awoke, however, Stolas found that he had a much more difficult time moving. There was something in his arms.

With just one eye squinting itself open, only able to see a blur of red with black and white stripes, Stolas reasoned that he was clutching to Impy, his unfortunately named beloved childhood stuffed doll. He still had the doll tucked away with his other possessions. He came out of storage on rare occasions when Stolas needed extra comfort, such as periods of illness. Curious, he thought. Nobody had come to bring him anything, he hadn’t remembered Impy being among his possessions while in hospital. It was with a movement of his good hand up to the imp’s head that he realized he was touching flesh and not fabric. Two more of the prince’s eyes blink open. With increased cognizance, Stolas realized that he could feel the rise and fall of the other’s chest as he breathed. When his eyes adjusted, he recognized the brand mark from the imp circus, tucked carefully under the Goetia’s chin. Blitzy was here.

It almost felt like a dream and Stolas was happy to convince himself of that, but the smell of booze that became apparent as Stolas became more awake settled him into reality. A disorienting reality, one he didn’t entirely know how to make sense of, but one that Stolas couldn’t help but take comfort from in this moment. Blitzy was here, all of the other details were negligible.

Stolas was warm, he realized, because Blitz had pulled the blanket up over them when he’d snuck into bed. He was having trouble moving because Blitz’s tail was wrapped around the two of them twice over. His face was buried in Stolas’s chest feathers and his arms were wrapped under Stolas’s, clutching to his back. While Stolas woke thinking he was holding onto something, he now realized that he was the object that was being held onto. Stolas tried to move, only slightly, but was stopped when he heard Blitz shift protectively and grumble in his sleep.

“No” It wasn’t an angry or upset no. It was quiet, a bit playful, concerned. “Shh, no jus’….no. Don’ move.”

Blitz was still very much asleep. Stolas found the concern that Blitz showed in his unconscious state endearing. He could feel his heart swell, there was no doubt he was blushing. Blitzy cared for him, even if it was just a quiet shushing in his sleep. How could Stolas do anything but oblige?

“Alright.” Stolas’s voice was no more than a whisper. His good hand rested atop Blitz’s head, scratching gently between his horns. He pressed his lips to the other’s forehead and kept them there in a prolonged, tender kiss. Stolas found it quite easy to drift back into sleep with Blitz tangled up in his arms.

Stolas awoke again hours later when the sun was starting to rise. Blitz was trying to sneak out of bed, and doing so rather successfully until he fell out of it. Stolas was still rather disoriented, he decided to stay laying still. He could hear Bliz standing up, he could hear him grumble and brush himself off, then silence for several moments.

“You’re still fucking sleeping” Blitzø’s voice was quiet, and just slightly fuzzy around the edges. Stolas wondered how much Blitz drank before breaking in here to still be inebriated in the morning. He wondered how much time had actually passed.

Blitz stumbled, he sighed. “You should’ve woken up to that. Or this. You should be awake right now going ~Oh Blitzy~ with your big stupid fucking eyes. You’re not supposed to….You shouldn’t...You’re not…” His voice almost cracked, but he stopped and swallowed before allowing that to happen. It was a few moments before he spoke again. “I didn’t know you could get hurt.”

Blitzø didn’t outright apologize, but Stolas understood what he was trying to say. The air hung heavy in the room, the silence clinging to both of them uncomfortably. Blitz’s breath hitched and Stolas could feel all of the air from his lungs leave as his chest crushed in on itself. Blitzy was crying. This was exactly the moment that Stolas wanted to reach out and pull Blitzø back into his arms and hold him, but he knew this was exactly the sort of moment Blitz would never let anyone else see. He knew Blitz would run the moment Stolas showed him affection. Stolas stayed as still as he could, he remembered his breathing, he remained “sleeping” while Blitz regained his composure.

“You look like shit, Birdie.” Blitz sniffed, Stolas imagined he was wiping away tears before they fell. Blitzy never let anyone see him show such vulnerability. Stolas wanted to believe that these emotions were fueled by more than whatever Blitz had taken before coming here. Stolas felt the blanket over him move. Careful hands pulled the blanket back up around him and tucked him in. “You can’t fucking die, okay? That’s an order.” Stolas could feel something hover over his face. He couldn’t tell if it was Blitzø’s hand or his lips. He never learned, nothing ever made contact.

Blitz’s boots click towards the exit. “If you do I’ll….I’ll kill you again.” Three more clicks. “Fuck!” His voice is a whisper, the boots clicked on down the hall. Stolas didn’t hear any more from Blitz.

Stolas didn’t sleep very well the rest of the day. His chest ached in a way he didn’t know how to categorize. He stayed tearful, he couldn’t decide if his tears were happy or sad. Both, he supposed. More of one than the other at times. Stolas had never been more conflicted in his life. How had he gotten here? He knew the answer, it was a reality of his own making, but that didn’t make it any less confusing.

He may not know how things would play out between him and Blitzø, but knew one thing: he was going to stay alive. He had to, Blitz had asked him to.

[gareleia]

THE KNITTING SAGA BUT HERMES IS A DUMMY

update: my co-writer friend FINALLY got a tumblr account, so I can tag them now!!

previously: part 1 part 2 part 3

next: part 5

m'kay, so, we've talked about Athena & Telemachus' issues. now let's touch on Hermes, because a Diva™ like him deserves his own post. and also because this had been sitting in my notes for so long i've genuinely forgotten about it (i'd say that it's what translating a musical does to you, but honestly my attention span is just shit)

now, as much as I love Soft Boi!Hermes, I even more so love prankster Hermes who doesn't really recognize personal boundaries or the meaning of 'too far'. he's the guy who'll commit to the bit so far, he'll commit mass murder with a Tee-Hee and genuinely wonder what has got everyone so upset.

kid!Telemachus, holding a cup of poison: grandpa, are you sure it's a good idea? I'm scared… Hermes, laughing his ass off in the corner: of course I'm sure, champ! it'll be hilarious! good ol' game of Ithacean Roulette! now dump it into the wine, let's see who we'll get this time!

at the same time, he's not selfish. he's very keen on doing things for the people he likes, and he cares enough to know when someone is distressed. he, as a god, is just so removed from traditional human morality that casual acts of cruelty are perfectly acceptable to him, while, for example, breaking an oath is a horrible sin.

think blue and orange morality stuff.

telemachus, outraged: …murdered his own family, can you imagine? hermes, equally outraged: I know, right? he gave a blood oath and broke it! disgusting! telemachus: why is that your only concern?!

but don't worry, helping to raise Telemachus and hanging around the same people consistently makes a real boy outta him gives him enough time and insight into humanity to start understand mortals better, and, as consequence, adopt some of their values.

especially the concept of spousal loyalty. Hermes is a patron god of thieves, and at the time taking someone's wife was viewed as an act of theft (because women were property, yeeesh). which is why to him Penelope's situation was less of a tragedy and more of a "well, my dumbass great-grandson Odysseus should've seen it coming. snooze you lose! ¯_(ツ)_/¯"

that is, until he gets to know her better. and suddenly she's not a prize to be won or a challenge to conquer. she's a smart, capable person that commands respect from anyone who's got a shred of self-awareness. she's got gentle hands, and a radiant smile, and a spine of steel. Penelope looked Hermes dead in the eyes and told him serenely to keep being a good influence on her son, she does not deserve to be reduced to a token and given away to the highest bidder.

hermes, initially: well, penelope's a rich, gorgeous, basically single queen. I'd steal her too, if she was my type. hermes, 10 years later: she's the smartest, ballsiest human woman I've ever met and if she only wants her Ugly Ass Groom then she'll fucking stay single until he comes back.

unfortunately for everyone else, Hermes cannot step in to protect her, because Zeus and Poseidon are both pissed off at Odysseus already, and if either of them notices Hermes (and/or Athena) interfering with mortals on Ithaca, they might take it as an invitation to follow suit, and then it'll be Troy Story 2: Electric Boogaloo.

so he stays his hand, and hangs around Telemachus discreetly, mostly posing as a human. for a god of liars, he's surprisingly bad at blending in for long periods of time. Hermes thinks he's an awesome conspirator. meanwhile little Telemachus didn't even realise it was a secret.

the only people who don't know that [insert alias] is a god in disguise are the suitors, who are notoriously either too stupid, too overconfident or too busy drinking to connect the dots. the exception is Antinous who pretends to be oblivious and makes sure the gods don't see him as a threat to their beloved little pup (otherwise he'd have killed the prince long ago).

the suitors, however, unanimously agree that they hate this weird annoying stranger, and try to get rid of him in increasingly elaborate ways, from poison to stabbing to wild animals to dropping pots on his head.

spoiler alert: it doesn't work.

hermes, next day: *comes back every morning like nothing had happened, whistling cheerily* suitors: WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!

eventually Antinous convinces them to give up so they don't piss off Hermes.

years pass, Telemachus grows. Athena teaches him strategy and arts of war. Aeolus gradually comes out of the hiding and becomes the resident lovable comic relief side character. and Hermes? he teaches the kid all the good stuff.

and it's not just lying, okay? (though it's a significant part of it) music, diplomacy, geography, street smarts, some history. he's a worldly god, had observed and been a part of countless cultures. above all else, he knows people. he may not really understand them, but he knows how to get what he wants from them, how to find common ground and how to spin things to get along with practically anyone.

and girls. Hermes helps Telemachus with girls.

because he's the cool uncle figure that Telemachus admires, the kid trusts him enough to ask the god for advice when he starts growing older and gets his first crush in his early teens.

and, on one hand, Hermes is ecstatic. on the other one…

telemachus, blushing and stuttering: there's a girl I met, she's so pretty, and cool, and, and, and how do I talk to her, do I just come up and say hi, but what if sh- hermes: … hermes: *blue screen of death* hermes: MY BABY-

it's the first time he truly starts to grasp how short the kid's life will be. because in the blink of an eye he turned from a newborn to an adolescent, and soon enough he'll have his own family, and Odysseus was already a king himself at this age, and Hermes is not ready this can't be it he can't just grow old and die

so anyway, he pushes the thought aside and pretends it never came up at all (because that always works, and bottling shit up never blows up in anyone's face, right, Athena?)

he gives lots of advice, from useless macho stuff to golden nuggets like "be yourself" and "show her respect". and, of course, he cheers from the sidelines, hiding 'inconspicuously'.

and it goes surprisingly well. the girl appears to find Telemachus' awkward attempts at flirting sweet and charming, and the boy is on the cloud nine.

but Hermes isn't. because, unlike the prince, his judgment isn't clouded by a puppy crush and he can see that the girl is actually a lying bitch, who's playing Telemachus like a fiddle, hoping to become the next queen of Ithaca. and he won't stand for it.

except Telemachus, for some reason, doesn't seen thrilled when Hermes tells him to dump the girl?? he flat out refuses to believe that, because love is blind and so are sheltered insecure teenage boys.

so Hermes, in his infinite wisdom, decides to prove to his naive little charge once and for all that the girl is just using him and doesn't actually love him. now, what's the first example of true selfless love from a woman that comes to mind to the god who had spent the last few years hanging out with the royal family of Ithaca? right, Penelope. and the one thing that characterises Penelope is her unconditional loyalty, even into the face of countless threats and temptations.

hermes, to himself: so, if I show the kid that the bitch will leave him as soon as she finds a better prospect, he will definitely admit I was right all along! and dump her! it's a perfect, easy, foolproof plan! I am so smart! what could possibly go wrong!

another spoiler alert: everything goes wrong.

the girl does happily jump into his arms as soon as he hints that he's a god/demi-god/just a cooler prince or something. she does it right in front of Telemachus, in fact, so there's no way he'd be able to deny the obvious.

on the bright side, Hermes immediately outs her as a lying bitch and publicly shames her, embarrassing her family and ruining her prospects of marriage and causing her to suffer for the rest of her life ('disproportionate revenge'? what's that?).

on the down side, for some unfathomable reason, Telemachus doesn't seem very grateful??? what???????

hermes: and so, AS ALWAYS, I was right. telemachus: hermes: but please, hold your applause! telemachus: hermes: I did it all for you, out of the goodness of my heart! telemachus: hermes: and please, don't apologize! you were wrong, I get it! no need to- telemachus: *bitch slaps his smug face and runs away, hurt and betrayed* hermes: *shocked pikachu face*

thing is, Hermes doesn't understand what he did wrong. in his mind he did a rather good deed: showed the liar's true colors, and spared the kid a lot of heartache down the line. he doesn't understand the feelings of betrayal from having someone he trusts explicitly outing him as a naive fool in front of everyone he ever dreamed of earning respect from. doesn't get the pain of having been cast aside by someone he liked in favor of a god, with whom he could never compete. can't imagine living in the shadow of someone he had never even known and being constantly reminded of all the ways he's lacking.

telemachus: I'm not a stupid child, hermes. I could've handled it. hermes: but you didn't listen to me, maybe you'd have never seen it on your own- telemachus: and maybe I would've. maybe I would've had the opportunity to find out myself, and maybe I would've learned from it, but you never gave me that choice, did you?! did you think i'm that dumb?! hermes: oh, come on, kid, you're not dumb- telemachus: THEN WHY DO YOU TREAT ME LIKE I AM?! WHY DON'T YOU EVER TRUST ME?!

aaaaand there's the core issue. Telemachus had spent his whole life being babied at best and looked down upon at worst. constantly compared to Odysseus and his more vicious peers, always shielded from making tough decisions and proving himself. he feels like he will never amount to anything, because no one ever lets him really try. as soon as it looks like he's going to make a mistake, someone (usually Athena, Aeolus or Hermes) swoops in and 'fixes' everything for him, just like they used to do when he was an accident-prone toddler. which he isn't anymore.

and Hermes doesn't understand that. to him, ten years is basically nothing. the kid can't have changed that much in ten years. because if he did, then he'll change a lot in the next ten years, and the next, and very soon he won't change anymore, because ten years are nothing and so are human livespans.

ten years are nothing, because to admit otherwise would force Hermes to face the fact that Telemachus, no matter how precious, is just as mortal as any other human. which amounts to basically losing him already. and Hermes can't.

he held that boy as an infant. he fed him, helped to teach him walk and talk and make silly faces. he can't lose this child to time, the one thing even gods can't really protect humans from.

Penelope finds Hermes sitting on her balcony with the most human expression on his face she'd ever seem him wear. he's lost, and confused, and full of regrets, and kind of terrified. in that aspect, he reminds her painfully of her husband.

hermes, mumble: he's growing older penelope, sighing: I know hermes: he's not a baby anymore penelope: believe me, I know hermes: but... what do I do now??? penelope: you let it happen. not much else you can do.

she talks him through it.

hermes, rambling: but I will lose him. I'll lose him if he grows old and dies. this is why I don't get attached to mortals, you die too soon. he can't die now. penelope: he's not going to die now. he'll become the king first, he will find a good wife and have children and grandchildren. he will become great, greater that I and his father could ever dream of. and he'll be happy. don't you want to see that? hermes: I do, but- I don't want him to grow up! penelope: then you finally know the biggest joy and the deepest pain of parenthood.

it doesn't fix his fear. doesn't fix his pain, either. but it does help fix his attitude.

because she's right. Telemachus is growing old, and he can't shelter and protect the boy forever. soon he'll become a man, then an elder. and there's nothing Hermes can do about it, short of dragging the prince to Olympus and begging Zeus to grant him immortality, which will never work.

Hermes and Telemachus make up, of course. the latter knows, deep down, that the former is just trying to take care of him. they make up and forget the fight - at least, the boy does.

Hermes will always remember.

and he will count every day, every wrinkle, every grey hair.

the joy and pain of parenthood indeed.

[the-bloody-sadist]

More SKK coloring book previews on the Patreon! FOUR PAGES AWAY FROM FINISHING THE BOOK….WHAT WILL I EVEN DO WHEN ITS DONE ITS GONNA BE SO HARD…

full here!

[bonnibellexox]

Let’s Talk About Caught Red-Handed (Spoilers)

With this recent chapter, I’m seeing a lot of people criticising the way I’ve written Jaune. Weak, push-over, coward etc are all ways he has been described. And while I do agree that his inaction has run its course (which is why this chapter is the end of that arc for him) I do think these critisisms come from a place that may be unfair.

Jaune (in this story) is a r*pe victim and is being abused by a very broken Ruby. This is fresh, having only happened a week ago in the timeline. He, through no fault of his own, has been sucked into an abused girls life and as a result, she wanted to take out everything out on him. She doesn’t do this intentionlly, which lends itself to his self-blame as he feels she isn’t rying to hurt him. It’s not her fault.

It starts with her withholding affection and information. She presents herself as an untouchable, desirable girl with a twisted side he desperately wants to understand. Every time he gets close, sees some genuine emotion in her, she slams the door Hard, leaving him treading lighter next time. Without this emotional depth, he, like many of you, is left to percieve her as a 2D caracature. As a result, he objectifies, sexualitises and idolises her.

Next, she hides something big from him, something he knows is scaring her. He is simultaniously made to comfort her, while also not being good enough to know what he’s soothing away. He tries to stop playing games, but she ends up birsting into tears and voicing an identity crisis. She finally lets him in, lets him have something she’s held out of arms reach for so long, but disappears immediately after without a word of explanation.

As you can imagine, this starts his spiral of selfdoubt. He worries he did something, percieved everything wrong, that maybe she was right to be so guarded. She lies and says it was all fun and games, refusing to acknowledge real connection and intimacy.

Eventually, she baits him. She uses her own suffering as a barganing chip, luring him out with promise of affection and tranparency just to use him for comfort. They get close, he relaxes, he solidifies the idea that she’s worth fighting for and that being alone is unbarable, before she rips away again without explanation.

Having enough, he follows her and finds out that for a long time, she’s been getting blackmailed. She spends her nights being tortured and r***ed. He gets close to intervening, to violently attacking the people responsible, but a friend, someone he knows Ruby genuinely trusts in the way he so craves, warns him that it will only make it worse and risk her safety.

He tends to her wounds but she abandons him again, so he confronts her, ashamed of the anger he feels at being lied to for so long. During their conversation, he offers advice and in exchange, she gives him more affection. He desperately needs a sense of control and influence over this situation, so when she tells him that he “makes everything better,” it forms a new identity for him. One that needs to help in the few ways she will allow.

Then she realises that he can bring comfort and catharsis in a darker way. Manipulating him again and again, she uses small moments of honesty to condition him. She r*pes him, she projects all her hatred onto him, and finishes it off with just enough love that he wants to believe its worth it. But they also can’t help but hate each other, resent each other. They want to hurt the only people they can get their hands on and in a moment of dispair, she taunts him into beating her badly.

From there, he starts to realise how bad things are and wants to put an end to it. But confiding in others feels like putting a target on his own back. He is toxic too, he is abusive too, he is letting her suffer because he is frozen in place. Every movement to save her rips them apart, every kiss is met with a bite, every extended hand is flinched away from.

Jaune Arc isn’t like this in the show because this Jaune Arc was crafted to be insecure, scared, starved and emotional raw. He is an abuse victim. Give him that credit before you say he isn’t tough enough, the same grace you all seem to give Ruby.

[your-ne1ghbor]

Magnifico's "Wish Stealing form" design/some Character Dump (Disney Wish)

Oh boy ya'll in a BIG BIG Story beat plus some more information on Amaya and Magnifico in my rewrite:

The Kingdom of Roses and Thorns

Oh yeah...this is another long post and Ik @oh-shtars @chillwildwave @signed-sapphire @annymation @uva124 @rascalentertainments is gonna love this idea

For starters...

I Had this nightmare of Magnifico because of this form and now you all will see it too :3

There were also other posts that inspired this design too, so I'll link them here:

Anyways, this post is mainly an MAJIOR STORY IDEA DUMP for my sweet sweet emo Maggy- erm Magnifico (he is glaring at me guys send help please)

Soooo....

I had this terrifying idea for TKoRaT Maggy, even before I had this nightmare of him, where he legit becomes somewhat something like this, but with more vine core when he is taking the wishes/"monster in my closet" wrong vibes.

More like this for the idea I'm going for:

This is one of the ideas I had for Maggy when he is taking the wishes. This is might not be final in my final version of Maggy, hell, I might change that particular design to be Amaya's form when she takes the wishes too, since hers is more smoke which is more or not on par with her character in my rewrite/redesign. It might end up being more of Maggy's thing with Amaya helping him get into this state of transformation to take the wishes since I'd imagine it more of a whole process, but it could also just be something they both do together.

Some more design details I added was his scars from when his kingdom was attacked and almost everyone died because he showed mercy to the attackers. He doesn't really have them in his main design, probably because he covers them up with Amaya's potions or the wishes could have some form healing abilities? Idk I'm still firguring out the magic system of my story or that I just keep forgetting to put those scars in his design so awesome???💀

In my post here, I said that they don't hold ceremonies that has them granting/taking the wishes like they did in the movie. This is mainly because I wanted to do a little something original and gives me the oppertunity to take in the horror aspects of the story (because I love scaring children(not in a bad way, but to show them that there are these kinds of people in the world yk?)). This is why I am intentionally making Maggy and Amaya horrifying in their own way because well...good people can become the bad guys if pushed in the right direction. Especially in what they do to other people. Mainly inspired from Hunchback and Prince of Egypt, with subtle, but TERRIFYING pieces.

BUT, They do have a ceremony, but it is not related to the wishes, it is just there to give them some sympathetic traits to Maggy and Amaya (after all they've been through, I just feel bad, they literally wanted to good things and the world just beat them with a 90 foot pole).

This one I tried making Maggy more jagged. Although it seems like he is a different character here, thats mainly my fault since I really tried to figure out what he would say to Star Boy in this "idea" scene but my brain blanked out and couldn't think of anything so wahoo

Star Boy in this scene doesn't even know he has a desire, he just didn't think stars can form desires (ofc Maggy and Amaya is going to manipulate the hell out of him and Asha :3)

ALSO

This is also the main reason I split Star Boy's powers between what Amaya and Maggy does.

Maggy has only 1 shape-shifting form, and it is only done to steal the wishes. He can't shape shift into anything else, but it is why when he steals star's powers, he becomes more of a terrifying shapeshifter.

Amaya creates dangerous potions, and more or not lurks in the darkness in some way like a cat to bring them to their doom. Although it would make more sense if Maggy has the creation part of Star's powers, I gave it to Amaya since it works for her too, and keeps the power system balanced in some way. If I do give Amaya the ability to also shapeshift into a monster from my dreams, I could also say the same thing can work in reverse too, I just personally think the creation part of her character conflicts with Asha's ability to create/draw magic.

Power wise for this design...

This form also gives Maggy the ability to see people's desires that HE could take. He can't really take them until they are 17-18 years old and older (ruh oh, 2 of our main protagonists fall under that age gap). Plus, he cant take them from children since they are young and dont understand these kinds of things.

This form also falls under the MAIN conflict of why the hell is everyone miserable when they turn around 17/18 years old? Oh yeahhh this is going to fall under how he steals the wishes, but I'm not going to say anything here yet because I really want it to be a surprise.

Nothing that he does is not without reason. He blames the stars for not granting his wish (there is a reason why they didn't), and for not stepping in when a star, or Aster (NOT STAR BOY) went "rouge" (not Aster's fault btw, they didn't have a choice). So, this presented him with this ideology (that I personally believe Amaya first started thinking this way, out of pain and wanting to blame someone for what happened a century ago) that in order for people to not wish on stars, is for them to never wish/dream again. The story in my version is the aftermath of this. Still figuring out THE MAJIOR STORY BEATS, but this falls under Star Boy as well.

Star Boy represents the thing Magnifico hates the most. Plus, Maggy has more of a personal beef with the stars so of course he is going to make sure Star Boy dies, becauseeee he didn't do it last time, so second times the charm, am I right? (OR MAYBE THE THIRD WHO KNOWS, LETTING THE STORY WORK ITSELF OUT ;3)

ORIGINALLY, this was going to be Amaya's thing, but as I said, this might end up being mainly Maggy's thing, or it is something they both do, since they share the same goal, but here is the designs I was going to show for that:

Anywaysssss, ya'll can ask me questions regarding to this design if ya'll want to! I'll gladly answer them! I also will accept suggestions for the design/abilities for this "wish stealing..." thing. I might come up with a better name for this form later. Soo have a happy weekend as your neighbor watches some marvel movies as I work on my projects for my classes.

explodes

Edit: Okay my imagination took my to the most tragic part of his character then randomly imagined star boy getting stabbed by this guy and said "now you feel the pain I felt when everyone died" and star boy, in the worst condition says "almost everyone" then gets a another stab from him💀