#anyway who's alive lmao
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to get an idea of the activity here, can you like or reply to this post if your muse wishes to interact? new followers and long-time mutuals, everyone welcome !!
#it's been MONTHS since we've been active here so I'm just drop all threads and start fresh if I end up sticking around here#it's hard to say if i will#the climate on this side of tumblr is much different nowadays but we'll see!#anyway who's alive lmao
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ty for contributing to the wasteland that is appreciating bruce as a parent and first child danny🙏🙏🙏
It’s a battle out here soldier but I am strong, like winter bear. Also I relate so hard to Bruce in a lot of ways and I think his initial concept is really neat. He tries his damn hardest, and he has so much hope for his city that it’s really admirable.
And as much fun as it is to poke fun at him for his questionable parenting and hypocrisy, there’s always the line of too much that the fandom tends to cross quite often, just as much as they do with the clone and ghost king stuff. Bruce is just as much of a good parent (or at least a trying one) as he is a bad one, and people tend to ignore his good qualities for the sake of a joke. His character is centered around the fact that he cares, he’s just truly shit at communicating it — which, cheers bro, I’ll drink to that.
And there’s already a ton of batfam prompts and aus out there where Danny shows up when the whole colony is already adopted, which means most of the attention goes to Danny bonding with the other siblings and having very little to do with Bruce. He’s kinda just. There. Whether that be as a prop or an antagonist or someone to point and laugh at. Which, I can’t blame people too much for — the cast is so big it’s hard to keep track of relationships and stuff.
However, I think it’s important for Danny to have some form of relationship with Bruce too and not them just be strangers, especially in a familial/platonic setting where Danny is joining the family.
They share a handful of qualities that I think would mesh well together — Danny’s canonically a pessimist while Bruce is a diehard optimist (you kinda have to be to be a hero in a place like Gotham, and he wouldn’t be Batman if he wasn’t) and they both believe in giving people second chances and have wells of compassion to tap into. Danny’s clever and resourceful, and one of his main character traits is that he’s got an iron will.
All in all, good dad bruce go brrrrr and oldest son danny is the perfect, underutilized concept to explore exactly that without distractions. I think they could get along like a house on fire, if given the opportunity.
#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#starry asks#blood blossom au#nightingale au#tales of the passerine#i didnt include Danny’s puns bc. well. duh that trait is obvious you dont need me to point it out lmao#blood blossom will ultimately focus on Danny and Bruce’s relationship and not the vigilantism#danny actually isnt planned to join the field for a while for non-health related reasons#but you can find me explaining why in one of my reblogs on the og post#this ask got away from me but when does it never do that#i am a certified yapper#anyways you’ll notice in my other aus too that i dont make a habit of bashing or making fun of bruce#most of the danny’s in my aus have a posi-neutral opinion of him inCLUDING cfau danny#clone danny and stillborn danyal are outliers but even then their negative opinions aren’t because of anything bruce has done and stillborn#is really the only one who could develop a bad opinion. clone danny is just scared of him finding out that he exists but otherwise holds#bruce in a posi-neutral light. he recognises the good he does for his city he’s just scared shitless of the dude finding out that he was#cloned. especially since danny was a victim of cloning himself and knows how violating it feels#stillborn danyal’s opinion weighs firmly on who finds out about who first. he only hates bruce if he finds out first bc his shit esteem#easily convinces him that bruce willingly gave him up and replaced him with Damian. he’ll eventually forgive and let go of that anger when#bruce tells him that he was told danny was stillborn and didn’t know he was alive.#everyone has a batfam member they latch onto and unfortunately for me mine is the og bitch himself Bruce Wayne
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you’re eyes without a face
and now it’s getting worse
#can’t decide if i like how this turned out or not 🥲#pokemon#perfectworldshipping#professor sycamore#augustine sycamore#lysandre pokemon#pokemon xy#mine#my art#pkmn#to this day i still do not understand how the fuck billy idol is still alive#anyway. have this mess of a drawing lmao. i have accepted drawing in red is just what i do#i need to break it up and do something new eventually though. itll all start look the same#anyway (x2) i grew up listening to billy idol and so his songs are stuck in my psyche forever and therefore it seeps into my ships#this looks like the last drawing i posted what with the pose and colors rip#i might end up recoloring this eventually#im sure this concept has been done before (lys being blurred out bc he isnt who he used to be/is lying) but its just SO interesting
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ryker & vaelmir @rebuketheviolent
#guess who’s still alive. barely LMAO#anyway. Look at my son (pink one)#vaelmir#my art#dnd#paladin#tiefling#half elf#warlock
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#SHIGEO KAGAYAMAAAA TY FOR DEFEATING MY ARTBLOCKKKK#Hi guess who’s alive bc of a very silly anime#HOLY SHIT BRO THIS ANIME IS SO GOOD ITS RARE FOR AN ANIME TO HOOK ME SO HARD#RECENTLY FINISHED SEASON 1 AND SKNJVFDNJKKDFVJN I LOVE IT SM!!#most likely to make more Fanart of this guy and the others yeahhaha#And the 2nd tumblr sexyman#Lmao yeah#anyways#mob psycho 100#shigeo kageyama#shigeo mp100#My art#fanart#silverlombaxwitch#Oh ya I was experimenting on this piece and damn I actually like it#Mp100
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“my self-sufficiency will be the death of me” [timkon ficlet]
goooooood afternoon timkonners. Really wanted to get into the habit of writing a little bit everyday again, so I’m filling out some whumptober-adjacent prompts (courtesy of scealaiscoite). This may be eventually cross-posted to my ao3, who knows, this is mostly just to keep my writing skills in check after a really rough few months of work + to get me out of my writing slump on my larger fic projects. This has been very lightly edited, and is extremely unbeta’d. Anyways, enjoy! Prompt: blood swirling down a shower drain. Content warnings for light descriptions of a knife injury & medical treatment related to that.
The ceiling is that awful popcorn texture. It's yellowed over time. There's a spreading stain over corner, likely some water damage from the unit above. There's some rust at the corner of the shower curtain rod and some odd looking spots at the bottom of the flimsy plastic curtain that has him groaning because he's going to have to look into this, he lives here, other people live here, and clearly the landlord spruced up his apartment but not the others and this needs to be taken care of but it's another thing to take care of -
His breath catches in his throat, a barely held gasp just eeking out past his lips. Every time he tries to breathe low into his belly, his chest spasms. Bruised ribs, he catalogues. Another thing to take care of.
Tim's fingers shake over the left side of his chest, right above the torn parts of his uniform, right where his emergency beacon was slashed through. He lost the one on his wrist sometime between Falcone's latest hidden warehouse and the apartment building. If he reaches down to his boot, he can press the one still intact. He can press it, and someone will come and get him.
He can't move his hand.
Well - It's not that he can't. He's still got some feeling left, which is good. But he can't stop staring at the ceiling. The thought of even moving his head makes him feel so - so tired. It feels as if someone has scooped out his bones and filled him with dense liquid. He tries to will himself to move, to slam down on the emergency beacon and suffer through the indignity of having to be saved by Robin and sit through a thorough dissection of everything he did wrong tonight. He doesn't mind it so much anymore, really - but he's just - he's too tired. He's too tired.
When he closes his eyes, it feels good - the rest that calls to him feels like the kind after a particularly long day of running around as a kid. When you've probably spent too much time in the sun and your chest hurts, the phantom pain of deep laughter following you to your bed. He believes it, for a moment. That he's really just closing his eyes after playing too much and too long and his mom will be there in just a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes and tell him don't let the bed bugs -
He presses down on the knife wound along his abdomen to keep himself awake.
Only an inch deep, but three inches long - they got messy trying to pull it out, he thinks. Another wound. Another thing to take care of. Which he won't be able to take care of if he passes out in this dingy bathroom that's probably going to give him an infection.
His fingers feel cold. He can't tell if he's going into shock or if he's been sitting under the spray of the shower so long that the hot waters run out.
He can't die like this. Not like this. Lying in a mold covered bathroom, shredded to pieces. Not like this.
It's painful, it makes him flush with a deeply buried shame that he tried hard not to face - but he chokes out his name anyway.
"Superboy," he says. "Kon."
There's a moment - one painful, awful moment - where there is nothing but the sound of the shower and his own, ragged breathing. Then, somewhere further inside there's the sound of a window opening, the stumbling of leather boots against hardwood floor - and then Kon's there, right there next to him, and Tim has never felt so relieved and so ashamed at the same time.
"Shit," Kon says, holding Tim's face. He looks down at Tim's hands, shaking against the wound in his side, and follows the blood going down the shower drain. "Shit."
"Good t'see y'too." Tim mumbles.
Kon's staring - or at least, Tim thinks he is. He thinks time is slowing down, maybe. Between one blink and the next, Kon's face morphs from wide-eyed worry to a grim sort of determination. The grip on Tim's face tightens - not unkindly.
"Not funny, Tim," Kon says, lowly.
Tim just swallows, barely wincing at the acrid taste of copper on his tongue. He tilts his chin with what little energy he has, indicating his stomach.
"Knife wound," he says. "Bruised ribs. Gotta check for - for concussion -"
"Stop talking -"
"Need - stitches -"
"Stop talking."
Tim's mouth clicks shut. He feels something burn at his chest - not pain, but something more akin to anger flaring beneath his skin. The urge to crawl out of the tub, to rip away from Kon and get his own goddamn medical kit was making his stomach roll. But God, his bones were like lead and his head was so heavy - the overwhelming relief of being gathered up into Kon's arms was almost enough to distract him. Almost.
"I'm taking you back to your house -"
"Can't."
"Why?"
"Got - my own - my own place -"
Kon freezes as he leaves the old bathroom, pausing briefly to scrunch his eyes tight and mutter a small Jesus Christ before readjusting Tim in his hold, gently.
"You need help, Tim, and you've lost a lot of blood -"
"Not too much -"
"Tim -"
"Kon," Tim says, strained. "The longer we stand here arguing, the more blood I lose. Take me - take me back to my apartment."
Time really slows down then. Kon's bright, bright eyes bore into his, a completely open book. Tim can see the way he swallows down his words, the way his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth - the way his eyes shine with worry. Tim holds his gaze, focusing on the pain blooming across his ribs in order to avoid thinking about just how much Kin's gaze unsettled something within him.
"You're gonna be the death of me," Kon mutters.
"Not if I die first," Tim says, softly. Kon doesn't laugh - doesn't so much as smirk. Then, he's bounding out the door faster than Tim could blink.
Tim feels a wave of vertigo and he does everything he can to stop the bile rising in his throat. He digs his nails into the worn leather of Kon's sleeve, groaning with his lips shut tight. Kon's thumb rubs a soft circle where he holds him - a gesture so gentle that it takes Tim by surprise. He doesn't get to relish in it for long before Kon's laying him against his new dining table; Tim mourns the clean wood. He'll be scraping out blood from the grooves for the next few months.
"My medkit -" Tim's hand reaches out, weakly. "Get me - needle -"
"Are you out of your mind?" Kon damn near shouts. "You're not sewing yourself up."
"I can and - I will -"
"No," Kon says firmly, hand wrapped around Tim's wrist. "Can you - can you just let someone help you for once?"
No - it's the reply right on the tip of his tongue. Help. There was a time when people surrounded Tim, when he could reach out a hand and find another reaching out to him. But the longer he does this, the more he loses, the more people start to disappear - the more that he finds that the only hands he has are his own. The hands that will stitch him up and prop him up straight, the ones that get things done.
But another, tiny part of him sighs. A little part of him sags with relief, maybe with exhaustion- because yes, he would like some help. His fingers are cold and cannot stop shaking and Kon is steady.
"Fine," Tim finally says. "Help me."
Kon smiles. That irritating, crooked grin lights up his face and Tim chest constricts at the familiarity of it.
“Was that so hard?” Kon says, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Yes,” Tim groans.
Kon moves swiftly - more assured, more practiced than he had been months ago when he first had to deal with some bad scrapes while out on a mission with the team. His hands don’t flit about wildly, searching for something to make it better. He takes off his own gloves and washes his hands before cutting through the tightly woven Kevlar of Tim’s suit, gently washing the cut, and letting Tim dig crescent shaped divets into his bicep while he threaded Tim’s skin back together.
“You’ve gotta breathe, Tim - “
“I’m trying, asshole - “
“Don’t call the guy with the needle and thread an asshole, asshole - “
Tim barely notices that Kon has already snipped the medical thread and has started placing bandages across his side. Tim watches as he moves, quick, tearing medical tape and snipping bandages with determination, and then carefully placing them where Tim still bleeds. Tim’s mouth goes dry - he looks up at the ceiling instead.
“How’s your hearing? Seeing double?” Kon asks, flashing the little emergency flashlight in Tim’s eyes. Tim resists the urge to bat him away.
“Just fine,” Tim blinks. “God help me if I - if I ever have to deal with - two of you.”
“Twice the fun,” Kon remarks.
“Twice the headache,” Tim says, with little heat. “Kon - painkillers - “
Kon rattles a small bottle, labeled meticulously in Alfred’s familiar handwriting. “These ones?”
“Yes,” Tim says, breathlessly. He tries to put one hand under him, arm shaking with the effort to try and pull his own body weight up.
“Hold on - “
“I can - get up by myself - “
“Tim,” Kon says, warm hands curling around Tim’s arm. “Let me help you. Please.”
There’s an earnestness to Kon that is so disarming that it peels away the remaining resistance in Tim. He uses his last bits of energy to wrap an arm around Kon’s neck, a flush traveling across his cheeks as he mutters okay and lets himself be held again. This time, he lets himself melt a little further into Kon, pointedly ignoring the unfurling, winding feelings in his gut - he neatly packs that feeling away for later in the corner of his brain. He focuses on breathing, on the steady rhythm of Kon’s heartbeat, and the soothing hands that hold him.
He blinks rapidly, realizing that he’s been placed on his couch and that Kon has managed to rummage up the eye-sore of a blanket that Dick had given him as house-warming gift a while back. Kon’s in the kitchen, then suddenly by his side, waving a small glass of water and the painkillers in front of Tim.
“Drink up, Timmy,”
“Don’t call me Timmy,” Tim grumbles, and downs the pills and water in one swift movement.
When he sits back, it’s like every bit of adrenaline keeping him awake has left him. The last dredges of it disappear and all he can do is curl against the headrest, the scratchy, awful blanket giving him an odd sense of comfort. He blinks, slow, trying to get a good word out before sleep could take him. To tell Kon he’s got it handled, that he needs to report back to Dick about the stake-out going wrong - but he can’t. He just looks up at Kon, illuminated by the bright lights of Gotham from the window behind, and he feels a deep, deep ache in his sternum. A sudden urgency fills him - a worry. That when he wakes up, Kon will be gone and something about that makes Tim feel sick.
He moves his fingers slightly, flushing with embarrassment as he croaks out “Stay?”
Kon doesn’t hesitate. There’s barely enough time for a thought before Kon’s hand tangles with Tim’s, the rough pads of his thumbs, slowly becoming calloused from farm work, begins to rub against Tim’s knuckles. Tim’s breath catches in his throat.
“Of course,” Kon whispers. “You don’t even have to ask.”
Tim breathes out. “Oh.”
There’s a smile on Kon’s face - a little knowing, a little sad. Something childish blooms in Tim; he wants to reach out and hold his face, wants to pull at the edges of his cheeks until the sadness went away. But rest tugs at him, the exhaustion in his bones pulling him down, down, down until the feeling of Kon’s hand in his was a distant sensation, his last words something like out of a dream.
“I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”
#timkon#timkon fanfic#ficlet#fic writing#kon el#tim drake#tumblr fic#This Is my first time writing timkon wahooo#But also scarryyyyyy#Excited to return to this after i read yj98 lol#Patiently waiting for my hoopla borrows to reset so i can borrow all the yj books from my library#Also timeline wise…who fucking knows#Vaguely set during the time which Bruce is “dead” but also kon is alive so this is all very fucked up#Again#excited to return to this once I’ve read yj98 lmao#I’m just glad i finally fucking wrote something Jesus christ#Love deciding that im just gonna start doing whumptober at the end of October#Literally like with three days of the month left#so fucking funny#anyways bye#whumptober2024
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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.”
#new age au#Gods these guys are so so silly to me#I wanted this to be Error's perspective mostly but also. I love the others dearly#I need y'all to know that Dust and Nightmare 100% talked about Error's situation after Night offered the deal and they agreed it was#probably the best call for Error's sake if nothing else. But like. What poor timing for such a strong orphan to come out of nowhere#and immediately mess up Night's new rule lmao.#Also idk if I lost steam into the 2nd half so I apologize if that's not as tasty but like... I had a lot going on and I knew if I stopped#it would never get finished ever haha-#Let's see what other thoughts i had...#Definitely need to write Error first arriving and feeling the whimsy of meeting Geno and getting to rant to Nightmare about his newest craz#idea and getting his own courtyard to try things out and all that jazz#And also experiencing Ccino panic at the sight of a young child because ??? Night ur better than that what happened??? And subconsciously#pick up on the brotherly energy they have towards eachother.#And to let Error set boundaries about his tower#who can come in and who can't and how to call for him (use strings outside like a door-knocker basically) and just! Watch him adjust and#thrive!!!!#anyways yeah. Dust definitely becomes the one Error speaks to the most often besides Nightmare. And Nightmare is busy so he mainly just#checks in on him to listen to his new ideas and make sure he's still alive#so there's not a whole lot of interaction aside from Night being a positive and encouraging force to Error's magic practice (maybe they#train on occassion too?)#And then. Y'know. Nightmare shrinks and is just a lil goofy nerd and loves listening to Error and thinks he's super duper cool.#(OH! And Error turns 13 like. a few days into his emplyment#so he's 14 when Night becomes 13 again-)#okay good night everyone!!
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dust and horror angel and demon themes,,,, they could totally parallel each other...... :3
dust=angel of death described in the delta rune prophecy (self declared) (i DEFINITELY elaborated on this one waayyyy before but anyways dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME SAVE ME.... death is a blessing ass guy. life is torment and he will be the one to liberate monsters from their bodies and with the strength they provide to him be able to take down evil evil creation of pure misery that is the human ✨✨✨ dont worry his evil cackles are to HIDE HIS PAIN of saving everyone....... trust)
horror=demon that dragged everyone in horrortale into hell (as perceived by everyone else) (i think it would be a cool hc if everyone outside of snowdin viewed horror as literally a demon. maybe undyne preaches that. anyone outside of snowdin might be WAYYY worse because they starve for longer and literally take part in cannibalism so they might not have the same sort of mild sanity that snowdin residents do,,,, besides he DID kinda bring them all eternal suffering. kinda. nobody but undyne knows what happened at the core so she could totally just paint the story to blame horror fully)
ANYWAYS i like the possible dynamics this could have :333
dust to horror (please let me kill you PLEASE let me kill you i can end it all so peacefully wouldn't it be nice??? i promise ill make it quick just for you),,, horror to dust (i want you to live and suffer with what youve done i want you to watch all of your choices hit you one day and i'll be there and laugh at you. i'll keep you alive just to keep you suffering ok?)
OR dust to horror (you dont deserve to die you dont deserve to even be hurt by me. not because youre the exception but youre the Exception i absolutely loathe you so youll never get the sweet release of death :3) and horror to dust (just let me die already i dont wanna be here. youre supposed to be a savior right??? an angel?? then why don't you save me already when i need it more than anyone else)
#SHITS THIS OUT BECAUSE I NEED TO GET RID OF IT. my evil doppelganger will adore this post i've already shown them#this is definitely a bit of an exaggeration of their characters in my eyes but i love it :333#i dont think that dust is THIS deluded in my eyes and i dont think horror is this cynical. even tho theyre both still these traits#i came up with this idea while writing my mtt meets eachother fic :3#you can probably totally guess where i made the connection. thank you horrortale undyne for this one single thing#anyways i dont know how to shove killer into this LMAO. i was thinking like.... angel and demon on your shoulder to swap choices#but but triglycercule doesnt killer already have that with his stages??? well YES but both can be true at the same time :333#idk i dont have enough brain juices for this rn. so you get this half assed explanation 😭😭‼️‼️‼️#dust: we should kill this person. totally because they need to be freed and not because they piss me off#horror: no we should keep them alive but torment them so they never get the sweet release of death and suffer#and thanks to killer THEY CAN DO BOTH!!! YAAAAY!!!!! the powers of determination are awesome man (smug tiktok emoji)#dust is sounding awfully similar to a certain killer au of mine i made..... swapinverse rearing its ugly head once again smh#idk if this is more of a symbolic thing or LITERALLY angel dust and demon horror#because i like both ideas........ imagine an actual angel dust and demon horror going around with killer doing the little dialogue i said#what would killer be in this??? he's not a mortal or a human as would be per usual when describing whats between an angel or demon#killer as a god lmao..... noooo noooooo..... maybe just something akin to one. i meaaan technically-#someone who's more into religious theming would probably eat this idea but i cant be bothered uaghhhh#if i say anything about killer i will get shot. but i can tank a couple bullets. killer does have the ability to let both dust and horror#fufill their own ideologies. and also i am a big fat SUCKER for killer keeping horror and dust 'in line' IDC if its a bad sanses concept#i love it and therefore it's now mine to use in an only mtt context. otherworldly beings trio ‼️‼️ aghhhhh#i have like 89 drafts if the drafts reach 100 by the end of the year i think i'd DIE. so this is getting posted idc#you wont see me using literal angel and demon dust and horror. but if you look in my mind you'll see the themes regularly in what i talk ab#anyways back to writing this stupid fic i go. dust is currently battling several inner demons rn. good luck loser :3#killer sans#dust sans#horror sans#murder time trio#sans au#utmv#tricule hc
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drawing i did for my sisters art exhibition on the theme "tales from home" :)
#drawings#i meant to fill in the other panels LMAO but i was on a deadline. which i missed by an hour. which is why it looks so rough#anyway ft my cats who are no longer alive and i cried drawing them and my sister cried looking at it <3 haha
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it’s funny how things have gone full circle with malenia. she was so hated when the game first came out, but then people grew to like her. then the dlc came out and now people hate her again lmao
#i mean it’s hardly surprising given what we now know#she did all that awful shit and wasn’t even charmed#like i see people talk about how stupid miquella is because of this plan to essentially trap radahn#but that also makes malenia look stupid af too#‘go to caelid and kill radahn so i can marry him’ ans she was like sure#miquella wanted the one guy in the lands between who loves war and fighting to be his consort for his age of peace and compassion…#what a genius he is.#makes me wonder why he even needs some heavy weight to keep order for him when he can just charm people into submission#was radahn just there as a ceremonial position?#oh wait i forgot miquella thinks he’s super kind so that’s why he wants him#miq learnt about the gravity magic horse thing and swooned#honestly still can’t get over how incredibly stupid the twins look after the dlc#i think people like to imagine malenia was charmed just because it makes it all look slightly better on her part#like they are just making excuses for her#but holy shit the fact she was all but willing to fucking die so miquella could bag radahn..#what a thing to die for lmao#and he was apparently present after the battle? but didn’t do anything to help either radahn nor malenia?#instead he was helping a random redmane?#he obviously knew malenia had bloomed but ultimately didn’t care i guess#kind of like ‘oh well if she’s still alive when I get back i’ll deal with it then’#honestly wish miquella had just died in that cocoon at this point#tbh he doesn’t really do much in the dlc anyway they could have made it more about messmer and marika#hell bring melina into it please that would have been more interesting at this point#we didn’t need the dubcon incest plot micheal you could have left that one in the drafts#i gotta get this out of my head it’s driving me nuts#seriously need to move on from this game for my own sanity
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god tywin lannister deserved worse
just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross
but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/
the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it
(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)
#rest in peace elia and rhaenys#i’m one of those crazy ppl who thinks jaqen h’ghar is aegon 💀#literally lost the teeny tiny amount of credibility i had#anyways i think doran’s in on it and i think rhaegar switched out asharas child for aegon paralleling the baby swap jon does#the pact made in braavos about viserys and dany marriages is a half truth half lie#and arianne being sent to faegon is simply doran testing his heir. if she messes up then whoever’s spying for doran will correct her#gerold dayne knows too much that’s why doran thinks he’s too dangerous#but this would make the dornish plot sooooo much more interesting and would show that no doran hasn’t been doing nothing#it would also automatically make the daynes more important#jaqen (aegon) was in kings landing to kill robert but got caught by varys. syrio was sent to find him. ned cleared out the black cells tho#saving aegon in the process. fun how we’re actually introduced to this character through lyanna starks mini me arya#aegon was able to kill robert with a boar tho so mission accomplished.#now he’s in old town trying to hatch his dragon egg. the stone beast taking flight in danys vision is aegon being symbolically depicted…#..as a spinx#i’m crazy delusional. but ppl who think faegon is actually aegon are even more delusional than me#plus the real aegon being alive fulfills the suns son part of quaithes warnings#i like this theory bc it makes the dorne plot more interesting and it explains whatever is going on with jaqen h’ghar cause he is sus#yes yes i know i’m delusional 💀 i just think it’d be a very interesting twist#kinda hoping no one sees this post at this point bc i know no one will take this theory well lol#i do think this theory can be supported by the text tho#and cerseis throw away line about ned stealing asharas baby would suddenly become peak foreshadowing#barristan comparign dany to ashara would also be peak foreshadowing bc ashara would take the place of gilly in this parallel and she was dis#dishonored by someone at harrenhall. likely aerys and then she turned to a stark probably brandon for comfort#tbh i think it was ashara who lied to brandon about what happened to lyanna. perhaps she was trying to mess with brandon’s wedding and#was trying to get back at rhaegar for humiliating elia at the tourney. i highly doubt it was baelish who lied to brandon cause brandon#has little reason to believe him and no reason to trust him. ashara tho? arthur daynes sister and elias lady in waiting? also his lover?#anyways varys the spider potentially stealing aegon away (if he did take a child it was the false aegon) is there to parallel the others#who ride ice spiders taking crasters sons. tbh i think it was aegon who decided he wanted to train as a faceless man so he could get revenge#on his own terms. and the sea lord of braavos at the time was in on it and helped aegon with his plans#the unveiling coming up is going to be a lot more important than arya just reclaiming her identity. yes im delusional lmao. rant over
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got sick and had to play this scene again
#i don’t feel like i changed magpie’s face much from my first playthrough to this#time but then i reload her original saves and it’s like. a little uncanny valley?#anyway like.#this scene is so deeply not canon for magpie due to the whole Neve Is Gone situation. that means these two would not be able to have like#normal sex. LOL#but like. the Feelings here are. the vibe is. i can imagine he still kneels like that#places himself at her feet. takes her hand in his.#he doesn’t say he loves her because he can’t. not yet.#not until it’s over.#not until neve is back in their arms.#but even still… madrigal is here and close and Alive and it’s more than he expected#it’s more than he deserves.#the first talon kneels at the feet of some no one fifth house assassin. some boy who never should have survived training. whose name was#meant to be a prophecy fulfilled and not a mantle shrugged off.#but she’s here and she’s alive and she is home. more home than antiva ever was.#and with neve still gone it’s difficult to feel anything but sick dread but he allows himself one more indulgence anyway#when he stares into magpie’s eyes and holds her hand against his heart and kisses her slow and soft and sweet.#he thought them both lost. thought that the first happiness he had ever known was stripped from him. but she came back#and maybe neve will too. maybe it will be okay. he will do whatever it takes to make it that way.#god i want him dead. LMAO#漫言#datv spoilers#r. birds of a feather#<- i keep almost tagging them as ‘murder of crows’ but that is someone else’s tag LOL#oc. magpie#z plays da#i have to hide all my character thoughts in the tags bc i’m shy.
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I think the latest episodes solidifies the concept that the way we are seeing the team in the wilderness is not from an outsider's perspective, it's not objective. We saw Akilah and Nugget and we thought it was all real as much as Akilah thought it was. If the "not real things" we saw before were a little hazy (thinking about the "mirror theory") or it was obvious what was real and what was imagined (thinking of Shauna and Jackie, Shauna was fully aware she was imagining her dead best friend and we were too)..the way we saw Akilah and Nugget was clear enough for us to think Nugget was alive.
So, because of this, I cant stop thinking about how different it all might be. I mean..even the girls, in the present timelines, say they're not sure they remember everything, and I think this is what we are seeing, their memories. We are seeing what they thought they saw, what they thought they experienced. I feel like there's so much stuff that might've gone differently, maybe not totally differently but a little different? yeah for sure.
#yellowjackets#someone on reddit was saying maybe theyre even imagining some of them still alive and I cant stop thinking about it???#anyways...who knows#im high and cant stop thinking about this lmao
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art fight dump !!!! didnt feel like drafting up nine different posts so here they all are in one place instead lmao
characters in order of appearance: venus belongs to @ssilentwillow parker belongs to ~alovestuck (AF) naoko belongs to @fghniki athens and ser belong to @jaspersketch yuri belongs to ~Tobago (AF) claire and anais belong to @acetoons torin belongs to ~HowlAashir (AF) merry and zachary belong to ~Andientart (AF) milo belongs to ~Alt_asher_art (AF)
#my art#art fight#eventually decided to post .. ehh why not LMAO#i hope no one minds being tagged or having me post these i can edit to remove urs if you want !#im dumping these here for archive and also bc i never post here lol. so i hope no one i tag feels pressured to reblog or respond i just wan#to credit you. lmao. pls dont worry about it haha#hi art blog i am alive . im basically just posting on @duskerot instead of here but i will reblog art over here if i post it#i kinda just dont post my ocs art? and thats all i make . hence the silence#i might start posting ocs soon tho ! who knows#anyway art fight was fun this year lotsa fun guys out therre#this character torin is the first time ive found someone else with an oc called torin . which is my main ocs name . so i was like i HAVE TO
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🪱🪱What the Sylvworm doing?🪱🪱
#original content#original art#animated gif#artist on tumblr#sylvworm#hi guys im alive lol#this is the pet for my OC sylvester who i promise promise promise I will post some day soon lmao#he's a bastard and did experiements on worms and millipedes to make sylvworm who he calls formaldehyde because he would name a pet that#I'm still trying to get used to using procreate almost every piece of art I do ends up way darker on my phone/computer#than it does on my ipad#its frustrating lmao#anyways#hi again#hopefully i can get back into doing and posting art more again
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FTWDs final season could have been so much better if it was revealed that Troy was running padre and controlling madison (as revenge) this whole time. He knew enough about nick and Alicia to make madison think padre knew who and where they were this whole time. And here are some other reasons how this storyline would make sense and be more interesting:
- Troy has a military background so him taking over and running a military base makes more sense than two teenagers building it up by themselves because all the adults died.
- taking and training up children to be solidiers also would make a little sense because of his own fucked up upbringing and the idea he has of the type of people who were made for this world. He would have probably had the same idea as shrike, that the kids stood a better chance at padre than with their “weak” parents. The mother of his child dying for being a good person and not getting to raise their daughter (who would not be named after his abuser) could have also played into this idea of the kids being separated from their good parents.
- shrikes radiation cure experiments: Troy ran walker bite experiments before, just to see how people would turn. So it would also make sense if the work we see shrike doing was something he approved of or an idea he himself came up with. As for shrike, it would make sense that she turned out this way if she’d spent years being mentored by someone like troy otto instead of becoming evil and stealing children just because her dad died.
- the scene where madison smashes the glass to expose “padre” would have been such a good and shocking reveal if it was Troy. Imagine Madison finding out that Troy is not only alive but had been the one running this the whole time!
There’s also a lot of other things I would have done differently for the other characters too and I would have liked Madison to have a little villain era and do some really fucked up shit as she tries to take down Troy and padre. How dark would Madison go? Would she survive with her humanity still intact?
I know I’m just talking into the void here because no one care about this shitshow but I just hate it when shows have a plot that could have been good, maybe even great but then completely miss the mark and fans come with better theories and ideas with minimal effort and thought.
#somewhere dave erickson is screaming (and relieved that at least frank dillane stayed away from the show lmao)#fear the walking dead#ftwd#madison clark#troy otto#i also would have had s7a focus on strand vs alicia but v differently with only alicia’s ending staying the same pretty much#then 7b would have been wrapping things up with morgans family and actually seeing the group being taken by padre before having a time jump#then season 8 would have been the much better padre/troy/madison arc#the way these writers reaally do not know how to write for troy and madison#it’s like they tried doing what they thought DE wouldve done with them but couldn’t decide if they wanted them to be villains or be redeemed#anyway i will always mourn the arcs we were meant to have in season 4#madison becoming the villain vs nick and alicia and whatever was planned for troy#troy was only killed off bc dave didn’t trust the new showrunners with him and he couldnt save the OGs by killing them too lmao#but i am glad alicia is alive and we got to see daniel sharmans acting bc most of the cast were only giving about 20% atp#but who can blame them? the writing got to new levels of bad in s7/8 and their personalities were changing every few episodes#actually to be fair they did the best with what they were given they just seemed done#i only tuned in to alicias episodes in s7 so my opinion on the rest of it is from what ive read bc i just could not get through it#so my opinion on the characters full arcs in s7 may be wrong
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