#what warnings do i even tag for this

[banjjakz]

Can't stop thinking about yuuta taking an actual bite out of you, mouth covered in blood, kissing the wound as he heals it with reverse cursed technique 🩸🩸

healing it with RCT ,,, anon i think i just passed on into a different dimension

THIS is yuuta's version of valentine's day chocolate & no one can convince me otherwise. imagine working hard to find a specialty flavor of chocolate that you know he'll like -- and sure, it costs a bit more than you usually like to spend on food or novelty items, but it's for a special occasion & you're trying your best to clearly convey just how much you like this boy.

don't misunderstand -- he's immeasurably grateful to receive the gift and privilege of your presence, let alone a thoughtful, expensive gift! as soon as you present it to him, he wants to eat it right then and there, with you. it starts off innocently enough with a request for you to feed him; then, he wants to eat the chocolates off of your body; finally, he asks if he can eat some of you.

when he breaks skin and feels the tart burst of muscle and tendon exploding inside of his mouth, it reminds him too much of those delicious raspberry-filled chocolates you had so earnestly presented him with, which now lie half-opened, discarded, like a decaying corpse left to rot, as he makes a meal out of your flesh.

(the aftercare shower goes so fucking hard btw)

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[buglaur]

fireworks show 🎆

material preview version is very cute also :)

i struggled with the lighting on this one so badly, but it turned out alright in the end.

i actually started it last year for new years 2023 but never got around to finishing it, hence no progress pictures this time sadly lol. i do have a very low-res, first draft, test gif though

stills 🥳

[sysig]

Blood sugar levels (Patreon)

[unexpectedbrickattack]

shenanigans

[colorful-bees]

Volo's friendship story in the Trainer's Lodge is so interesting to me because it seemingly contradicts his usual way of thinking. He asks to take a commemorative photo with you in the event that the world disappears, obviously referring to what he wants to eventually accomplish in the future.

And I can only wonder why he does this. His exact words afterwards are, "Please remember me as you've seen me during our time together." He plans on erasing the world to build a better one, as per is goal in P:LA but the idea that he would want you to remember him as you knew him, someone who was simply friendly and nice to you, goes against how he views relationships with people. There's no transactional value to taking this photo with you nor is there for him wanting you to remember him fondly.

Volo is overly nice to people to get what he wants out of them, that's kind of his thing. You see it with the protag in P:LA, you see it with Jacq and Trevor, and later with Lear in the Mysterious Stones chapter. He likes to get in people's good books so that he might get something out of it later. But what does he want out of you in this interaction? What is he hoping to gain by telling you to remember him the way he is now? He plans on destroying the world and so... he asks to take a photo with you? I can only imagine that he wants it for himself since if the world disappears, you won't even be there to remember him in the first place. He plans on destroying the world and you won't even be there and yet, he still asks you to remember him.

I don't think Volo necessarily lied when he said, "It's just a matter of using them before they use you." Those were thoughts inside his head, he has no one to lie to there; that's what he truly believes. However, I do think there's a disconnect between the kind of person Volo is and the kind of person Volo believes himself to be.

I think maybe he does love his Pokemon, maybe he even wants to be your friend. I don't think he knows that though. His genuine view of himself is that he feels no love or care for others and relationships are just a means to an end and that is mostly how he comes across when showing his true colors. But he has moments that don't quite line up with that. He wants you to remember him fondly. He considers Pokemon tools and yet, there's that photo of him and Togepi. It's these two moments that make me question things. He looks after Togepi and in return, Togepi sticks by his side; that's their trade-off, what they both get out of their relationship. But the photo is what throws me off. If there wasn't even a little bit of love for Togepi, why does that photo exist? Why did he take it? Volo in this same conversation says, "Photos are wonderful things! They allow you to capture and isolate the best moments!" Why take a photo with something you don't love? Why consider that one of your "best moments?"

Volo honestly believes that he doesn't love his Pokemon and that he's no one's friend. That isn't a mask he's putting on, that's who he thinks he is and I can only assume that the reason for this is due to whatever event happened in his past that set him down this road to begin with. But he has these small moments that contradict that view of himself. Volo does have a capacity to care for his Pokemon, to have friends. I just don't think he realizes that. He's incapable of recognizing if he loves or even likes someone in a genuine way; so caught up in viewing every relationship like it's a barter or a trade that he has no idea that he can care and that maybe, at some points, does.

[stopper-my-heart]

Nothing like Heartstopper S2E8 removing some of Taylor Swift's "seven" lyrics just so that the singing can specifically come back in at "Or hide in the closet" while Isaac is processing difficult emotions related to the book he's reading (i.e., Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex by Angela Chen).

Did I mention "Or hide in the closet" hits just as the camera focus finishes shifting away from Isaac?

This is fine

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Collection of edits from this comic with Disco Elysium dialogue.

[chayannesegg]

honestly I think it’s kinda interesting how phil’s relationships with wilbur, tallulah, chayanne & tubbo are all reflecting back into his view of sunny tbh. like he has such complex delicate interwoven dynamics with all of them and it all gets thrown onto sunny, this poor kid who he loves in theory, but in practice is a stranger to him. 

like wilbur left tallulah in phil’s care and didn’t come back. even now way after he was initially supposed to, wilbur hasn’t returned (that one day aside). and phil, who had already taken on a big commitment watching tallulah, has been left permanently with two eggs in his sole care. and even though he loves tallulah and wil, and won’t want them out of his life, this is a stress for him. it’s a big undertaking for anyone, to care for two kids alone, but especially since tallulah required a lot of changes in his life.

for better or worse, in many ways phil sees chayanne as an extension of himself. they’re similar in a lot of ways, and often on the same page, and it means phil often struggles to catch up when chayanne’s emotions aren’t on the same page as him. we’ve seen this week, phil having such a hard time understanding the depth and breadth of chayanne’s grief. when he catches on, he usually does a good job empathising and talking it through, but when he doesn’t, he really doesn’t and it can be hard to watch. 

the same is NOT true for tallulah. he has, through hard work and practice, learnt how to identify her emotions. he had to. she needed it. she would have been miserable otherwise. she desperately needed asked for the emotional care and birthdays and consideration that chayanne would never ask for. and he’s good at it—tracking her moods, knowing what upsets her & what she cares about in a way that doesn’t come as naturally with chayanne (or sunny or tubbo or anyone else really expect maybe wilbur). but that took A LOT of time and effort, months of work, and I do think he’s a bit wary of the idea of having to do that again, even when it comes to people he loves like chayanne (or god forbid tubbo).

now tubbo is not wil. tubbo is not phil's son. but he’s still not dissimilar to wil in phil’s mind. whatever the backstory is, phil introduces tubbo to tallulah as an old friend of him and wil’s. he makes tubbo his kids’ godfather. he calls tubbo his boy. he looks out for him. but past those first few weeks, their relationship doesn’t progress. they mean a lot to each other bc of their pasts, but they don’t put any work into upkeeping their relationship and phil in particular doesn’t reflect at all on what how that changes their dynamic. and it does change it—this is clear in purgatory, with phil having zero trust in tubbo to protect chayanne and tallulah, and after, with tubbo endlessly poking at phil’s sore spots trying to illicit a reaction he’ll never receive. 

it's also clear in the way phil has no understanding of what’s going on with tubbo. if he’s struggling to grasp chay’s emotions, he’s not even touching what’s going on in tubbo’s head. tubbo’s death makes no sense to him. it’s sudden. it’s random. it’s illogical. it’s stupid. he wasn’t joking about having two lives? he still took a death bet with richas? he’s not come back? he can’t come back? he’s left phil with distraught kids for no reason with no warning. he doesn’t see the erratic suicidal behaviour, the unending depression, the desperation to be loved. he doesn’t want to see it. he doesn’t want something to be wrong with tubbo, but he also doesn’t even know how to see what’s wrong. he’s annoyed he’s having to deal with it and he desperately desperately wants to believe this is all happening for no reason.

bc at the forefront of phil’s mind is still his love for tubbo. of course, phil would drop everything to help tubbo (if he could recognize something was wrong). of course, he would care for sunny as his own. of course, he would make the same sacrifices he’s made for wil. and he assumes he’ll have to. he thought that sunny would now be under his care. that he’d have to figure out the logistics of a third egg to care for. with wilbur, phil was the only person who could ever have taken care of tallulah. the only person he trusted, the only person who knew tallulah enough. now this isn’t true for tubbo. it’s a genuinely illogical assumption for phil to make: three eggs would be a genuine burden on him; they've never spoken about it; there’s a long list of people who would tubbo expects for sunny before; and he doesn’t even know sunny well enough to name these people for her as comfort.

but still in the moment, alone with tubbo’s eggs and dealing with everything he left behind, phil can only think that the exact same thing that happened before will happen: he alone will be left to care for another scared hurt kid of someone he loves.

and here we come to sunny. a kid whose dad he loves. a kid whose dad he doesn’t understand. a kid whose dad is suddenly gone like his son is gone. a kid who would need him like his daughter needs him. a kid who his son needs to protect. a kid he cares for. a kid he can’t afford to care for, a kid he wasn’t expecting to care for, a kid he doesn’t know how to care for, a kid he would care for if he needed to, a kid he doesn’t know why he’s been left to care for. a kid who is somehow a reflection of all these people he loves but not someone he knows at all.

idk i think this tension comes out in the a lot of the comments phil makes of and to sunny. he doesn't know them well enough to distinguish them from his relationships with other people. and as long as no one challenges him on that, we'll continue to hear these misplaced comments from him, that come across so insensitively, even as he tries his best to genuinely help them and their dad.

[thegreatyin]

this nemesis ambition started out a little slow but I am getting closer to finding that bastard who killed my wife, and I’ll not rest a minute now that im far closer to on his trail

sorry got in character for a second

Anyways fun ambition so far very fucked up though

congratulations on joining the murder club anon!!!! depending on who you ask the name refers to either people who have murdered or people who have witnessed murder. usually both. actually extremely often both. it's a swell time you'll feel right at home (don't mind our collective skyglass knife collection in the back)

[kurtdotkelly]

I OPENED A SUPPORT HOTLINE ( AND CONVINCED MY CALLERS TO DIE )

I SAW THIS AND KNEW I HAD TO. sketch under the cut

[thevioletcaptain]

So I've been quiet on here a lot longer than planned.

The reasons are many. The reasons are varied.

The reasons are mostly fucking horrible.

Under a cut because it's long. Check tags for content warnings.

First was the expected absence: my parents came to visit me in Los Angeles over my birthday, so I spent the first half of October showing them around whenever I wasn't working a shift at my shitty department store day-job, or in class at UCLA.

Then, almost immediately after they went back to Australia, I got a second job working as a personal assistant for a composer. This was (and is) an extremely fun and rewarding job, but meant having one more thing on my weekly schedule, which was an adjustment.

Given that until halfway through last year, I'd been out of work since I immigrated in 2019, it took a while for me to get used to having so many concurrent responsibilities, and I'd just started to get a handle on things when I got sick right before the holidays. I took many covid tests -- all negative -- and eventually determined that it was just last year's strain of flu, which I hadn't managed to find time to get the shot for due to the aforementioned super busy schedule. I'm almost positive it was thanks to a particular customer at the aforementioned shitty department store job who coughed hard enough in my direction for their germs to get through my n95.

Anyway, last year's flu was a monster, and I spent a week in bed with a fever, then several more weeks being utterly drained and with a horrendous cough to match. It took a full month for me to recover, and then in mid-January, almost as soon as I started to catch up on all the things that had fallen behind while I was sick, things got bad, then good, then worse, then better, then much, much, much worse.

Basically, it starts with my dad being diagnosed with prostate cancer. He'd told me in October when they came to see me, but the surgery was scheduled for the tail end of January.

The surgery happened on a Monday, and it was a complete success. They got it all in one go. No chemo or radiation or further treatment needed at all. I spoke to him on the phone after he woke up, and he was in good spirits. Happy to have been given the all clear by his doctors.

I told him to watch Star Trek: Strange New Worlds & Evil while he rested up at home, because I'm writing specs for both this year and wanted him to be able to read them and know what was going on. He's the one who got me into sci-fi and horror, after all.

He went home.

He was home for two days.

He started feeling a bit rough on the Thursday. Short of breath. No appetite. Mum took him back to the hospital, just to be safe.

Turns out he'd had a mild heart attack. They couldn't figure out why. The echocardiogram didn't show any issues with his heart.

Then over the next couple of days, his breathing got worse. They took a scan of his lungs, and found that they were extremely inflamed. They'd given him covid tests but they came back negative. We told them about a work accident he had about 20 years ago, where a switchboard he'd been working on exploded in his face, and he'd suffered from inhalation burns among other things.

They thought that maybe something during the prostate surgery had caused irritation in his already damaged lungs, which put stress on his heart and caused the mild heart attack. He's never had any issues with his lungs since that accident, but they thought that maybe he'd just adapted to the damage over the years without realizing.

They kept trying different treatments to help his lungs heal. Nothing seemed to work. His breathing kept getting worse. They had him on as much oxygen as possible without intubating him, but it wasn't enough, so over that weekend they decided that they'd need to move him to another hospital with a more specialized lung unit.

When they were preparing to do that on the Monday night, he crashed. Another heart attack. Bigger, this time. They intubated him. Sedated him. Called my mum and told her to come in right away because things looked so bad.

But then he rallied. By the morning, though he was still sedated and intubated, the doctors were confident that with the right treatment at the specialized lung unit at the other hospital, he'd be okay. He was still in a rough condition, but stable. They transferred him to the other hospital.

He was given another covid test. This one came back positive.

My mum and brother called me once it was a reasonable time in Los Angeles to let me know what was going on, and the next day my brother booked me a flight back to Australia. I had to leave for the airport about five hours after my ticket was booked.

I got to Melbourne on February 1st.

For the next two weeks, dad was intubated, sedated, and in an isolation room. Every few days, they scanned his lungs again, and they were slowly improving.

Finally, he stopped testing positive, and was moved to a regular room in the ICU. Then he healed enough for them to extubate him and wake him up.

On February 13th, he was conscious enough to squeeze my hand when we went in to see him. On February 14th, he was conscious and capable of talking enough to ask a nurse in his ward to bring him his phone, and called mum first thing in the morning to wish her a happy Valentines Day.

Two days later, on Friday 16th, his lungs looked good enough on scans that they felt it was safe to do an angiogram, which they wanted to do just to double check that there weren't any issues with his heart that they missed with the echo.

They did the test. They found massive blockages. 90% blockage in one artery; significant blockages in two others.

Even though he'd barely recovered from covid, the blockages were bad enough that they scheduled him for open heart surgery on Monday 19th. They said without surgery there was a 100% chance that the blockages would cause another massive heart attack that he would not survive. They said there was about a 20% chance that he'd have complications, but only about 4% that they'd be serious/life threatening.

Like before, the surgery went well. Triple bypass, in the end. We got a call late on Monday afternoon to say that he was in recovery and looking good. His heart was functioning perfectly. They'd bring him out of sedation that night. Keep him in the ICU one or two days just as the standard post-op procedure. He'd spend a week or so in a cardiac ward after that, then head to a physical rehab ward for a couple of weeks until he could build back the muscle mass he'd lost while sedated.

We went in to see him the next day. Tuesday 20th. His 66th birthday.

He was tired, but looked good. Color in his cheeks. He made a couple of jokes. We left after about 45 minutes because he was pretty worn out, and we wanted to let him get some rest.

But then after, that his breathing started to get bad again. By Wednesday morning, they'd switched out the oxygen prongs in his nose for a big, high-pressure mask again. They called to let us know they were going to intubate him again so he could rest while his lungs recovered a bit more.

They struggled to get the tube in.

His lungs were deteriorating badly. He kept getting worse. We couldn't go in to see him because they were working on him all day.

At 9pm we got a call to say that he was just getting worse. They had him on 100% oxygen. He just wasn't absorbing it. His entire body was under massive strain. They were doing everything they could, but he just wasn't improving.

They said we should go in right away.

We got there by 10pm. My brother and his wife arrived about the same time. We went in to see him. He didn't look good. He looked pale. But he was warm, and he'd come back from the brink before, and we were sure he could do it again. We stayed with him for about an hour, and left not long after 11pm. Went back to my brother's place because they live closer to the hospital.

We were there about half an hour before they called us again. Just after midnight. He was gone.

That was about a week and a half ago, now. It still doesn't feel real. He was only 66. He hadn't even retired yet. He was working full time up until the week before Christmas, and had planned on going back to work a few days a week after he'd recovered from surgery. He never had any heart trouble, or lung trouble. He was active. He was fine.

My wife Zel and her mom flew in a couple of days after it happened. I barely remember anything from the past two weeks. Everything just feels fake.

I've been trying to write something to say at the funeral, which we've finally been able to arrange for next week -- it was delayed because we had to wait for dad to be released by the coroner. I don't think I'll be able to do it.

Anyway. That's where I've been.

It'll probably be a little while longer before I'm around here much, let alone posting with any regularity, because I'll be in Australia helping my mum & and my brother sort everything out. I have no idea how long I'll be dealing with stuff, or when I'll be able to make words cooperate enough to post anything, but I'll be back eventually.

I'm trying to keep an eye on Discord (I'm violetmatter over there) so you can find me there if you want. But yeah, I just wanted to let you guys know why I've been so quiet.

[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

[crimeronan]

trading our scheduled hunter awfulness for some luz awfulness. come on this journey with me

concept: offshoot of the worst timeline. hunter is "dead," or at least luz truly believes he is. she's trapped in the human world with belos. he has yet to get hit by a train and/or fall off a cliff, luz has yet to try to escape because she Does Not Care. they're in some abandoned cabin way deeper in the woods than the old house in gravesfield (because in the suburbs i think the neighbors would call the cops).

this is an Extremely unpleasant time period that doesn't bear thinking about, unless you're me and having a terrible pain day and need to think about your blorbos having a worse day than you are. belos is awful. luz is miserable. everything sucks. et cetera

after like, i dunno, three or four whole weeks of luz still being Despondent (and Boring), belos is like. well. this is ridiculous. you've had plenty of time to grieve. time to get over it!!

luz does Not get over it. obviously.

belos does what any concerned parent would do. & sources a pair of memory tweezers. (he Must have brought them with him, tbh. for "just in case".)

and then. proceeds to start burning her memories of hunter.

[thirteenemeraldcats]

in one of your tags you mentioned-

'one of the things that gets chatted about A LOT in teaching is meeting students at their point of need- which ted does NOT do with jamie'

I would love to hear more of your thoughts on this! Both in terms of what that concept entails, and also what you think Jamie's point of need was at the time versus what Ted saw the situation needing

(You have excellent tags btw, don't know if anyone's mentioned that)

I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON THIS THAT I LOVE THAT YOU'D LOVE TO HEAR!

(I have more thoughts than I anticipated, this got errr, long. Whoops)

(potentially necessary/relevant background here is I am a high school teacher 👋)

Okie dokie, so, one of the principles of best practice in teaching is the idea I tag-rambled above; meet both the individual students and collective class at their point of need. Essentially this means practising differentiation in teaching and adjusting how content/ideas are communicated to students based on who they are as learners and people. Particularly if a student is performing outside the 'average' (either exceeding or still developing), this means adjusting to their needs by (among other things) curating differentiated resources and adapting delivery style. Differentiation is especially important in an all-abilities classroom, unfortunately public education is perpetually underfunded and overcrowded so everyone's just out here doing their best (the decent people of the world at least). BUT! WHILE I'M ON IT! SPEAKING OF THE THINGS I'VE TAG RAMBLED, the education system's (global) inability to adequately differentiate for students of different-abilities, particularly students with ADHD, ASD and Dyslexia, is perhaps the greatest failing of the whole dang thing and if anyone who ever stumbles across this is neuro-divergent and feels like they were a bad student or couldn't 'keep up' in mainstream education- THAT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. You don't have to break yourself to 'fit', school is MEANT to bend for you. (Particularly when you're young, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG)

ANYWAY, the fictional football of it all!

We don't see a lot of Ted actually coaching in this show (stick with me). The scenes in which he 'coaches' are typically him and various other coaching staff standing on the sidelines while the team skirmishes or occasionally runs drills, so me saying Ted doesn't differentiate is more based around his patented Ted-talks. NOW, Ted PROBABLY knows the team fairly well as individuals, particularly in season 2 and 3, purely by having spent quite a lot of time with them, despite this the only times we really see him 'adjust' his style with the team are ironically season 1 (examples include conferencing Jamie and Roy in 1x04 For The Children, and allowing/facilitating Nate's speech in 1x07 Make Rebecca Great Again). The moment that always sticks out to me as most significant is when he goes and seeks out Keeley's advice on how to get through to Jamie in 1x02 Biscuits.

Side note: I will be forever obsessed with Keeley jumping straight from 'blowjobs' to one of the four operant conditioning techniques (positive reinforcement) when asked about this. That woman is a very fascinating puzzle of a person.

Ted recognises that his typical perpetual-optimism-style isn't cracking the Jamie-Tartt-nut and seeks out a different opinion. This kind of collaboration and whole-system approach is key in teaching too, either by tapping the knowledge-well of a student's broader school context or the difficult-to-crack student's parents.

SO, having gotten the Jamie-Tartt-cheat-code from Keeley he DOES meet Jamie at his point of need, speaks clearly to him and communicates what he needs from him. AND IT WORKS! Temporarily! During the conversation between the two in Ted's office we see Jamie engage, he even practises self-reflection! Granted it's about his left foot cross, but still! The nut is cracked.

Jamie even maintains the perspective Ted has taught him for about two seconds while talking to Trent, until Jamie's other (definitely not positively-reinforced) behaviours rear up and he reverts to what James others have taught him.

On the other hand.

Multiple times throughout the show we see Jamie be visibly or verbally confused by Ted's communication style. Ted often talks in meandering metaphors that Jamie doesn't seem to be able to follow. We verbally hear him state 'Why doesn't he just say that then, do you know what I mean?' in 2x07 Headspace after Beard has to translate Ted's 'peas and carrots/beefchunks' analogy to 'starters and reserves'. Then there's the infamous 'What the fuck are Denver Broncos?' from 3x09 La Locker Room Aux Folles. The only notable time we really see Jamie 'get' one of these metaphors is the sewer-system-tunnels from 3x01 Smells Like Mean Spirit.

(His understanding of that specific metaphor, along with his use of the magnets to demonstrate total football in 3x07 The Strings That Bind, and a Watsonian-perspective of his near perfect mimicry of movements he saw two years ago when executing the decoy play in 3x12 So Long, Farewell, are actually all examples I use to head-canon Jamie as a primarily visual/physical based learner. For whatever that's worth!)

NOW! Ted's willingness to seek and apply alternate techniques in season 1 when he should know the team as both individuals and a collective the least, coupled with his inability or unwillingness to practise differentiation in later seasons when he DOES KNOW THEM is why I don't think Ted is meeting the team, specifically Jamie at their/his point of need. Any person's ability to differentiate behaviour to meet the needs/requirements/comforts of the individual or group they're talking to is increased the more they know them. (We all do this in life, consciously or subconsciously we typically try and 'match the vibe' of whoever we're communicating with [doubly so for people who're engaging in masking.])

Ted should and does learn more about Jamie as a person and his background as the show progresses. He listens to Jamie vocalise both his internal justifications for his actions and his reflections of those justifications/actions in 1x06 Two Aces, he sees him being explicitly physically abused in 1x10 The Hope That Kills You, he listens to him describe a spiralling mindset in 2x02 Lavender, he sees him being explicitly verbally abused in 2x08 Man City.

Of course, one of the fascinating things about Jamie is how much he learns and grows over the course of the show, and there are instances in which I don't think Ted is recognising that (primarily his dismissal of Jamie in 3x03 4-5-1 and not utilising Jamie's knowledge of total football as a resource from the beginning in 3x07 The Strings That Bind).

Ted understands and has previously applied Jamie responding well to positive reinforcement, yet at multiple times in the series doesn't respond in a way that reflects his perspective being informed by that knowledge. Essentially not practising the appropriate level of care/caution when interacting with/around Jamie.

There's not intervening on Jamie's behalf in 2x03 Do the Right-est Thing or 2x06 The Signal when the team and Roy are targeting or ignoring him respectively. The assumed absence of any follow up to the events of 2x08 Man City, the Zava of it all in season 3, and of course the eternal 'forgiveness' kicker from 3x11 Mom City.

POINT BEING. And to actually answer your inquiry lol, I think Jamie is someone who needs clear communication, ideally bracketed in positive reinforcement based operant conditioning as a learning technique (reward behaviour you want reinforced by offering something desirable [praise in Jamie's case]) and visual/physical aid/references for concepts; as a LEARNER.

AS A PERSON, there's more. Ted can readily infer from all he's heard and seen that Jamie's a victim of child abuse. The long term damage to the adult psyche that abuse during formative years has is astronomical, it literally changes the foundational structures of a person's brain. And yet, again, we never see Ted even acknowledge this. Jamie in 3x11 Mom City, incidentally compares his father to Freddy Krueger, Ted elaborates on the comparison, then Jamie reiterates that Freddy Krueger's 'fucking terrifying'. Ted doesn't reassure Jamie (the requirement of his point of need), he gives him a Ted-talk (and in doing so doesn't differentiate his perspective/communication technique).

As far as what Ted thought the situation needed... search me I've got no idea. I do think Ted projects onto Jamie a hell of a lot. That he gets Jamie's personhood and life experiences all tangled up in the emotions he has about his father's death and his consequent perceived abandonment, his insecurities about his own ability to parent Henry and even in his own inability to clearly communicate with his mother. I do think Ted relies on his own forced optimism to 'get by'. Like how a great white shark dies if it stops swimming, if Ted stops being 'Ted', if he stops swimming, his past and his fears and his feelings will catch up to him and swallow him whole. (For what it's worth, I do think Ted is more unwell than even the show explicitly tells us, much like Jamie experiencing ongoing trauma due to childhood abuse, the effects both short-term and long-term as well as potential causalities of having a parent die by suicide are... grim.)

(Essentially the entire fandom has talked about basically all of this at one point or another, I'm just using slightly different language.)

NOW! These characters are fictional (obviously) and I am judging them based on real-people conventions and the best-principles of my own profession, as well as my background in theoretical psychology (which I think I forgot to mention and is also probably [??] relevant). My Doylist-perspective of Ted and his coaching/communication style is ...kinder, but if I get too sucked into the narrative it results in either brief tag-rambles or... whatever this thing I've just typed is. I think it's been too long since I've written academically, my thoughts have gone circular 🫠

ANYWAY! I hope this made something-approaching sense! Thank you again for asking to hear my thoughts! Always happy to word vomit!

ALSO, thank you for saying my tags are excellent (you are the first and currently only to say so!) - The tags are where I send my thoughts to die (in a 'I must banish them to move on' kind of way rather than a 'I'm strangling them' kind of way) so you saying they're excellent is even MORE flattering than you realise! Makes my brain want to purr 💚🤣

[coridallasmultipass]

Well, I know that gettin' you alone isn't easy to do,

And I don't wanna lie and I don't wanna tell you the truth,

And I know we got places to go, we got people to see,

Think we both oughta put 'em on hold, and I think you agree,

Stop the world 'cause I wanna get off with you.

-

I have Brain Ghost Dirk on the brain, and how much I absolutely fucking loved this scene in the comic. So, I needed to draw Jake fantasizing some more.

Aghhh... This took me an embarrassing amount of time to draw. It got confusing trying to keep all of Dirk's lines separate and I had to cut some corners, but I think it worked out alright. Clip Studio's GIF thing really messed up the colouration for some unknown reason, and I ended up downloading the program I used to use, PhotoScape, which is like, the best program for stringing together a GIF. So yeah. I'm glad I'm done lol.

Oh, alsO, THOSE HANDS, they were SO HARD TO DRAW. I don't have anyone I can ask to take a reference pic with me, and I ended up having to photoshop two pictures I took of my own hand so I could get the pose right LOL.

Dirk's quote from Homestuck:

Dirk: You have got to be kidding. Did you seriously just think something THAT dirty?

Dirk: You must be doing this on purpose to spite me now. I mean, just wow dude. That was x-rated as fuck.