#I mostly stopped using it when i was of age

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

Ok so I’ve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. I’ve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. It’s also gone 3am. So it’s not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a ‘tidy’ version another time.

So! Tackling Dick Grayson’s Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: it’s a long one)

So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply ‘gypsies’ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. I’m not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, I’m working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term ‘gypsy’ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so I’m going to. I personally don’t mind if people use it (so long as they don’t use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so it’s always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when it’s really rare to find characters like that). I’m not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dick’s character. You’re welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)

So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, it’s an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.

This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, don’t take it as gospel - it’s more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they don’t become a non-traveller, because it’s in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didn’t stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.

So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the ‘tell me you don’t know a character without telling me you don’t know a character’, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC aren’t going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a character’s ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasn’t a thing) to have signs on pubs like ‘no blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsies’ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dick’s debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, I’m not well read, but in Grayson’s run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So I’m sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - don’t know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).

So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Haly’s Circus.

So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You can’t be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if you’ve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but weren’t bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because it’s not in your blood - hence why it’s an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).

Now, I make this distinction because Haly’s Circus is really odd in that regard.

Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doe’s Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doe’s sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help ‘mind’ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.

Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfather’s circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasn’t such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).

However, we know that Haly’s circus was not like that. We honestly don’t know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Haly’s. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Haly’s was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you can’t just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say they’re not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Haly’s circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.

Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?

Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, it’s frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being ‘might’ - this is more canon-compliant HC here y’all) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a ‘gypsy’ identity as you must be born a Showman, you can’t just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As I’ve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing ‘gypsy’.

Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dick’s family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, it’s not ruled out, he might have just settled, but let’s go for safety’s sake here and just say he’s not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Grayson’s father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeley’s run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, it’s not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you don’t even think to mention it). Aka. He’s a gypsy. Nuff said.

Then, I suppose, the final thing I’ll address is the ‘whitewashing’ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.

Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dad’s side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my mother’s side of the family as being ‘poxy and pasty’. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just can’t paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mum’s side of the family, but I’ve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, it’s also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).

SOOO… TLDR:

Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.

He canonically self-IDs as a ‘gypsy’ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)

The GRTSB classification system is a mess y’all and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and don’t get into the debates is my professional opinion.

Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You can’t just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Haly’s he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.

Haly’s circus is unusual because it’s mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). It’s unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.

Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isn’t a problem as it’s really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.

As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, it’s not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.

So that’s my rant. It’s like 3.30am so it’s probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since I’m in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (I’ve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dick’s character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dick’s character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!

If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since I’ve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.

[breelandwalker]

Thank you for elaborating! I appreciate the clarification. (And I appreciate you taking a somewhat more civil tone with me than with your comments section. Frustration I can understand, but it does behoove us to be patient with each other in order to encourage meaningful discourse.)

I do think this is a discussion worth having, partly because you bring up some valid points with regard to making distinctions between witchcraft practices from New Age pseudoscience and junk theories, and partly because this is an excellent object lesson on the need to move past our own opinions and egos when dealing with the broader witchcraft community, particularly because it's not a monolith. (What community is, right?)

I agree that using the term "energy" in reference to one's life force or the power behind magical workings or the shared vibrations of a group in ritual or the broader music of the cosmos may be an oversimplification. But in terms of accessibility, it's a nice, simple word and a concept that just about everyone understands, regardless of the context. This can be especially useful when you're having a conversation with practitioners from various paths and traditions who have slightly different ways of doing things.

True, it gets bounced around in New Age speak quite frequently, but to say that reduces or nullifies its' value in witchcraft spaces sounds rather like giving up on a perfectly good word. After all, there are plenty of terms that exist in witchcraft that are also (obnoxiously) overused by New Agers. How many "clearing" or "cleansing" videos have we all rolled our eyes at on the socials? And yet, clearing and cleansing are still vital concepts in witchcraft, though they generally don't refer to dodgy medicinal practices. All this to say, the co-opting of a word by New Agers (or worse) only diminishes its' value in witchcraft spaces if we let it.

As for terms like "witchy" and "baby witch," there's a certain amount of seriousness involved with witchcraft, it's true. You do have to take the craft seriously if you want to make progress and you do have to grow as a person in order to do so successfully. But there's also a point when growth requires us to stop taking everything so deadly serious, including ourselves. There are lessons to be learned from play and silliness and shedding the trappings of ego and self-consciousness.

"Witchy" has entered the common lexicon in a playful way that allows witchcraft and witchcraft-adjacent things to be more accessible to the non-witching public. Accessibility leads to acceptance and we could use all the help on that front that we can get. Is it a slightly unserious word? Sure. But is there really anything wrong with being unserious? And does that really matter when the people who are attracted to it might go on to more serious investigation?

The same with "baby witch" - perhaps it is limiting or infantilizing, but it's accessible as an entry point for some people, and with time and guidance, they will outgrow it. (From a personal standpoint, I'm seeing it used less often than it was even a few years ago, mostly in spaces where discussion groups and non-judgmental communication are strong, though a steady replacement has yet to be found.)

Also, in terms of public image and respect, I highly doubt that the existence of terms like "witchy" and "baby witch" will make much difference in the minds of people and parties who would never respect our community or take it seriously anyway. If hundreds of books published by respected scholars and and religious recognition by the state couldn't make them take witches seriously, nothing will.

And on that note, let's move on to Wicca.

Gerald Gardner was not solely responsible for the creation of Wicca. He died before its' official inception and others who had been in his circle took up the movement. One might mention such notables as Doreen Valiente, who we have to thank for MUCH of what constituted the roots of Wicca in its' first officially incorporated iteration. Furthermore, the religion hasn't even been around for a full century and yet it has already evolved enough to have its' first schism and has changed with the times more readily than some other religions I could name.

To say that no one should practice Wicca because people involved in its' creation and evolution have been problematic is like saying that no one should be a Christian because of the Crusades. I'm not sure how the broader public is expected to treat the witchcraft community with seriousness and respect when some of us can't even seem muster the maturity to respect other witches when it comes to differences of religion or relative levels of experience or commitment.

While I can respect and agree with your personal preference to not use certain terms or follow certain paths, I might suggest having more conversations with witches whose traditions differ from yours. You'd be surprised how much we can learn from each other when the need to be Right or Superior is left at the door in favor of open communication and understanding. And I speak as someone who has BEEN THERE. There are enough forces in the world seeking to divide us without our own judgmental tendencies or poor attitudes furthering the problem.

Anyway, thank you again for taking the time to respond (and to read this wall of text my brain spat out in response, I appreciate your forbearance). Best of luck on the path!

Witchcraft vocabulary I’m surprised is still used in 2025:

- Witchy

- Magick

- Energy

- Karma

- The Goddess��️

- G slur

- Baby witch

[midnight-mourning]

(Mostly) Happy Accidents

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 3💘💘

Silly little fluffy thing for you all, as someone allergic to red dye (to a point, it's a 50/50 chance whether i'll break out in hives or not so I usually just avoid it to be safe) it resonated when it came to valentine's candy/sweets, hope you enjoy!

Prompt: The boys know about the tradition of Valentine's candy and get some for Y/N, not knowing they were allergic to one of the ingredients in the candy. Apologies and appreciation for attempting to get Y/N a gift obviously follow

Word Count: 1425

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Sun seems almost too excited when the last child exits the Daycare for the day. Practically buzzing beside you as you wave goodbye and shut the door. 

Maybe it was just for clean up, considering you had so much to do today in particular. It was Valentine's after all. And as with every holiday, the attendant simply had to go all out for it. Which, while pretty, would be a laborious process to tidy up. 

So when you turn around to discuss it with him, and see his hands filled with a giant heart-shaped box, you were quite surprised. 

"Happy Valentine's day, Sunbeam! We got this just for you!" Sun tilts his head, rays spinning quickly. 

Your eyes widen, starting to smile. "Oh! You didn't guys didn't have to do that. But I appreciate it! Thank you, really." 

You take the box and open it up. Inside, they're all sorts of different sweets, all different shapes and with different patterns. You don't even know where to begin. You pick one at random and pop it into your mouth, chewing as you listen to Sun speak again. 

"Of course we did! How else are we supposed to show how much we care about you? On the most important day to do it, no less." He chuckles. 

Your face starts to warm up, and you swallow. "Y-yeah? You um, mean that?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't, Sweetheart." Sun boops your nose, giggling. 

It just serves to fluster you further, so to stop yourself from saying anything by downing another chocolate. 

Sun continues chatting, his excitement truly coming to light now. "We were really nervous about finding something you'd like, we spent ages trying to make sure we found something that had all your favorite flavors, to show you how much we care, because we do, a lot..."

As he talks, you realize the burning on your face isn't getting any better, but now notice that it's not from being embarrassed. The warmth is also traveling down your neck and chest, accompanied by an all too familiar itching sensation. You feel that same to desire to scratch at your currently covered arms.Your throat is tight, but not horrible, thankfully.

When you think to look at the half-bite you've taken out of the chocolate in your hand, and see the hot pink-colored filling, it basically confirms what you thought had happened. 

You keep your calm though, still trying to listen as the playtime attendant keeps going. "—And then came the matter of actually getting it! We couldn't ask for help because that would ruin the surprise, and we were also afraid someone would tell us we couldn't get you something, and that wouldn't do! So imagine our delight when Officer Ryan left his wallet in the break room. We just quickly borrowed the card and put it right back, don't worry! He didn't even notice—" He stops all of the sudden, tone falling. "Is everything okay, Starshine?"

You jump, realizing you're scratching at your neck now. "Um, sort of? Do you happen to know if any of these have red dye in them?"

"Red dye? Of course they don't, Sunbeam, it says right here in your file that you're allergic we would never—forget... something, like, that..." Sun freezes in that moment, staring out into space as realization seems to kick him straight in the gut. 

You put your hands up. "It's okay, it's okay. I just need a benadryl and I'll be fine-Woah!"

Sun scoops you up, hurriedly rushing over to the desk with you in his arms. With his free hand he starts frantically looking for something. 

"Not good, not good, not good! Oh, I'm so so so sorry Star! We should have paid more attention, we just got so caught up in finding you something perfect and now—" He shakes his head, growing more panicked. 

You try to diffuse the situation before he short circuits or something. "Sunny, it's fine, I promise. It's just a mild allergy. I'll be okay, really." You don't tell him how desperately you want him to set you down so you can scratch your arms off, as you think that'll only worsen the situation. 

Your words don't register, he can't seem to hear you as he searches through the medical bag, suddenly ripping his hand from inside to pull out an epi pen. And before you can protest, he's setting you on the desk and jabbing it into your thigh. 

You yelp, and he immediately relaxes. For the most part. As his posture sags, face downturned, he speaks again, dejected. "Please forgive us. We're so sorry. Had we been paying attention this never would have happened."

"Sunny, it's okay. It was a mistake." You set a hand on his shoulder, he flinches at your touch. 

Suddenly he looks up, anger in his tone, though not at you, you quickly realize. "But we hurt you! How can you be so calm about this!?"

"Because it's a minor allergy, silly bot." You cup his face with both hands as his rays flit about. "Do you have any idea how many things have red dye in them? Especially Valentine's candy? I've probably had to take an antihistamine like four times this week already."

You ignore his wide-eyed stare at your statement in favor of pressing your lips to his smile for a moment. "It's my fault for not checking beforehand, not yours. You were just trying to be nice and do something sweet for me. And I appreciate that more than anything. Really, I do. I'm… flattered, honestly." You mumble the last bit, looking away as you comprehend what you just did. 

A hand on your cheek makes you glance back to him, eyes now lidded and tone syrupy. "We're glad..." He shakes his head. "But, still. It won't happen again! Now come on, what you need is proper rest and relaxation!"

Again you're picked up, carried away to be sat in the attendant's lap in a bean bag, blanket suddenly covering you both and a couple of coloring books and crayons appearing out of nowhere. 

"Don't you worry, we'll think up an even better gift to give you before the day is over! I promise!" Sun says as he gets to work on coloring. 

You pause to register everything that just happened, then chuckle, shaking your head. "Okay, but really, it's alright. This is just as thoughtful, you know. But we'll have to clean at some point, don't forget."

Sun hums, and he's so focused you think he only half hears you. You laugh again, and snuggle back into him to get started yourself. As his free hand slings round your waist you feel yourself start to burn up all over again. 

The rest of the afternoon is filled with similar activities, neither attendant letting up at all about 'making it up to you' despite your insistence that you were okay. 

You didn't mind in the slightest though, now snuggled in Moon's arms as you both sit reading. 

"As horrible as it sounds I'm kinda glad you bought those chocolates." You glance up to him, small smile on your face. "I don't think things would've ended up this way if you hadn't."

Moon tsks, though his eyes hold a certain cheekiness. "Maybe not, but that doesn't mean we'll ever be letting it happen again. There are much better ways to end up with you in my arms." He flicks your forehead and you huff. Only to be silenced by a brief peck to your lips. 

He holds something up for you then, and taking a moment to focus you see it's a bundle of paper roses. Looking closer you see some are made from coloring pages, and others from Moon's book. 

"We have plenty of more books of all kinds before you worry. And it was the least we could do considering what happened earlier."

You take the bundle, admiring the detail in each folded piece of paper. "They're lovely. Truly. Thank you both." You twist again to kiss his cheek, then go back to fawning over your present, warm smile on your lips. 

"Once we get ahold of Officer Ryan's credit card again we'll be sure to get you something better, I promise." Moon presses a kiss to the top of your head, and picks up his book once more. 

You pause then. "I, let's not do that—you didn't think to save it?"

"We did. But just inputting it directly isn't nearly as thrilling." He snickers. 

"Moon!" 

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you for the request @dangerva! I enjoyed writing the sillies panicking (just a little bit) hehe

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist

[sixeyescurseuser]

《a quiet place》

Growing up deaf was as difficult as one could imagine, considering Geto’s parents weren’t aware of or had access to the resources to accommodate his disability.

Hearing people - the teachers or kids his age - didn’t have the most patience either. They treated him like he was dumb when he's actually so incredibly bright, just as smart as anyone else! Bullies would sneak up and scare the shit out of him. Others simply pretended he didn’t exist. 

It was hard making connections when no one communicated like Geto did.

After time, Geto made peace with his situation. He mostly kept to himself, nose buried in his books or playing outside, befriending nature’s little creatures instead. Geto’s parents thought speaking quickly would prevent him from reading their lips, but he still knew they had wished for a normal child who didn’t have his “issues.”

Thus, Geto was used to people approaching him at first sight. He was also used to them leaving him alone after realizing he couldn’t hear. After graduating from high school, it was an easy decision to leave his small hometown and attend university in the big city. 

Here, Geto has managed to make a total of two friends, Haibara and Yuki, who always invite him to do normal college kid things!

Presently, Geto finds himself dancing in the club with his friends, moving along to the pulsing vibrations of the music. They stop at the bar for more drinks or water, and that's when the bartender places a drink in front of Geto despite him not ordering anything?

It's a pink drink with a little umbrella, and Geto can only make out the "mocktail" and "guy over there" from reading the bartender's lips. Geto looks over to see a head full of striking white hair and a face adorning obsidian-black shades.

/Good evening/, the stranger casually signs.

(Geto inside: "HUH??")

Geto is too shocked to sign anything back. He’s stuck looking between the drink and the stranger whose gaze is entirely too piercing, even from behind the shades.

The stranger frowns, points at the drink he ordered for Geto.

/Not to your taste? I can drink it instead. It's raspberry-flavored./ The white-haired man signs with minimal pauses, eyebrows furrowed as if he's actually concerned about the flavor choice for Geto.

Here we introduce Gojo Satoru, physics and engineering double major, who picks up random skills like they’re digimon, and sign language happened to be one of them.

Thank heavens he did because Geto Suguru has been on his radar for a few months now. They share a social science course together and Gojo has always taken aback by how articulate Geto was. It certainly helped that Geto was stunning with his silky, jet-black locks and sly, amber-colored eyes. 

And, well, Geto's always in the same spot in the library. Gojo was bound to notice how majestic he looked studying with his hair pulled back into a bun, tapping away at his computer.

Gojo felt an instant pull to Geto but never worked up the nerve to approach him.

Until now, when they’re sitting across from each other at this random bar on a Sunday night. (It helps that Gojo has been planning to make a move for months. Simp.)

Geto finally processes the fact that this white-haired man is full-on signing to him. It’s too good to be true. Perhaps they can become friends, where they can talk through Geto’s language, for once!

Geto moves over to Gojo’s side of the bar, plopping down in the seat beside him. They end up spending the rest of their night together, making small but intimate talk. Geto leaves with Gojo's number in his phone and a text from him expressing how much he enjoyed the night thanks to Suguru. 

After that night, they text each other nonstop. And when they're not texting, they're doing something together: studying, going on walks, eating out. 

Geto is addicted to Gojo’s corny cat memes. Maybe to the daily selfies Gojo sends too, where Gojo says he’s “blessing Suguru’s eyes.” He has no idea how true that is for Geto. 

(Geto saves those photos for ... research purposes.)

It’s safe to say that Geto finds Gojo soooo incredibly hot - his face, his mannerisms, his mind. Gojo never fails to include Geto, whether by putting captions with his presentations or signing while he talks. He even used his connections to set up a JSL club for their university. 

Geto insistently denies his crush, but Haibara and Yuki know better. They see the way Geto’s entire face lights up when he receives messages from Gojo during their movies nights. 

It does not help that whenever Gojo and Geto’s friend groups hang out together, the pair are sooo touchy and sweet with each other. Gojo could be telling a story, and his eyes would always flicker to Suguru's, signing the important bits for emphasis. 

Geto is enthralled, shooting Gojo heart eyes that are so obvious to everyone else. They are clearly flirting. Some of it also happens to be Gojo just being himself and Geto finding himself wooed. (Again, Geto would never admit - out loud or silently.)

While Geto does prefer to sign to communicate, one of the few words he loves speaking is actually Gojo’s first name. He says it so often, it’s practically muscle memory.

Gojo is astonished to hear Suguru speak with the dialect distinct from his hometown as well as with a slight lisp. He makes Geto repeat his name three to four times until Suguru playfully flicks his forehead to get him to stop. 

Their first kiss is probably in the library, Gojo finally able to sit next to Geto while he studies. Surprisingly, it’s Geto who has given up on hopes of studying any longer. It’s easy enough to grab Satoru’s attention with a wave, casually signing an existential question of, /Do you think parallel universes exist?/

The pair calmly sign back and forth, sharing secret smiles, and thighs pressed together from how close they sit. After finishing a few games of footsies, Gojo being the sore loser, he pulls Geto against his chest and kisses the top of his head. Geto is starstruck, feels so warm and gooey inside.

That's when the casual kisses on the head, forehead, and cheek start between them.

Gojo is too hesitant to kiss Suguru directly. Doesn't want to read too much into things because he gets attached easily, and this thing with Suguru is more than he could ever ask for.

Meanwhile, Geto is going through all the ways to make Satoru break and /kiss./ him/.

Gojo sometimes sleeps over too so they end up sharing Geto's bed. Their littol hearts beat in-sync at 200 beats per minute. Geto is worried because he does not know if a heartbeat is something others can hear. Maybe if it beats too fast, it’s like a purring sound?

Unacceptable. He forces his heart to calm down because he cannot let Satoru know how crazy he is about him. Steam is gonna blow out of his ears from how hard he's concentrating and overthinking. Gojo pauses when he looks over to see how red Suguru's cheeks are.

/Hey/, Gojo signs to get Geto's attention. When Geto slowly locks eyes with him, Gojo reaches over to place the back of his hand against Geto's forehead. Using his opposite hand, Gojo signs, /Are you feeling okay? You look a little flushed./

/I'm fine! I'm fine/! Geto signs while smacking Gojo's hand away.

Stay still, my beating heart, Geto thinks frantically.

Alas, Geto fails to see that whenever Gojo enters the room, the first person he looks for is Geto. Even if there are others calling his name, Gojo's eyes search for Suguru’s warm amber ones. Geto is so happy because someone notices him first despite him not being able to call for their attention - Satoru is always looking at him.

Until the day Gojo shows up for a group hangout, a girl pulls him into conversation before he can make his way over. Geto knows by her body language and how close she gets to Satoru that she's hoping to win his affections tonight.

Geto wilts a little. Maybe... maybe Satoru wasn't coming over as soon as Geto thought he was.

Geto goes to find Haibara or Yuki, deciding to give Satoru time alone with the girl.

Not even five minutes later, Gojo appears, lightly tapping Geto's shoulder to get his attention from behind. Regardless of what conspired, Geto offers a warm smile, and happily bumps his shoulder against Gojo's chest. 

They're in the bar and restaurant section of an arcade. Their group is together now, always making sure to include Geto in their conversations. When Geto’s friends suggest going into the arcade, Gojo stands up and begins to go along.

Before Geto can stop himself, he puts a hand on Satoru's chest and signs, /What about that girl?/

Gojo blinks at him blankly. 

/What girl?/ he signs back. Geto's eyebrows knit together. Is Satoru being dumb on purpose??

/The one you were talking to before you joined us,/ Geto signs with a sigh, his movements getting lazy due to his anxiety. /Did you want to spend more time with her?/

Gojo's eyes widen in realization, and then he's rapidly shaking his head.

/What?? Why would I?/ Gojo asks. He looks bewildered, in a sense, and Geto is feeling self-conscious enough as it is because why did his stupid brain have to ask questions??

Geto shrugs helplessly, then signs, /She didn't interest you?/ 

Gojo's face breaks out into an amused smile.

/Suguru, I already have someone I'm interested in./

What...?

And that's when Geto's heart shatters into a million pieces.

/WHO?/ Geto signs with a sweeping gesture.

Gojo's hands pause mid-air, freezing upon the directness of Geto's question.

When he doesn't answer for a long moment, Geto swallows thickly, and pushes down his guilt, his yearning, and his pride.

/Never mind. It's none of my business,/ Geto signs quickly, then turns on his heel and flees.

Against his better judgement, risking one more look at the man his heart belongs to, Geto chances a look over his shoulder. Geto's met with the sight of Gojo barreling into him, arms wrapping around Geto so tightly like he never plans to let him go.

Vibrations against his skin indicate Satoru's talking, but Geto can't understand a word. An apology? An explanation?

"Sssatoru...?" Geto says, feeling the raspiness of his voice from the lack of use. 

In response, Gojo pulls back just enough so he can use one hand to point to Suguru.

"/You. It's //you.//" Gojo says and signs. Geto's still a little lost, eyes flickering between the finger jabbed towards him and Satoru's earnest expression.

/Me?/ Geto signs and mouths silently. Gojo nods once, eyes holding an intensity that Geto realizes he must have been too afraid to truly see.

Gojo sadly retracts the other hand that was on Geto's waist so he can sign, /I didn't want that girl, or any other person, because the only one I want is /you./ 

Geto audibly gasps, his heart feeling like it's ceased beating completely. Is this real life? Did Satoru really... feel the same way?

/You are my person, understand?/ Gojo finishes signing, eagerly awaiting Geto's reply. (He signs so passionately that his hands are making slapping sounds.) Along with his facial expressions, Geto gets the point instantly. 

/I feel the same,/ Geto signs back, happy tears gathering in his eyes. /You are my person too./

Geto surges up to hug Satoru close, giggling when Satoru obnoxiously rubs his face in the crook of Geto's neck. Geto's breath hitches when Satoru also peppers kisses along his skin, feeling ten times more intimate after their confessions.

Nestled in the dim hallway, where no one else lingers nearby, Geto says the two words he’s been yearning to say for a while now. 

“Kiss me,” he whispers, because Satoru cannot see his hands at the moment. Without further adieu, Gojo cups Geto's cheek and softly presses their lips together. He also gently presses Geto against the wall, leaving not a single space where their bodies are not touching. 

Geto's heart soars within his chest. He's so happy! All of Geto's senses are 100% tuned into the way Satoru kisses and holds him. Even closes his eyes because without sight and sound, Geto knows he trusts Satoru with his life. 

It's pure bliss. 

He can't hear the way Gojo is making pleased noises, or how their lips moving together have a wet sound that drive Gojo insane. But Gojo can, and he savors everything. He loves any sound Suguru unknowingly makes too. His satisfied sighs, the way he gasps or his breath hitches, even the faint moans that slip past Suguru's lips. 

Gojo swallows all of them. 

Later on, Gojo finds he loves to whisper dirty things to Geto in public. He knows his boyfriend’s shudders are just because of the sensations on his ear but it satisfies Gojo to no end. 

Plus, the couple will sign the most inappropriate things to each other in public because practically no one can understand. For example, Geto signs that he wants Satoru to fuck him against the wall when they get home.

One of Gojo's friends: "What did your boyfriend say?"

Gojo, clearing his throat: "Um, that he wants soba for dinner."

Gojo signing to Geto: /I'll do whatever you want, baby/

Geto: ☺️

A few months later, they're sharing Geto's bed cuddled like two sleepy cats together. Geto has a leg thrown over Satoru's hips, where Satoru has been tapping his thigh in a repetitive pattern over and over again. It's nowhere near the first time Satoru has done so, but Geto snaps his fingers to get Satoru's attention - who was previously scrolling on his phone.

/What does it mean?/ Geto asks. Upon Gojo's confused expression, Geto gestures to Gojo's hand on his thigh, fingers continuing their tapping motion.

/It's morse code. It means.../ Gojo pauses, tapping out the full message, slower this time. /I love you./

Geto's eyes soften, and he scoots closer until their faces are mere centimeters apart.

"Teach me," Geto breathes out against Gojo’s lips.

And so he does. 

They’ll never stop coming up with ways to say “I love you.”

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

[phantom-of-the-ruckus]

Why the fuck someone waybacked my deactivated DA-

[naga-raja-suresh]

Suresh's nose had fixed itself, there had been nothing to stop it from going back to what it was supposed to look like so it straightened itself without any further interference. The Naga grinned, "I was keeping you prone. You kicked me in the face. Slightly different... -what do the children say these days- Vibes? But you're right. Even is even." It wasn't something to stay on. He could move past it for the time being. He listened to the laugh. Interested in the sound. He knew that Callum hadn't been telling the whole truth but Suresh was not about to wholesale believe the witch. Not now, not ever. He simply nodded, "That is what he told me." Because it had been. He leaned his head on the couch and listened to whatever semblance of the truth poured from Corvinus' lips. The relationships with the Lightless was contentious at best but they had found a common ground until the man sitting across from him had appeared. Suresh nodded his head. The way Corvinus told it was a bit different than how the Hellhound had painted the circumstances. And somewhere in the middle was what had actually had happened. Suesh nodded again and said, "Yes, I believe he called you a walking abomination." But that was between Loughty and his god. His need to right the scales. True believers had their place in all orders. Suresh's golden talons clicked against each other as he folded his hand over his chest. At the string of mostly rhetorical questions Suresh shrugged, "Why do any of us hide anything? Because we do not trust." The comment about nagas and Callum made Suresh's eyes narrow and he shook his head, "Naga's are natural. Old or not. Just because no one knows what our life expectancy actually is... we are natural." Well, they were natural. Whatever he'd done to augment himself... that was something else.

Suresh considered what Corvinus thought would be the things that he would reject outright. He wasn't going to give Corvinus a blank check. The Naga let out a soft amused noise when the witch said he didn't mind getting his own hands dirty. Of course. "If you are disliked that is entirely up to you." But whatever the witch chose to do he would do. A favor that he could reject was fine with Suresh.

He glanced down at his hands. Looking at his talons. Then back back up at Corvinus. "The talons are what bother you? Really? Alright then." He cracked his neck and drew in a breath and a soft shimmer on his hands, talons gone like they had never been. "Standing in the rubble looking across at each other... No. There is no rush. Though the next time I think neither of us will be holding back like we were..." A soft acknowledgement that what had happened between them was a mere skirmish. "Most people that know what I can do either crave it or are repulsed by it. I'm not fond of either reaction." Suresh reached his right hand out across the space between them, palm up, offering it to the witch. "You don't have to pretend." He held it there waiting, just to see what he would do.

An elemental witch... It didn't feel right. But wanted a face to the Nameless. Something with no face and no real intentions were difficult to guard against. And there was always the possibility that the leader could be trapped and then killed. However Suresh was not in a rush to gather all the important people in the city into one spot for the Nameless to possibly act against. "I will reach out along the channels I am able to use. And give you a location when appropriate. But why offer him up? You could have given him one of us couldn't you?" Suresh agreed that others feared power. It's why he hid so much of his. His eyes drifted over Corvinus' face as he spoke about being erased from living and written memory. "We've seen our share of Ozymandias' I think. But for us, it goes in cycles. We are the gods and we are the monsters. It just depends on the age and who writes the histories. But we are the myths and legends. Things that the others can only hope to aspire to."

He couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the mention of being slapped, as if they both hadn't taken their fair share of blows for the night. At least Corvinus had wrapped up his fairly quickly. Torture nonetheless but it had been fairly quick and not so...invasive. Or at least in his own eyes. "And you broke several of my bones. What's a little kick in the nose for that?" A nose could gush blood easily, that was true, but it allowed him a glimpse of the healing in Suresh as well. Not as quick, but effective either way. He did wonder if it would automatically set properly like his own body or if it would fuse into whatever position it was left in. But at the mention of Callum, oh, that earned a whole laugh. "A territory dispute? That's what he told you? Oh, he is quite the liar then. There was no territory dispute. Just because our countries aren't far from each other doesn't mean mean anything. I've never once claimed all of bloody Ireland and certainly not Scotland. I have an estate and property around it, that's all I ask others to not step into."

Clearly the man was trying to keep things under wraps, to hide his history from the others. Corvinus knew better, had come face to face with what the Lightless leader now tried to hide. It did make Corvinus all the more curious what else the renowned Hellhound was trying to keep hidden. What was one blood witch the others were aware of? Who else had he gone after. "I call him the cú sídhe. Hellhound, not too much of a thing to us Irish. I'd never even heard of him before but apparently he had a name amongst others. It just wasn't important enough to reach me so there couldn't have been any territory dispute to begin with. I was happily minding my own business at the time." Well, not exactly. He had been meddling around in political affairs at the time but that wasn't important. "He found me. He hunted me. All because my lifespan defies 'natural order' as he put it and I had blood on my hands. That's what he did. He sought out those that were alive for too long and snuffed them out, or if they committed any sort of egregious crime that justice had not been served. Judge, jury, executioner." Of course, Corvinus had learned all of that after the fact, when he had become aware of Callum and had temporarily been on his radar. Corvinus had simply gotten bored of tracking him across Europe and a few other continents.

Though a thought did occur to him. "It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why hide it? What else has he killed for sins or for simply living longer than others?" He was staring into space for a moment, as if considering, before his gaze returned to Suresh. "What do you think he would do if another very old naga had crossed his path? Perhaps that's why he hid it from you."

The scale was a reach, he knew that. Especially after he had just been caught with naga blood; it meant it would most certainly not be used for mere decoration and would simply go into spellwork. Likely against Suresh himself. But he took the rejection in stride, giving only a small shrug though certainly a face of disappointment at the potential to deny a favour. "Oh, don't worry. I won't ask you to kill anyone or anything like that. Or any pieces of you. I have no issue getting my own hands dirty. Think of it as more insurance down the road. Especially if I'm so disliked within this city and want to enjoy my time here." Hopefully enough of a reassurance that whatever the favour was shouldn't be too gruesome though Corvinus couldn't say for sure. He merely liked the idea of being owed.

How quick the other was to retreat. He rose an eyebrow, gaze drifting down the other's long form and eyes particularly on the talons. Those were his main concerns for the moment. "Put the claws away and I certainly wouldn't mind if you did. The thing with us ancient beings is...we don't have to rush to kill each other. I could wait another thousand years and still have every chance to come back and end you if I wanted. The mortals, their lives are so fleeting. If they don't kill now, they may not have another chance. There have been surprisingly few that have upset me enough to warrant me murdering them right away." Though those that did...well, he always went beyond simply attacking them and killing them. Even killing was a game. Wipe out the family, leave them for last, let them know they were being hunted and let them live in fear of it.

At least he was getting somewhere, one step closer into settling in officially as the leader of the Nameless. An order here and there didn't mean much while he was still pulling the strings from the shadows. There was clearly a dislike for the actions so far, but no real admiration for how far he could get just yet. That would come with the meeting. "An elemental, I believe. He didn't want to talk too much about his powers." But he would invite the others. Gather them all. There was a brief though it would be the perfect setting to destroy them at once but that was hardly any fun and would only descend into chaos so quickly. "Simply tell me where to be and I'll make sure he's there. You finally get the meeting he's been avoiding and thankfully I'm quite good at luring. As for being so disliked....people just don't appreciate power. They fear it instead. But it's better than damnatio memoriae." Something he'd ensured for his predecessors.

[spkyart]

I am so normal about them

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)

Hi guys. So. Crazy Story. The crisis that stopped me from working on my banner art actually catapulted me into writing this drabble finally! (Also the wonderful @ancha-aus was also a life-saver and helped me hammer out a few plot points for this installment <3)

Currently my only context for this drabble is that Error is tiny, and ran away from home because Geno moved to Reaper's kingdom to make money to send back home, and Fresh spent too long away on his trip. Error was expelled from his magic academy and came home to an empty house, so he left! Now he's been on the road for about a month? Nightmare has been ruling for about 6-ish years now, almost 7.

(Hello @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hi guys!!!)

     The town was bustling. 

   Error had been through a lot of towns since he’d left. Big ones, small ones, ones he was convinced weren’t even towns at all, just a few barns in a general closeness to one another who decided they needed to call themselves something besides the outskirts. Those people had been particularly hostile to his passing through.

   And, lately, they’d been really weird. People staring at him when he’d walk on the streets, or pass by shops. When they saw he had money from a different kingdom (he didn’t even realize he’d left his own, but he figured it meant he was on the right path) they’d squeeze their faces like they bit a lemon and hastily take his coin. Like it was cursed, or something. They were lucky it wasn’t cursed, honestly. He could probably figure out how to do that.

    This town, though, was filled so full with people that he imagined they couldn’t look at him weird if they wanted to. 

   People were riding horses, chatting in the streets, all sorts of stalls and merchants were peddling goods, and he was almost positive he could hear music lifting down the street over the general drone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run into a place so busy. He’d always been told to stick to the side, out of the way, out of danger. 

   He didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Though, he did skirt the crowds. The mass of people seemed all too willing to bump shoulders or elbows with each other in the early morning sun, and the last thing he wanted was to have his magic act up in a crowd. He’d done well so far. 

   Every booth, every merchant, every passerby seemed jubilant, ebbing and flowing. It was like some sort of party. 

   That was, until, Error spotted it.

   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 

   It was an amphitheatre. 

   Geno had taken him to see one once. Or, at least, the ruin of one. It hadn’t been too far from their home, and it was pretty abandoned and lonely. Plants had crawled up its walls, stones had fallen off in chunks, animals seemed to have deemed its high windows a perfect spot to build nests. It had been breathtaking, and ancient. 

   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 

   The walls were all in-tact, stones, an easy to look at grey, smooth and covered in little intricate carvings. Spells, he had to imagine, in some language he didn’t know. Curtains hung over the huge arched entrances, and heavy gates seemed to be lifted, the spikes at the base loomed over the heads of every passerby. 

   He couldn’t help but marvel. Was this a restoration, or maybe it was new. Some sort of imitation. Regardless, he found that his feet carried him to one of the entrances, which stood largely empty aside from some folks who looked strikingly like guards.

   Two of them stood, long spears in-hand. They both stood stock still as Error approached, and didn’t move a muscle as he passed them. They were strange, definitely different. Not at all the town guard he was familiar with. 

   The inside of the theatre was even more impressive. Rows and rows of stands seemed to line up either side. Huge tapestry hung from the high arches past those seats, and down the runways of the bleachers, all a bright teal and dark navy blue. They seemed fancy, and much newer than the curtains which had hung in the entrance. 

   Beyond the walkway where he stood, was a set of stairs which led down a level or so, before it leveled out into an open space. Sandy, and very flat. It seemed like there were people there, too. A much smaller crowd, but still a crowd nonetheless. 

   Error was almost amazed he’d not been stopped by someone yet. Whatever was going on seemed important, and so far in his experience, people did not like him sticking his nose into important business. 

   With that in mind, he decided he’d stick to the entryway for now. He leaned his bag up against the wall and watched from a position where the sun still shadowed his form. He was often grateful for his miscolored bones. It made hiding in the dark a whole lot easier. 

   It took a bit for him to really process what he was watching in the morning light. 

   There were four people sat on a sort of raised box toward the front of a stage. A huge stage, raised up off the sand with wood slats. They had a long-table before them, and quills and ink jars in-hand. Well, three were sitting. One was standing. But the point is, they were all watching the stage very attentively. 

   On-stage there was… basically nothing. Only a simple backdrop Error had to imagine was there at all times, because it looked like it was coated in sand, even from the distance where he stood.

   A person would enter the stage, the people sat on the box would speak to them, and then there was a flare of magic. Another. Another. And then they were dismissed. 

   It wasn’t until he really bothered to think about what magic was being cast that he realized those were extremely simple spells being used. Levitate, Create Water, Mimicry. Or Flame, Gust, Light. All just three easy spells, and then they were off-stage. That was taught magic. It gave him memories of his entrance exam to his school. He’d been way overqualified to get in, Geno taught him after all…

   But, no, this didn’t feel the same. There were plenty of people who seemed to stumble at spells they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t muster a simple breeze. Then others who were very old and obviously skilled. Obviously they found the three spells to be child’s play. Like Error would. This was no entrance exam, so what-

   “Hey, pipsqueak, what are you doing there in the dark?” A voice startled him, and it took all of his willpower to avoid jumping away from its origin. 

   Error twisted rapidly, just in time to avoid the thrust of an elbow in his direction. 

   There was a monster there. Three, actually. Two lizards, both bright green and tropical, and one who looked more like a dragon. The green one closer to him must have spoken, because he laughed at Error’s flinch. 

   “Why are you bothering me?” Error shot back haughtily. 

   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  

   “Oh, so we’ve got a feisty little small fry here? Thinks he’s scoping out the competition?” The dragonish one hissed, voice deep. 

   The other green one tittered a giggle, “So cute! I can’t believe the King really decided to let just anyone try out for Royal Mage.” 

   Oh…

   The lizard before him seemed to take this silence as a weakness, and reached out quicker than Error could react. A flick to the middle of his forehead. 

   Error winced and pulled away, back and into the arena. He grit his teeth and clutched his skull, where at the same moment the lizard jumped back and shook their hand in the air a bit. His magic had reacted poorly again, and while it was better than it used to be, it still stung like 5 wasps touching down and stinging the same point all at once. 

   “Little freak.” Was all the monster hissed, before he fled. His two friends moving on behind him in confusion. Approaching the line to the stage. 

   Error stood there in the sun for a moment, rubbing at his forehead until the pain was more of a numb static. 

   If anything, he appreciated the little run-in with those wanna-bes. Now he knew exactly what this was, and why it had felt so familiar to him. 

   The Mage Trials. 

   Geno had to go through them, and he’s been very thorough about his every single detail while doing it. Even though he was the best mage Error had ever known, he’d still stressed and wrote page after page of plans and spells and had placed them into a folder that felt thicker than an encyclopedia. Geno had always been the only one of them who bothered studying. Fresh couldn’t go to school anymore, and Error… Well, Error didn’t need to. 

   Thinking about it, Geno had been very quiet about it, but Error had looked into his folder a few times. Just out of curiosity. It’d been split into three rounds, something Geno had said was standardized. The first was a test of someone’s basic magic skills, the second were more complex spells which the mage has practice in, and the third, the one that had given Geno the most grief, was the personal spell round. In the last one, there were no restrictions to what someone could do, so long as they had done the work themselves, and that it mostly used magic. 

   If he was right, and he usually was, then this was the first round. Eliminating those with nothing but a hope and a prayer in their pocket before they got embarrassed before the one looking for the Mage in the first place. In this case, whoever this kingdom’s king even was. 

   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 

   This was how he’d prove himself. 

   The line was already starting to get longer, and he didn’t want to be here until nightfall in a queue. He dusted off his scarf, his shoes, his bag, and set off into the bright sun to secure his place in this contest. No prep. No warning. Just with his raw skill and what he’d learned so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

.

   Finally. 

   Error felt like it had been hours in the warm sun before he was finally up next. 

   He’d been watching, of course. Watching as the people before him were passed or failed. It was just as he’d expected, and he couldn’t help but be a bit giddy as the two green lizard who’d bothered him earlier both failed. Though their dragonish friend had passed, it was still enough of a victory for him.

   Along with that, he noticed that the three people sat were all in robes of nobles. Something the wealthy and lofty would think to wear in a blazing hot arena all day. The one standing, though, was wearing all black. A hood was over his head, but Error thought he might be some sort of cat-monster. Very stone faced, very still. The only time Error had seen him move was seemingly to veto whatever choice the other three were making. He thought it was interesting. 

   That didn’t matter, though. 

   Based on what he’d seen, these people wouldn’t have any qualms with his magic. He was much better than half the people who’d already been passed, and knew he could keep him calm up on the stage. It’d be just like his entrance exam. 

   He watched as the monster who’d gone before him, a skeleton who was twice his height and twice as animal-ish, bowed gratefully to the people on the boxes, the evaluators, and exited. She’d passed fairly easily, Error thought. Though, her focus seemed elsewhere based on how shaky the hold on her last flame had been. 

   “Next!” 

   The call was shrill, and Error had heard it over a hundred times already today, but this time it bounced in his ears as he lifted himself up the steps and strode onstage. 

   If he’d thought about it, he would’ve tried to find a place to stache his bag, but it was too late for that, and frankly he didn’t trust it not to get stolen once it was out of his sight. Not with how busy the city seemed. 

   When he was stood in the center of the stage, he looked out across the way to the evaluators. They seemed closer up here than they did when he was on the ground. Interesting. 

   “First spell,” The person on the far left called, though Error could tell now that it was a voice projection spell. So they didn’t strain their vocal chords, “ Levitate.”

   That was simple. One of the first spells he’d been taught as a kid. 

   His eyes skimmed briefly, there had been a few props on stage that he only noticed once he was closer that were meant to be used with this sort of spell, but Error wasn’t for that. Instead, he muttered the words under his breath, outstretched a hand, and felt his magic reach out around him. Beyond the stage. 

   There… There was a barrier of some sorts, pushing back against his magic, between himself and the evaluators. He furrowed his brow and urged his magic forward. He didn’t have to break through it. He just. Had to- His magic felt like it was looping and wriggling like a worm through the dirt, but when it broke through on the other end, it felt so much more clear. He could feel a potent magic there, something raw and wet, like the air before a storm. 

   That didn’t matter, though. None of it did, because he was on a mission. His magic finally found its target, the stacks of ink bottles which the middle evaluator had just before their parchment. The magic latched on, and Error finally allowed himself a grin as he tugged his hand upwards. They floated calmly into the air, three of them, and did a quick spinning motion, before settling back down just where he’d found them.

   He didn’t catch the looks on the threes faces, but he had to imagine they were priceless. He was more focused on letting the spell dissipate and preparing for the next. 

   It took a moment, before, “Second Spell,” They said, “Create Water.” 

   Another easy one. 

   Error held his hand out again, though this time his palm faced the sky rather than the ground. At the mutter of his words, he could feel the water manifesting. Tiny droplets leaking from his fingers and into the air above his open palm, where he let it gather into a nice, easy sphere. 

   It hovered, and for this one he could see the nods from the three evaluators. The fourth, the cat monster, didn’t move an inch. A good sign. 

   Error, after a breath, moved the orb of water and simply set it on the stage floor. If he had to release it, he didn’t exactly want to get his clothes wet. That orb tended to shoot outwards when he released it, and the water would go everywhere. 

   “Third spell,” They must’ve been contented with his simply setting down the water, for they continued, “Flame.”

   Ah, one of his favorites. He was never very good at it, of course, but it was certainly very fun. If nothing else it’d be a taste of his raw power.

   He rolled up his hanging sleeves, quickly using strands of string to wrap them in place, before he picked back up the water orb in one hand. With the other, he faced his palm toward the side of it, and spoke the words for the flame spell. 

   The heat gathered in his wrist, and all at once shot out of his palm, like a cannon blast. The heat was intense, and Error laughed quietly to himself in pure elation as the fire did exactly what he was hoping. All at once, his glasses fogged, and a burst of steam blew past his face, off to the exiting side of the stage. He’d evaporated his orb, no longer needing to risk someone seeing him fumble with it and soak himself. 

   He let the fire die after a few second, and quickly grabbed the hem of his scarf to wipe down his glasses from the fog left behind on their surface. 

   The moment the red rims were back on the bridge of his nose, the voice spoke up again. 

   “Name?”

   Error cleared his throat, before calling back his name in response. Just the first one, the last one didn’t matter anymore. 

   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 

   “Age?”

   Error hadn’t heard them ask anyone else for their age, but he figured they’d noticed. How strong and talented he was at such a young age. 

  He puffed up his chest when he announced, “Twelve!” to the arena. 

   There were a few muffled murmurs from the line, but Error was too busy grinning across the way at the evaluators as they seemed to talk amongst themselves. 

   He was ready to hear the word that would mark him to continue. The next part was tomorrow, after this round was concluded and the king arrived. He’d heard about it in the line while he was waiting. 

   One of the evaluators lifted their gaze back to him. Opened their mouth.

   “Disqualified.”

   That.

   Huh?

   Error must’ve visibly glitched at the response, because one of the evaluators seemed to flinch. Ever so slightly. 

   “How come?!” Error called back, reservations immediately fleeing his mind.

   How could they disqualify him? He hadn’t heard them do that to literally anyone else so far today. 

   The evaluator on the far right spoke up, “Too young. Now please move off the-”

   Error might’ve let his mouth speak before his mind, if he hadn’t seen the way the mysterious cat monster seemed to slink forward. A simple tap to the evaluator’s side and they stopped mid-sentence, attention drawing to the person. 

   He waited with balled fists. Hoping, against it all, that this person was using his mighty veto powers to get him his passing review. 

   “The Knight wishes to speak to you further.” They said, when the person, the Knight, took a step back. “Exit the stage.” 

   Mm. 

   This was his chance. This was his moment. He was being allowed to move on, he was sure of it. It had to be. 

   He practically scrambled off the stage and down the steps, and found that the Knight had closed the distance very quickly. He gestured silently for Error to follow him off to the side of the arena, seemingly outside of the voice spell’s range, as the noise of magic and calling for the next viewer seemed all muffled and contained. 

   Something Error noticed about the guy, now that he was right beside him walking along, was also that he wasn’t a cat monster. No, he had some sort of mask shaped like a cat. Black spots painted on black fur, with piercing white eyelights hidden in the darkness cast by his black hood. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, so Error would’ve had no idea what kind of monster he was, if he hadn’t left his hands uncovered. They were grey and grimy, but they were most certainly bones. 

   The other thing he noticed, was the magic. That damp, airy magic was no-doubt from this guy. It practically enveloped the both of them until they were stood in the shade of the wall separating bleachers from arena floor. 

   “You said you’re twelve?” He finally asked, shifting on his feet to look at Error. 

   The last thing he noticed, which only happened once he was able to look past the aura, was that. Well. He was a bit taller than this guy. Not by much, but there was certainly something stark about having to look a bit downwards to meet his eyelights. 

   “Yes, I am.” He claimed proudly, still convinced this was to be his ride to the top.

   The knight seemed to skim him with his eyes. Surely taking in Error’s clothes, his bag, his glasses, the weird bones. Though, it didn’t feel pervasive. 

   “Impressively strong for a kid,” He praised loosely, “And probably talented in spells if the nerds were any indication.” 

   His voice was quiet and raspy, but Error had no problem listening to it. This strong and very cool guy who was called a ‘knight’ was praising him. This was much better than getting yelled at by his professors. Much. 

   “Does that mean I passed?” He asked impatiently. 

   He needed this. He needed this. 

   The guy’s eyelights lingered on his face a bit, and it was then that Error finally noticed how virtually unreadable this guy was. Impossibly quiet, posture unmoving, all facial features shrouded in shadow and covered by masks?

   “I’m not sure what kingdom you’re from, but you’ve got to understand that the folks up there didn’t say no because you’re bad. They said no because the king made a new decree. “No soul under the age of 16 shall be put to work under the crown.” They’ve gotta take it seriously, just like everyone else has to follow the new rules about their own shops and businesses.” He said evenly, eyelights never leaving Error’s face. “You’re a couple years too early is all.” 

   It felt like he’d been shoved into a ditch, and he could already feel his right hand starting to tremble with the beginnings of a glitch. He was furious! How could they possibly say no to him because of some stupid rule about his age? 

   “No!” He exclaimed, trying to bite back the distortion on his voice, “I’m not going to just walk away. If I could just move on to the next round, they’d see I’m different! I’m not some weak little baby!” 

   He clenched his fists, driving his jittering one forcefully into his pocket. 

   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 

   “They’ve already seen that.” He said easily. “Listen to me. Error, right?” 

   Error hesitantly nodded. 

   “Error, ‘m sure that if my Lord saw you in action, he too would agree that you are very strong and resourceful.” The knight said, and Error hated that it sounded earnest. “But, he set that law into place for very good reason. If by any means those folks back there were to let you through, to pass you, and you made it before the king next round? They’d have committed treason, and I’d have their souls on the end of my bone in three seconds flat.” 

   His voice was hard and serious, and Error held strong as a loud crack echoed out beside the knight. A bone raised from the ground, sharp and jagged on the end, absolutely radiating magic. 

   “Do you really want their blood on your conscience, just so that you get sent away by the King anyways?” The knight offered. 

   Error hunched his shoulders a bit, and he felt his static worsen as he let his eyes linger on the bone. Yes. He muttered inside his head. He wanted to scream it at the man before him. Tell him that this was his one golden chance to prove himself. 

   But to who? He would ask, and Error wouldn’t be able to say it. It’d be a wasted sentiment and wasted time and wasted lives just for his temper tantrum. 

   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 

   He stood there, feeling a familiar shame creep up his spine. The knight made no move to leave, though he did let his bone disappear. The ground looked untouched from where it had split out of. Just more sand. Sand that was getting into Error’s bones. That he’d have to clean out later. Swinging in his hammock, lonely and moping. 

   “Heh,” The chuckle was almost inaudible, and Error was almost ready to let his distress turn back into rage, but, “Better kid than I was.” The Knight mused into the open air.

   He seemed to shift his stance again, and Error took a half step back. 

   “You’ve got your life ahead of you, kid. Don’t let this keep you down. Take the road less traveled by or whatever.” He said then, waving a hand loosely before him. 

   Error stared at him, trying to even his breath, before he had an idea. 

   “The other two rounds will be here, right?” He asked, voice still harshly stuttering and screeching. The Knight seemed unbothered.

   “Yeah. Planning on sticking around to watch?” The knight questioned, though it felt more like a warning. 

   Error nodded in agreement without hesitation. “If these geezers can get the job, I need to see what kind of tricks they have up their sleeves.” He agreed. 

   That earned another little chuckle, before the knight looked back to the stage. 

   Up in the center was a new mage, a human who seemed to be making a pretty wild wind that was whipping the sand around, bothering the people in line behind him. Error heard the knight make a scoffing noise, before turning back towards the stage.

   “Go hang around somewhere else for a while, why don’t you? I have to go make sure those nerds don’t pass that guy.” 

   Error didn’t even get to say a farewell before the Knight was off. 

   It seemed like every stride he teleported a bit further, building speed until he stopped cleanly up on the pedestal. Just in time for the sandstorm to die down. 

   Error didn’t want to walk away from this, he didn’t, but staying would only waste his time. It only took a few more seconds, to watch the knight nudge the evaluator and hear the muffled call of ‘fail’ ring out across the arena before he was turning tail and moving out of the sandy paradise, back into the bustle of the living city. 

.

.

.

   It was impossible to miss it. The sounds of celebration as the monarch entered the town. 

   Error could see the royal carriage from his perch, an old temple tower that had at some point lost its bell. It seemed untouched, birds nests and cobwebs, so he’d set up a hammock and a little makeshift shelter inside using his strings just before night fell. 

   He’d snatched some food from the town as dusk was setting in, and he’d been comfortably whittling away the dark hours, working hard on his plan. 

   With the King officially in town, that meant the second round would be starting up shortly, taking the numbers of who would be in the third round down by hundreds. He hoped the king was stingy about it. He hoped that dragonish monster would stumble on his spell and turn someone into a frog. 

   The thought humored him, and he cackled quietly to himself from his makeshift room. 

   The sun was high again, and he was only a part of the way through. His spells required a lot of his magic to be woven into them, and while it was much much faster than what he’d heard was the usual, it was still difficult to make. 

   Weaving the blue strings from his sockets, to his fingers, around his fingertips, and into the shapes he needed. It was monotonous, and boring by all accounts, but with every strand there was a new flow of power. A new pump of adrenaline into Error’s soul as he recognized his creation becoming more potent. Intent, intent, intent, every loop and knot was filled to the brim with it. His frustration sat at the core. Much more volatile and destructive than his usual intent, but it would serve him well if he wanted this plan to go well. Around it was his determination. The strings woven in with a sense of stubbornness which refused to let go, like a snake swallowing its prey whole. This would compress the first layer into a proper state. Let it coil and coil and coil until it burst. It’d be big, and loud, and send out that message he so desperately needed to be heard by the king. 

   Skipping the second round would probably hurt him in the long run, but… That knight had said he’d have to kill those people if he showed his face in round two. So, he’d just appear in round three instead, and make up for missing the second one. A final act, of sorts. 

   He’d have to be at this all day to make the time crunch. The orb was hardly as big as his palm, not nearly big enough. Though, he had wasted time making the shelter and finding food. He’d just have to skip a couple meals to make up for it. He didn’t really need to eat that much anyways, he’d known that for years. He just tried to make an effort when he smelled something tasty. 

   He knew he could manage. 

   It was late in the night when Error finally started on the outer layers. Those which would be filled with his patience, so that the potent insides would not be sensed as he moved with it among the many magic users. 

   The town had begun to line the streets with torches and party as the stars arrived. No doubt celebrating those who would be at the third and final round tomorrow. The ones who would be competing to become the new Royal Mage. 

   To Error? Every single moment down there was dedicated to him. They just didn’t know it yet. 

.

.

.

   The morning came, and Error only had a few more layers. 

   By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky above, he had finished it, and carefully tucked it into his backpack. He unraveled the strings and carefully wrapped them, shaping them, changing them into a thin net with long ends. This was shoved into his jacket sleeve, the ends clutched tight in his hand. 

   It took him hardly any time at all to get to the arena, and he was early. 

   Good.

   He settled himself up in the stands, as close to the stage as he could get. Many people seemed to be staying outside the arena, sticking to the streets, but there was still enough of a crowd in the bleachers that Error had to be careful as he worked his way along the edges. He needed to be closer. Closer…

   There. 

   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 

   From here, he could see the line to the left, and he could see the people who had finished lingering on the other side. None of them spoke to each other, only standing about, icily, waiting for the rest to finish so they’d know which of them was chosen, and who was not. Error had to imagine that these folks were just as lame and boring as the seniors from his old academy. No fun at all. 

   He waited, so, so patiently, for the next few people. The last few. 

   Though he couldn’t see the spells themselves, he could certainly feel the pressure coming off of them. The control that they’d need to balance it. How much it might’ve drained their energy to do it just once. He was attuned to that sort of thing, he had to be. 

   His assessment was that all of these last few folks weren’t bad, but they were no match for Error’s raw talent. 

   Each spell cast seemed to tick away at Error’s patience, until it finally happened. The last mage went on-stage. It seemed there had been 15 of them. 

   He’d have to make 16, then. 

   It felt like a blur as he jumped the rails and let his strings carry him across the open space, much to the shock of the few who had been watching the competitors from around him. The blue lines snatched at the wooden supports of the stage, and he swung right over top, landing a bit messily in the center of the stage.

   He didn’t have time to look at everything. All he knew was the crowd was much larger than last time, that there was a shout of ‘Hey!’’ from somewhere to his left, and that the box across from the stage now held only three people. Monsters. One Error recognized, the knight in shadows who’d spoken to him. The other two he didn’t know, but he had to assume the one in the middle, tall and imposing, and dark, with an eyelight the same colors as the tapestries, was the King he was looking to impress. That was all he needed to know. 

   “M’lord, my name is Error!” He called out across the sand, and in one motion he shrugged the bag off his shoulders and used his strings to tug the orb out of its canvas body. “I want to prove that I’m more capable than any of the adults who just went before me! I could be your mage!” He would be the mage. 

   The orb sat cradled in Error’s hand for only the briefest moment, before it was inside the little net he’d made. He swung it in circles. Again. Again. Again. 

   He had to be fast. He had to do this quick.

   Error spent one last moment, extending his reach through his strings, muttering words and igniting an intangible spark. 

   For a brief moment, he watched as the King seemed to ease forward. A hand now raised, seemingly calling off his knights, who had been almost in motion. 

   He released the orb directly upwards, momentum carrying it up. 

   Up.

   Up.

   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 

   Error watched it rise above him. 

   Only. 

   “Shit.” 

   His calculations must’ve been off. He must’ve added a layer too many, or maybe he released it a swing too soon. But he could tell that it wouldn’t clear the top of the arena. 

   Maybe if he had a few more seconds he could’ve used strings to boost it. He could’ve sent a magic gust to lift it further. 

   Not the case.

   He watched as the orb detonated, just like it was supposed to. 

   The wave moved horizontally through the air, and swept across the air above the arena so quickly that it sucked the sand from the top layer and threw it against the tall walls. Error’s footing slipped, and he stumbled to his knees on the stage as the wind whipped and tugged the heavy curtains into the air current as well. 

   It was an almost invisible force, Error had to imagine anyone without a solid grasp of magic would entirely miss it as it spread out. 

  He winced as it finally reached the edges of the arena, where he had just barely managed to fall short of clearing. 

   As the magic passed over the stone and mortar, he saw as it fell. Not in chunks, but crumbled like dust into fine particles. The upper half of every arch at the top of the grand amphitheatre, turned pitch black, then wasted away. 

   He hadn’t meant for it to come in contact with anything. It wasn’t supposed to do anything but harmlessly wave over everyone’s heads. As a show of his strength. That was all.

   Error could only think back to when this had happened before. When he’d accidentally exploded Geno’s favorite mug while metering the strength of his strings. When he’d broken the wheel of a carriage passing through the woods with a wayward slingshot blast. When he’d broken all ten of the large windows in the lecture hall of the academy when he failed to complete a spell the way it was written. When he’d done it too well.

   As he rose to his feet, he half expected the nagging voice of his older brother to be there, chastising him for not being more careful, before taking him home and making him dinner. 

   It wasn’t that, though. 

   He watched out across the sand. The king had his head tilted only slightly, looking up at Error’s lofty mistake. At the clean cut where stone now met unbothered air. His knight, the one in all black, was leaned ever so slightly towards him. They must’ve been speaking. Or, at least, the knight was. 

   About Error, he had no doubt. 

   He stayed in place, watching, swaying a bit with the residual force of his own spell lingering in his fingertips. Every instinct which told him to run and to hide were smothered and stamped out by the ligering fact that he had nowhere to go. Without his brothers, there was no one to help him. He knew it. 

   Even in front of this crowd. These mages. This King and his knights. He couldn’t bring himself to move offstage. Some part of him, deep down, childishly wanted the King to announce that he was impressed. To parade him offstage and let him experience what Geno had. Let him know why Geno left. 

   The King’s single eyelight swam back over to look at Error in the silence. 

   Error felt like the world had stopped. 

   It hadn’t.

   There was a clattering of armor and rustling of fabric, suddenly loud in his ears, and he had no time to react as everything came rushing in all at once. 

   Hands. Heavy, gloved hands. Two sets, two hands each wrapped one of his upper arms, and immediately lifted him off the ground. Into the air. 

   Pain flooded into his bones from his soul, like twin lightning strikes, trying to singe the bone and the magic in its core. The pressure wasn’t much, his mind knew that, but his body usually didn’t listen to him. He tried desperately to hold it in. The rampant part of his magic that had been hurting him since he could remember. That made it hard to touch anyone. To shake hands. To hug his brothers. 

   “Let go!” He pleaded, though he wasn’t sure if his voice made any sense. Fresh always told him they couldn’t tell what he was saying when his voice got too bad.

   More pain. He kicked his legs at the open air, and tried to muster control over his strings, just for a moment, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus. 

   And all at once it stopped. 

   Error’s feet were on the ground again, though that promptly became his knees again as he swayed and wavered in the sudden aftermath of his active magic dying down. Receding back into his soul. Because it didn’t need to ‘protect’ him anymore.

   He spotted then, as his vision returned to something aside from the gloves or the sky, that the King was no longer in his throne. In fact, there was a heavy, encompassing, magical weight behind him now. Somewhere very, very close-by.

   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 

   “We are taking a recess.” Announced a booming voice. Very nearby. It was deep, and felt almost the same as the projection spell from two days prior. Then, more quietly, “You will leave the boy to me. Go ensure no one was injured, then manage the crowd. I’ll make my choice tomorrow at sunrise.” 

   The second bit felt quieter, an edge to the tone that Error didn’t quite like. Considering he must be the boy in question. 

   It was a moment, a few muddled ‘Yes, my king’ s, before Error found a pair of boots stepping before him. His head swam as he looked upwards. 

   The King, he figured that had to be him, was dark. Very dark. Like a living, dripping, shadow. Magic seemed to be all he was made of, an aura radiating from him. Dripping off his back into long slimy worms, twitching as they sat near the ground. He wore a fancy cape, too. One with huge gold clasps on his shoulders, one was shaped like the moon. 

   Error looked to his face last. In hindsight, something that could’ve been very, very bad. He was met with a dripping face. Skeletal. The place where his right socket should’ve sat was covered in that dark substance. The other hollow, with that bright cyan orb staring right back at him. 

   “Can you stand?” His voice came easily, and Error braced himself. 

   Could he?

   He had to, he didn’t want to be touched again. 

   Error took another breath, and managed to rise silently to his feet. 

   “Good,” the King said once he was standing, “Follow me.”

   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 

.

.

.

   Error found himself in an odd position. 

   He’d been given time to sit and recover from his magic’s outlash, and now he was sat in a room beneath the bleachers of the arena alongside the King and that knight he’d met before. The other one was guarding the door, he thought. 

   It’d been silent for a while, and it was almost expected when the silence was finally broken. 

   “You said your name is Error, correct?” The King asked, and Error gave a nod of yes. He forced himself to meet the King’s gaze.

   “Dust says that you’re only 12, and our people disqualified you in the first round. Is that right?” 

   Error nodded again. 

   “And Dust even explained to you why you were disqualified?” 

   Another nod. It seemed he’d at least made an impression on the knight. Dust. 

   The King tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyelight holding Error’s tightly. 

   “Then, I’ll ask, what brought you to think this was a good choice? To try and become Royal Mage above any cost it might bring?” The king asked, and Error was surprised to find it was a shockingly gentle tone. “Your home, your family, your life. You are so young, why put it all on the line like this?” 

   Oh. 

   It was almost funny. Was this whole thing because the king was some sort of charitycase? So disillusioned by his perfect life that he couldn’t even think of the hardships any random kid could go through? He almost grinned at that, barely keeping his mouth from twitching in a mix of frustration and humor.

   “I wanted to prove myself,” He muttered, “And besides, becoming the Royal Mage would be great.” 

   He waited, waited for the King to inhale, to say something, before, 

   “I’m an orphan.” He spat, finally. “Family abandoned me, house is left behind, expelled from school. I don’t want to keep wandering.” 

   It was basically the truth. This was his big break. His one last chance before he became a hated little vagabond. Maybe even a criminal. Maybe he’d have to go on the run for the rest of his life, live as a nomad. Join a caravan. Those people got stopped a lot though, kingdoms didn’t like them. He’d probably explode some city’s bakery by mistake and get put in jail for-

   “Wait!” Error suddenly exclaimed, breaking free of his thoughts, “Am I in trouble? Am I going to jail??” He asked then. 

   His worries slammed to a grinding halt and he stared wide-eyed at the two before him. Geno had always told him not to go making his big stuff near town, because if the guard caught him he wouldn’t be able to bail him out. He’d end up in jail. Of course, it’d never happened back then because he was always fast enough. Always smart enough to get out of dodge when he broke something or made poor decisions. Here? Here he hadn’t run when he had the chance. 

   The King stared at him, his one eyelight nearly mirroring Error’s in surprise at the question. 

   “I mean,” he started, “You’re young. If I wont let you work for me, I wouldn’t dare put you in prison either.” The King stated, “Though, you did do quite a bit of damage to the theatre.” 

   Error watched him break eye contact finally and look over his shoulder to the Knight stood there. He’d been silently watching Error too. 

   When he had no insight, The king seemed to heave a sigh, and the shadowy extra limbs which draped around him twitched. 

   “You’re sure you have no family? No home?” the King asked him again, and Error nodded.

   The king muttered something under his breath, and shot the Knight another look. The knight shrugged. 

   “I… Will not employ you. Though, I do see talent in you, Error.” the King said carefully, a bit slower in his words than he had been up until now. Almost… unsure. “I will, however, extend to you the title so that you may conduct…” He waved a hand before himself, as though searching for a word, “ You may conduct independent research. If you accept, of course.”

   “You would be free to resend your acceptance at any moment, no strings attached, and may take any work you complete along with you, and any pay you receive would be given to you after your 16th birthday, if you stay that long.” He added, “I’ll have to rewrite the contract, but-”

   “I accept!” 

   Error couldn’t help himself. He was so excited he could puke. The last thing he’d expected was to pull this off. This shitshow of a scheme actually got him the job? He could scream. He could jump up and down for joy. He didn’t, he sat eagerly and tense in his seat instead, but he could’ve. 

   The King seemed to hesitate, for a few breaths, before relaxing. He stood, and offered a hand out slowly to Error. 

   Error stood too, grinning. He could manage this one. He could do it. 

   It was brief, but he grasped the King’s hand and shook it firmly.

   “Dust, will you help Error locate his belongings, and escort him to wherever he is staying tonight? I’ll send Cross to swap with you a bit later. We’ll reconvene in the morning just before sunrise.” 

[thornheartfelt]

Idk if I want this blog anymore or at least I feel like that right now

[m1ckeyb3rry]

wattpad is so crazy because users will leave comments expressing nothing but pure disdain and anger for whatever reason (y/n’s characterization, the decision to include original characters, temporary ships and subplots, etc)…like at a certain point i start to wonder if they realize that no one is forcing them to read anything 😭

[zoradementio]

Someone: *Digs up shit from about half a decade ago that some semi-popular internet personality had said as proof that they are some flavor of bigot*

People who take longer than one second to form an opinion: “Hold on, that’s a little unfair. Is there proof that this is something they’ve done continuously/is a belief they actually hold? And why should we just trust the word of this random person?”

Some headass on Twitter: “UM, ACTUALLY the person who posted this is literally a queer teenager! You’re a homophobe who is harassing a minor and you also are the same type of bigot as this internet personality AND you condone the jackasses who are actively sending death threats to this ~Queer Teen~! ...Anyway, I’m still gonna consume this person’s content that I just called a bigot, but as I am a good internet citizen I’m gonna advertise that I don’t condone this creator’s actions <3″

[maaarine]

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

[wewontbesleeping]

lol i'm kind of sad because no one i went to eras with uses tumblr anymore so it's not as fun to post pics of my shows

[whysamwhy123]

I'm sure all of you who (rightfully) complain about AEW's shitty sexist commentary are just as mad at Nigel for spending the entirety of the Toni/Taya match objectifying Taya and making gross, pervy comments about her and how he wants to fuck her, right? Right?! RIGHT??!! 🙂🙂🙂

[doggirlbuck]

i as a trans man have somehow managed to be repressed about my attraction to men. gender win?