#but yeah i just...can't. with the whole other idea.

[prlssprfctn]

I think Jason should be allowed to manipulate his family with the "oh, you are my favourite, actually" line. It sounds very flattering to them (because Jason? Jason-I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This-Family-Todd? Admitting you are his favourite? Oh, the hundred per cent bust of ego!) and more to say, this system of manipulation is eternal.

They can argue with each other as much as they want, but none of them would believe the other — Jason Todd is too tsundere to say something like this aloud, to each of them. So, someone is lying. For sure.

(And they are too self-assured in themselves to doubt that they are his favourite. Also, Jason makes every manipulation, specifically individual. So, it is not like he repeats the same confession and reasons. Very believable. Aka: this family needs someone to be open about their love, so they latch on everything and everyone who is willing to admit that openly)

Dick, slightly frustrated: Why are you asking me this favour? You know, I don't usually do these sort of things, I don't really... I don't know, it is too dangerous, I don't like the whole idea.

Jason, face dropping: Oh... Sorry. I shouldn't ask you, just... Dunno, I thought since you are my only big brother, and... Urgh, I guess I am still too attached to you more than to others. You are right. I'll ask Timbers or—

Dick, with his eyes suspiciously wet: oh-

Dick: NO, no. I'll do it. Don't worry. Big brother got your back, Lil Wing!

Tim, frowning: So, am I getting this right — you want me to hack into some system in someone's high school to fix the diploma of a kid who got a ONE bad grade—

Jason: He needs this scholarship. He is a kid of the streets! He can't do it otherwise, and it is not like the world would collapse if you fix one grade!

Tim: Yeah, I don't care about morals, I am just confused. Why would I want to spend my time on this, I am pretty sure—

Jason, dead ass serious: You know I don't like to communicate with this family. I only ever love talking with you, so sue me for thinking you could do me a favour.

Tim, instantly smirking: Ah, so I am your favourite... Well-well, big brother, I guess I can do this.

Damian: I am *not* going to tell you what our father is planning to do with this specific villain. Who do you think I am? An idiot?

Jason, sighing: Damn, and I really thought we had each other's back since League of Assassins.

Damian, scoffing: Emotional manipulation will not work on me.

Jason, all confused: Why would I manipulate you? From all people? I didn't raise you to fall on shit like this.

Damian: Tt.

Damian: Fine. Since, I guess, I owe you for babysitting me...

Bruce: Jason, I appreciate your... strive to help me, but nothing has ever gone well when you worked on cases like that. Let me handle this, and—

Jason, silently sitting down on the armchair, hands on his head: (sniff)

Bruce, panicked: Jaylad?..

Jason: I get it. I really do. No matter how much I love you, no matter how much I keep choosing you over anyone in this family, you don't love me anymore. I really understand it. I... I came in peace with it. I just wished you would tolerate my work... a little bit. You know?

Bruce: No, no, sweetheart, I— I am your favourite?

Jason, sniffling angrily: Who else it could be, old man?

Bruce: Oh. Oh, Jaylad— (instantly hands him the case)

(The family dinner)

Bruce, mentally humming to himself: Oh, these kids have NO idea that I am Jason's favourite because we are connected like that ^•^

Dick, mentally beaming: Oh, no one here has an idea that I am Jason's favourite because I am his big brother and protector! :>

Tim, mentally laughing evilly: Oh, these flops have no idea that I am Jason's favourite and that he wishes I was his Robin!

Damian, mentally kicking his feet: None of my family members suspect that I am Akhi's favourite because he was practically my nanny through all childhood. Tt.

Jason, munching on food: Lol

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fluffbruary Fic] Marriage of Inconvenience

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 2414 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2025, Selkie AU, small town meet cute, meet weird maybe, cafe owner Hob, Selkie Dream, more examination of the rules of selkie lore than I ever intended

Notes: 'Coat' and 'Accept' right next to each other immediately suggested this idea and then it evolved a bit along the way, as these things always do. Help, I only wanted a cute fluffy one-shot and now I have a whole 'nother universe to play in.

Fluffbruary 2025 prompts: Day 8: train | zenith | road Day 9: accept | icy | ornament Day 10: coat | grimace | paper Day 11: bench | cottage | tough Day 12: backwards | feign | recognize (Yes I've temporarily skipped day 6 and 7; they've been bundled in with the 14th)

Summary: Hob is delighted to see the pretty stranger coming back to his cafe, but he has no idea how his life is about to change

On AO3

"Wait! Please!"

Hob turns at the call to see the beautiful dark-haired guy he'd noticed in the cafe earlier that day jogging down the road toward him, hand raised, clearly waving at him. He pauses in locking up the cafe's front door, silently thanking whoever's in charge of his luck today.

"Can I help you?" he asks, once the guy's close enough they can speak without yelling. He's got his friendliest smile on, willing to hear out whatever this guy has to say. He's just as pretty as Hob remembers, and he's not at all mad about seeing him back again.

"I left. I left something. Property. One of my belongings, when I was here earlier." Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Pretty draws himself up, catching his breath. "I had hoped. To reach you before closing, to see if it is still here."

"Of course, no problem." Hob un-flips the bolt that he hadn't yet pulled the key out of and unlocks the rest, pushes the door open and steps inside.

"Thank you." The guy follows him in, eyes darting to the table where he and his group had sat this afternoon. "My sibling assured me they had my coat when we left, but they did not."

Hob perks up. "Black coat, fur trim?"

"Yes." The guy turns his gaze on Hob, intense and hopeful and oh, but those are some devastatingly blue eyes. "You have seen it?"

"Yeah!" Hob smiles, delighted he can help this pretty stranger after all. "Another customer brought it up to the counter, said it'd been left. I put it up in our lost property in case the owner came back—and here you are! Let me grab it for you."

"No, wait—it would be better if—"

But Hob has already ducked through the door marked 'Employees Only', misses the note of alarm in the guy's voice. He opens the cupboard where lost property is stored and carefully pulls the lovely black coat with its silky fur trim off the hangar he'd put it on earlier, drapes it neatly over his arm and heads back to the front of the cafe. "Here we are!" he says merrily, holding out the coat to his guest.

The guy looks almost disappointed as he takes it with careful hands. "Thank you," he sighs, with relief that somehow also sounds like resignation, and Hob can't help frowning a little.

"Is everything okay? It's not ripped, is it? Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, if it got torn in our care I'll gladly pay to have it mended—"

"It is not. Damaged," the guy interrupts firmly. "It is in excellent condition and was clearly cared for while in your possession. For which I thank you. My husband."

What.

"S-sorry? Your what?" Surely Hob did not hear him correctly.

"My husband," the guy repeats, quite clearly. "I lost my coat. You have returned it to me. You are now my husband."

Hob bursts out laughing. "Right, okay, you're a selkie, then?" He's grown up in this quaint little coastal town, he's heard all the stories; obviously this guy is having him on, a little jest. Surely.

"Yes." The guy's answer, though, is completely serious.

It occurs to Hob he may inadvertently have gotten drawn into this poor fellow's break from reality. Either that or he is an extremely deadpan comedian with a terrible sense for when the joke's gone far enough.

"Selkies aren't real, mate," Hob says carefully, not unkindly, confident in the obvious truth of the words no matter what tales his gran used to tell.

With a sigh, the guy puts on the coat that Hob had returned to him and abruptly, instead of a beautiful pale-skinned dark-haired man, there is a pitch-black seal with shockingly blue eyes on the floor in the middle of Hob's cafe. He starts backwards, not believing what he is very definitely seeing.

The seal shimmies, twists, and then the pretty stranger is standing before him again, swirling the coat back off his shoulders.

"Holy fuck." Hob steps, stumbles backward, sits heavily on one of the stools at the counter. "Okay. Okay, give me. Just a tic." He blinks, stares at the guy, his brain replaying the transformation he'd undeniably witnessed. "You're. Really a selkie. Okay."

"Yes. And now, you are my husband."

"But that's ridiculous! There's no way anyone can possibly think my giving you back your coat constitutes a legally binding marriage!"

"Not on land, perhaps. It is a long-standing tradition among my people."

"But…why? I mean. Surely you don't want to be married to me, to be married to any stranger simply because they were kind enough to return what's yours? How is that any better than being bound to someone who steals your skin?"

"Nevertheless. It is the tradition."

"It's not my tradition!" Hob is feeling more than a little panicked here. Certainly the guy is very pretty; certainly Hob had been of half a mind to ask for his number if the opportunity presented itself but marriage is a very far cry beyond any of that.

What the hell. Seriously.

"Generally. It is considered. Far preferable, to be married to the human who would freely return your skin than the one who would steal it and lock it away." The guy has primly perched himself two stools down the row, leaving a single stool between them.

Considerate, Hob supposes, not to crowd him while he's having his worldview rearranged. Points in Mr. Selkie's favor.

"That makes sense, I get that," Hob says at last, "but why does it have to be marriage at all? Is it strictly tradition, or is there some kind of magical binding going on when humans get hold of your coat?"

"It is. Both, to some degree. You touched my coat, held it, with intent toward me. That leaves a signature, a link between us. In losing something so integral to my existence, I incur a debt to the one who would willingly return it to me. Even without the traditional label of 'marriage', I am now bonded to you in some degree.

"I'm sorry, but that sounds like a shite arrangement for you."

"Yes. It could be."

"So…do I get any say in the matter? Can I release you from the obligation or something? Or. Or is there maybe. Some other way to honor the 'debt' than marrying me?"

"The marriage—the bond—it occurred when you offered my coat and I accepted it back. It is the traditional way. It is already done. I apologize for being so objectionable a spouse."

"Objectionable—I don't know you!" Hob can't keep his voice from rising, feeling just a little hysterical by this point. "And you don't know me! Fuck sake, you—I don't even know your name! And you're just gonna move into my little cottage on the beach with me so we can live happily ever after?!"

"Ideally, yes." He blinks. "My name is Dream."

That's. Okay. What. Hob shakes his head, equilibrium lost. "Has this ever worked out for any selkie you know?!"

"In the old stories? Sometimes. I am the only modern selkie I know who has been foolish enough to be tricked into leaving my coat behind." There is bitterness in his voice now and god help him, Hob's starting to feel a bit of sympathy for the guy.

"Seems a very cruel prank for a sibling to play," he offers. "And you're extremely calm about this whole oops-forced-marriage thing. Tradition be damned for just a second; does it not upset you even a little?"

The selkie—whose name is Dream, apparently—looks at him with those soulful blue eyes, contemplating. "Truthfully, I welcome the promise of escaping my parents' household. Even in so outdated and risk-prone a way as this. They would at least recognize the validity of such a claim—" He straightens abruptly, eyes widening. "…oh. Oh. Perhaps. My sibling. It is perhaps not a prank, after all."

Hob cannot for the life of him keep up with this conversation. "Wait. Wait. Escaping your parents? How old are you?" He looks a young thirty-something, certainly, but what the hell does Hob know about actual selkie physiology, really?

"Well past the age of majority, in my culture and yours. My parents are very traditional in most respects. Their children remain part of their household short of marrying out. My sibling, who found their way to a marriage some time ago, appears to have orchestrated one for me, as I have no prospects at home."

"So, what, your sibling lied about your coat and left it here so you'd get stuck with whoever picked it up?"

"I am beginning to think so, yes."

"Bit daft a way to go about it?"

"Ours is…a complicated relationship."

Hob casts a disbelieving glance at Dream; he can't help it. "What if you'd wound up bound to some creep?"

"I have no guarantee that you are not, as you say, a creep."

"What? No! I'm not, I promise! And again, why would you accept being married when that's the case?!"

"The bond exists regardless, whatever sort of person you may be." Dream shakes his head, black hair fluffing with the motion and despite everything, Hob is still deeply struck by how pretty he is.

"You are dead serious about all of this, aren't you," Hob says, resignation creeping into his tone.

"It is tradition." Dream gazes at him, assessing. "But I would choose to trust the circumstances of my sibling's meddling, in any case." He blinks at Hob, a slow, considering look. "If my husband will have me."

"Hob. My name is Hob Gadling. Short for Robert." Hob can hardly believe he's even thinking about agreeing to this madness, and yet. Here he is. "Sooo, what happens to you if I reject this marriage? You go home in disgrace? You wander the human world abandoned and alone? You die because I broke the bond?"

"The bond will not break simply for being rejected." Dream looks away. "If you spurn me, I will leave, but I will always feel the draw back to you. I would face ridicule and disdain, should I return home, for allowing my coat out of my possession and failing to honor the bond formed by its return. I am already deemed a misfit; such disgrace would only confirm it for those who care to pass judgment."

"Like your parents."

"Yes." He looks resigned to the misery.

Hob's heart thumps, decision made. And okay, yes, maybe he is being a little bit stupid about this, a little too-much-too-fast like usual, but he can't just send Dream away to all that. "Can I perhaps offer a compromise, then."

Dream tilts his head, attention on Hob, listening.

"How about. We go on a date. Can we try a date first?"

"A date."

"Yeah. Y'know. Two interested people meet up, have a meal, do an activity. Learn more about each other, see if they click?"

"I am. Familiar with the concept, yes."

Oh, but that dry snark is so attractive to Hob. He forces his brain to stay on subject. "I'll even—my cottage has a guest room; you can stay there unless you'd rather book a room down the street. I'm willing to get to know you and see how it goes, okay?"

Dream blinks at him, primly flabbergasted, and Hob is delighted to have finally gotten the upper hand in this conversation. Heaven help him, he's starting to like this weird selkie man already.

"Look. You've got circumstances you want to escape. You accidentally got bound to me. Doesn’t have to be a traditional marriage if it's not agreeable to us both. Been thinking about taking on a housemate, anyway. You'll suit. Don't need you to keep house for me or any of that rubbish from the stories; I'm a full grown man who's been looking after himself for years. We'll share chores. You can explore your options for a life on land. Find a job, or something, if you like."

"And what of the bond already between us?"

Hob shrugs. "We can leave romantic possibilities open, if you want to. Like I said—let's try a date. Let's learn a bit about each other. We'll learn plenty living under the same roof already, I'd wager. If romance doesn't feel right, we'll focus on building a friendship. But either way, I'm not going to leave you homeless and rejected and abandoned on land. Let's start from as reasonable a place as the situation allows and see what happens." He offers a smile, warm and sincere. "What do you say?"

Dream is still watching him, intent and contemplative; after a moment, he inclines his head with gracious old-school formality. "I. Will. Accept your compromise, Hob Gadling."

Oh, his full name in that voice, that is dangerous. Hob is still very much interested in dating the guy; he's pretty, he is thus far not a complete arse, and weird as this conversation is it's given Hob a little glimpse of who Dream is as a person and he'd like to learn more.

Which he will have ample opportunity to do, it seems.

"Wonderful!" Hob beams. "I was heading to the shops after locking up here; you're welcome to join me."

"I shall," Dream decides, with the tiniest hint of a smile, and that's it—Hob is officially smitten.

God, but Jo is gonna roast his arse to kingdom come when she finds out about all of this.

Grocery shopping seems entirely too mundane a task to contemplate after the last several minutes but his refrigerator at home is not going to magically restock itself, is it.

He doesn't think selkies have that kind of magic, either.

He isn't going to ask.

He tries very hard to ignore the little voice in his head telling him he's being incredibly stupid. It's not like he doesn't know. Marriage, then cohabitation, then getting better acquainted? That's very much coming at the whole thing backwards.

That other little voice in his head, though, the one that tends to speak for his gut instincts? That one says he's made the right call, backwards or not, as he strolls down the street toward town center with his new selkie husband-slash-housemate trailing beside him and sees the contented little smile still wreathing those rosebud lips.

He hasn't gotten where he is in life by listening to the first voice over the second.

He's not about to start now.

= Started: 2/8/25 Drafted: 2/11/25 Posted: 2/12/25

This is where I stipulate that I don't know how official-traditional the whole 'giving a selkie back their coat means you're married' thing is. I've run across it a few times but usually in like. Tumblr posts and amateur fiction more than compendiums of mythical creatures or collections of folklore and the like. Regardless, it suits my purposes here.

[suzukiblu]

Day five of February’s second weekly WIP behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Ugh, he is being such a fucking downer right now. In his own head, even, for fuck's sake. Just because, like, he's never really felt like he fit in with Clark's family and feels even less like he does since their stupid fucking reality rebooted and now maybe their stupid fucking reality is dead and might've taken everyone who he remembers ever knowing whether they remember him at all or not with it and now he'll really never, ever get to go home again and–

Kon stops thinking about that shit. Not actually fixing the problem, you realize, Cassie would say. It’s just catastrophizing until you have all the intel, Tim would say. 

We found you once, we'll find you again, Bart would say. 

Or, like, something totally stupid and ridiculous about nothing important so Kon could pretend to be a mentally stable person for just another five minutes. Whichever. 

He doesn't know what he's gonna do if they can't find each other again. If they're not there to be found. Aside from, like, continue to interdimensionally babysit the ten year-old version of a guy who doesn't even particularly care that he's alive, much less that they're both wearing the same house crest. Like–that, yeah. And only that until they find the local Clark, either way. 

Fuck, this is the worst interdimensional bullshit to bullshit since fucking Gemworld. 

Kon doesn’t think about how long it took him to get the fuck off fucking Gemworld. 

( doesn’t wonder if his reality’s Jon is out there somewhere not thinking about how long it took him to get the fuck out of the fucking volcano. )

Jon really does keep up the excited rambling the whole way out of Gotham, which Kon still cannot actually process as being a thing and still has no idea how he feels about. Just–just the way the kid’s looking at him is . . . 

Literally no one has ever looked at him the way this kid is looking at him right now, especially not any version of Jon Kent. 

He just . . . he doesn’t know what the fuck to think about it. 

“We’ll be arriving at the manor shortly, Mr. Kent,” Alfred finally interrupts as a smooth interjection when Jon’s pausing to take a breath and Kon is panicking about whether or not he’s supposed to be saying anything to the kid or what. Kon is very, very fucking grateful for said interruption and leans forward in his seat to peer ahead through the windshield. Not that he didn’t already know where they were, he’s just kinda curious about what may or may not look different in this reality’s version of the neighborhood. Like, he doesn’t know, maybe–

Wait. He does know where they are. And Alfred just said–

“Wait, you’re actually taking us to the manor?” Kon asks incredulously. 

“It would appear so, Mr. Kent,” Alfred says, raising an eyebrow at him in the rearview mirror. “I do recall saying that I was.” 

“Yeah, in front of Rita!” Kon protests. “We didn’t actually think you were gonna take us to the actual manor! What the hell, man?!” 

“Oh is Batman gonna just kill us?” Jon asks, half-covering his face with his hands with a freaked-out expression. “Are we getting killed and chucked off the ledge in the Batcave and like they’ll literally never even find our bodies?” 

“That seems a rather inhospitable welcome, young Mr. Kent,” Alfred replies wryly. “I intended to make tea, personally. Perhaps a late supper, under the circumstances.” 

Yeah, they are definitely never finding their bodies. 

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I'd actually love a midnights storytelling Timeline playlist? Like what order you'd place them to tell the complete story of the album. I love the idea of Dear Reader as track 1

OK so, one caveat is that generally I think Taylor's tracklisting works really well and often tells a story of its own (e.g. TTPD), so I'm a little reticent to mess with that. And next thing is that like, we don't always have firm dates about when songs were written/what events they refer to/even who they were about depending on the album, so like, you can't really pinpoint a timeline *chronologically* of events as they transpire most of the time, certainly on Midnights. And also writing/processing isn't linear. @likeadevils does however have excellent posts about album timelines and places the songs in order of creation if that's what you're after.

Now that that's out of the way...

There are a few different ways I could see organizing Midnights thematically, and I'm approaching here kind of, emotionally-speaking rather than chronologically, although there's kind of a weaving of the two. I've split them into "chapters" à la folklore playlists on Spotify.

Prologue: To a house, not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there

Dear Reader

Act 1: A real fucking legacy

Midnight Rain Would've, Could've, Should've Maroon Question…? High Infidelity

Act 2: Love blackout

Labyrinth Snow on the Beach Lavender Haze Paris Glitch Mastermind Karma Sweet Nothing

Act 3: Sweet dream was over

The Great War Bigger Than The Whole Sky Vigilante Shit Bejeweled Anti-Hero Hits Different You're Losing Me

Epilogue: Yeah, you can face this

You're On Your Own, Kid

So this is how I see the chapters:

Prologue:

This is the introduction to the themes of the album, very much the same way that Fortnight does for TTPD. (I love me a "Two households, both alike in dignity / In fair Verona, where we lay our scene" setup.) Dear Reader does this really well, she's speaking directly to the listener, but also to herself, and touches upon the themes throughout the album: anger, loss, fear, self-loathing, self-destruction, but also the recognition that she "shines so bright." It's the push-pull between her private and public life, her personal and professional ambitions, and that is ALL over the album and each side informs the other.

I could also argue adding Anti-Hero and Midnight Rain into this chapter and nearly did. Anti-Hero because again, it touches the public image vs. internal struggle/self-loathing of it all, which she is ruminating on on this sleepless night. And Midnight Rain because "I never think of him except on midnights like this" because well, that is the entire conceit of the album.

Act 1: A real fucking legacy

Like I said above, I nearly put Midnight Rain in the Prologue, but it also serves well as an introduction to the theme in these songs. Because "I never think of him except on midnights like this" covers these relationships from the past that are haunting her in this dark night of the soul exercise. Remember what we said about the push and pull between her personal life and her career? The crux of the song isn't her pining for this former lover, it's that she's wondering if her pursuing her ambition relentlessly and joyously is diametrically opposed to the idea he represents. It's the spark that lights the flame of the pining we see later on. Which leads to the other Hes who have marked her life and set her on the path she's on now.

So in contrast to the bittersweet nostalgia, we have the darker side of that rumination. There's WCS about the trauma that continues to haunt her, and Maroon about a relationship breakdown that broke her. Question...? Kinda is just there for laughs as comic relief-- but in all seriousness is like, "you were a dumbass and do you ever wonder if you hadn't been such a dumbass if we could have made it work?" About something that never got off the ground. And then High Infidelity ends the chapter on another darker note about the threat within a relationship, but the "Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?" is the segue for our next chapter...

Act 2: Love blackout

This is where we get a sense of the core relationship she's dancing around in the album-- the one that is driving all this rumination, because it's so intricately tied with the path her life took as a result. The "Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?" to "I thought the plane was going down, how'd you turn it right around?" emotional parallel hits the ground running and tells you why this relationship and this phase is such a lifeline. SOTB is the honeymoon phase of the relationship, where everything is wondrous and exhilarating, and pairs well IMO with Lavender Haze in that the rush of new love is intoxicating, and she wants to stay on that high and block everything out to chase it.

The rest of the songs I put here kind of meander, but there was a method to my madness. Paris feels like the memories of a special time, with the emphasis of it being them alone, shutting the world out, which is a continuation of LH. Glitch is her continued disbelief that they've made it this far, but suddenly it's six years later and she's still yearning that high (... in spite of everything telling her this wasn't supposed to happen). Mastermind could have arguably gone earlier in the list, but I put it here because again, she's planning and scheming and doing all the work to keep this thing going against all odds. Karma feels very "happily ever after"-esque in that it's, "I went through all this shit, but it's totally fine because I got what I wanted in the end!" without giving away that it's a veneer, and finally we end with Sweet Nothing because it's the sweetest fantasy of running home to your lover and feeling content and complete. Which brings us to...

Act 3: Sweet dream was over

Our last full act, which is all about loss and the ways in which one reacts and deals with it. The Great War is the bubble bursting that Sweet Nothing dreamed up. It's a crisis point in the relationship, an entire life built that is potentially going up in flames; it hints at the conflicts that would prove to be their undoing. BTTWS is a raw depiction of grief in the wake of loss, and the questioning and despair that goes along with that, sinking someone into the pits of depression and loneliness. Vigilante Shit is another reaction to loss-- this time unadulterated anger in the form of a revenge fantasy. (It's fantasizing about agency in a situation where there is little of it because like BTTWS, in many ways it's out of her hands.)

Bejeweled is a bit of the odd duck because I kind of wanted to put it near-last because I think it's the best transition into YLM, but thematically it's not quite ready for prime time yet-- although the same conundrum applies to Anti-Hero here. But Bejeweled is part of this chapter because it's her grappling with her sadness and despair and wanting to break out of it. She wants to shine again, and it's a warning to the person that she won't stick around if they don't see that. (Broadly speaking, I know there's more there.) Anti-Hero is kind of clunky here, which is why I'm very tempted to put it in the intro instead, but my thinking is: she's in this pit of self-loathing, wondering why she keeps making the same choices and same mistakes and drives everyone away. She's the problem. And it's her persona, her big life, that's driving her to this madness-- or is it? (But also: one day I’ll watch as you’re leaving and life will lose all its meaning for the last time.)

Which finally brings us to Hits Different and YLM. Honestly, these two could also swap positions, and I went back and forth on them. I think "chronologically" HD makes more sense at the last song in this chapter, but "emotionally" YLM is SUCH a fitting end, so there we go. HD makes good on the threat of the break in The Great War, and a lot of the themes we've seen throughout the playlist here but specifically this section are present. The self-destruction and self-loathing of AH, the anger and lashing out in TGW and VS (in a very different form), the depression in BTTWS and even a tinge of the self-worth in Bejeweled.

But YLM is the true denouement of this all and reflects all those same vignettes in far more devastating fashion. There's breakdown, loss, anger, spite, self-destruction and standing up for herself too, however briefly. I think it really feels like the true crossroad of the album: Do I throw out everything we built or keep it? We've just spent a whole album wading through all of it, and now she's left to decide which path to take. Does she stay and fight, perhaps wondering what she has to give up int he process, or does she leave and risk the pain she uncovered in Act 1, only tenfold because it hits different this time? The empty house of Dear Reader in the Prologue (and incidentally in HI I've just realized) is blanketed in darkness in YLM, and it's up to her to decide if she's turning the light back on or out for good.

Epilogue: Yeah, you can face this

You're On Your Own Kid feels like the perfect emotional ending for this playlist because not only does the song travel through this entire time period, from an early young love that gave way to bigger dreams to the sheer devastation she put herself through to reach the very top and the subsequent crash. And it feels like it answers the question asked in the previous chapter: Yeah, you can do this. You've come back from every setback and you'll be able to do it again. You've always ultimately had to rely on yourself, and you'll do it again and again until you pull yourself out. The song is full of such sad revelations, but it also ends on a hopeful, if bittersweet note. She might be playing solitaire for now, but doesn't mean she can't handle it.

It feels wrong to mess around with Taylor's tracklisting like this, but it was so much fun 😂 I loooooooove delving into the themes in her albums and I really find like the emotional journeys within them become more salient as time passes on too.

Honestly, I can't say it enough, I loved the pre-release playlists for TTPD too, if you're looking into this kind of emotional deconstruction of her discography at large. The beats within the playlists themselves make so much sense, and I think frames the songs within them really well. Just my two cents!

[yimpysdiner]

Ridiculously long analysis of Jimmy's dialogue (PART 2)

PART 1 HERE Continuing with the next section,

Mimicking?

The whole ordeal of Jimmy copying Curly's "yeah?" in speech has already been pointed out, but there's something else I wanted to look into. This section is gonna be relatively short but this interaction still sticks with me. It's fairly easy to miss as you can brush it off but given Jimmy often repeats words or phrases from those around him I find it interesting.

This interaction was so awkward that it has me thinking about it over and over so honestly this may be one big nothing burger and more so headcanon territory but hear me out.

Jimmy gets quiet here as either 1, he expects them all to die on that ship as he said before crashing it or 2, he's terrified of any sort of attention their whole ordeal may get if they survive. The awkward silence is only filled by him commenting on ladies. Daisuke is no stranger to talking about "beach babes" and as Swansea puts it, "thinking with his downstairs long-nose." Honestly, Jimmy is a scumbag and gross around women, but I don't think this is the sort of situation where he cares to be impressing any ladies. This reads to me as him trying to "fit in" with Daisuke in a way. The way he often mimics people and says things they'd relate to defuse situations and get on their good sides feels like a form of masking. I'm no professional, no idea what in specific this would be, but Jimmy strikes me as the kind of guy who finds it really difficult to positively navigate a lot of social situations, especially if he feels uneasy like he was here. This parts super rambly sorry, this is just something interesting about him to me, how he'll latch on to other people's personality traits and mirror them.

Lashing out

We all already know Jimmy's not a very stable guy, very small things irritate him, he has levels to his anger however.

His base line irritation is just little remarks like this, things that you would scratch your head at but they're small so you can't quite bring them up. It's not completely aggressive, but it's definitely not very friendly either

I won't shove all the same screenshots of him lashing out during the birthday party here, but there he only lashes out in front of everyone else when he's able to make it seem like he's in the right. He insults everyone to their faces, but he's able to pin all the blame on Curly, letting out his anger while also in some sort of way getting people on his "side." Here he's *already* sewing seeds of doubt about Curly into the other's mind, so his little plan to blame Curly for the crash later on only works out all the more in his favor.

Then there's moments like when he's giving Curly his pills. He isn't exactly yelling, more so going on with his angry, paranoid rambles. This of course is followed by the implication he beats Curly while feeding him his painkillers, physically taking out his anger on someone who can't fight back. Side note, the only times he ever gets physical is when they're in a position of being unable to fight back (drugging Swansea, the implied drugging of Anya, and of course when Curly is left defenseless.)

I believe this is the first instance of Jimmy actually full on yelling while having one of his tantrums, which is why I say his anger is written in levels. It's not all one flat base of him cussing like a sailor and screaming his head off, remembering this and *what* exactly makes him tick helps me when deciding how I should write him reacting to certain situations. There's other instances where he's clearly panicked and flustered, stuttering and rambling because of high stress situations such as when Daisuke is on the brink of death and it's all his fault, which we'll get to later.

Hopelessness

Something I noticed when going back through everything is Jimmy seems completely and utterly hopeless about everything in his life. It starts out in the cockpit scene, one of the very few times he's genuinely vulnerable.

This line initially just seems like Jimmy is some power tripping guy who likes being the right hand man to the Captain, which is entirely possible (and true, given how quick he is to assume the Captains role himself), but it leads me to suspect something else as well.

These are out of order, but I think like this is better demonstrates Jimmy has never really felt the sense of control over his life like he has until he got this gig with Curly. He feels comfortable like this, which is why Curly wanting to "throw it all away" in his eyes baffles him. I really wish the devs gave some insight to what Jimmy's life on Earth was, why *he* ran from it all to assume a position where he felt he was finally in the drivers seat.

When Jimmy is faced with the reality of what he's done, his first worry is when he gets back home, he'll be caged in the same position he was, back at square one with no control over his life, rotting in a prison. Even if he did get out, as he said, none of it will matter, not with an assault on his permanent record. Maybe he held onto hope that he and Curly would find something new to do, but because he made the choice to force himself on Anya, that'll never happen. His knee jerk reaction to that? Kill himself. Kill himself and take everyone down with him, because if he's not in control, he may as well be dead. "The Tulpar crew was never found."

Remorse

Jimmy isn't entirely uncaring for what he's done. He suffers delusions for each and every one of the people he fucked over, all except Anya. Instead, he sees visions of the child he created, the ever looming reminder of what he did, no matter how hard he tried to block out Anya from his mind, it will always, always haunt him. Him crying to Curly and pleading forgiveness from someone who can't properly give it to him anymore is already a sort of in your face scene, that and the scenes with the horse delusions.

I want to talk about Daisuke and Swansea actually, as he had a much more direct role in their ends. In his mind he can say, oh, Curly ran in and did that to himself, oh, Anya swallowed those pills and did that to herself. It's Daisuke and Swansea who show up more broadly as themselves in his delusions as he was the sole reason for their passing. As Daisuke is dying, he is incredibly distressed the entire time.

Daisuke being so prominent in his mind has always struck me as interesting, seeing him in the vent, a grave, in the graveyard, all the flowers, the real genuine panic when trying to fix what he did. He never wanted him to die, he obviously feels immense guilt in making him crawl through that vent.

As for Swansea, Swansea can read him like a book, and he lets Jimmy know exactly what he thinks of him before he's shot and killed. He appears in the graveyard with Jimmy, also leaving a lasting impact on Jimmy's psyche.

To say Jimmy feels nothing over what he's done, or that he wouldn't care about people dying or anything like that is wrong on so many levels when the entire last half of the game focuses on him having to literally fight his own demons. It all culminates into him saying he fixed everything, deluding himself into being a hero as some sort of final comfort to his broken mind before he offs himself, "saving" Curly after dismembering him as if that makes up for all his wrongdoings. Jimmy is so layered and interesting and human, and that's what makes him a fantastically written character. It's what allows you to see yourself in him and reflect, see those insecurities he harbors, those toxic traits he exhibits, every little ugly part of him meant to be a mirror to your own actions. Denying him his humanity and making him an emotionless, aggressive, constantly angry person strips him of everything he's meant to be.

Sorry for the huuuuge yapsesh, but I thought going over these would be fun, it also helps me keep my characterization of him as accurate as I can possibly make it. If you have any thoughts let me know!!! I am very very invested in him and I love to hear what others think of him, even if I may agree or disagree.

[max1461]

I think something is wrong with me that they don't understand yet. To be honest. Or something is wrong that they do understand but it's causing problems that they don't understand. This post is seeking advice from anyone who can provide it.

Uh @transgenderer tagging you because you've had good thoughts on these things. Let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you in personal matters. Also @cadaversconsumer because I think it's you who was interested in my brain? Feel free to just marvel at my bad brain.

Ok, so, there is context to my current brain problems that I haven't fully explained. But it requires(?) some backstory. Basically, upon the advent of the pandemic in 2020, I got very depressed and anxious for life reasons. For about three years I was in a very weird, poor mental state. Bad OCD, very depressed, very anxious. Not able to leave the house or work due to how bad the OCD was. During this time I kind of... hunkered down, tried to put everything out of my mind, and just focus on getting through each day. Even listening to music was too emotionally overwhelming, and would trigger an anxiety/OCD fit. All I could do was try to eat, try to sleep, and think "somehow, this will get better eventually". Oh, and post. I was posting constantly (often nonsense, this is the origin of my shitposts), that's when my blog got popular. Posting was the only thing external to my mind that I could think about without sort of freaking out.

Although this was brought on by life events, it was all so intense that I can't discount a neurological component. I felt... like my brain was constantly full of electricity, that I was constantly hyper-activated in some deep way. Like even deeper than fight-or-flight. Well, as I said, like I was full of electricity. At the worst of it, I would pace around and do OCD compulsions (various movements and stuff) for 8-12 hours a day; I would only stop when I got so tired I fell asleep, sleep for 2 or 3 hours, I would start doing the OCD compulsions again in my dreams and wake up already doing them. Then go for another 8-12 hour stint and fall asleep again. Sometimes I would get it under control for half an hour or something, which I would use for eating. When it was less bad, it was more like 4-6 hours dispersed throughout the day, and I was still hyper anxious even when it wasn't actively happening. This lasted from early 2020 through the end of 2022, about 3 years.

Right, during this time of never leaving the house or doing anything, I kind of felt like I forgot how to... be a person. My mind was so wrapped up in "surviving" that I uh just, yeah, forgot how to be a person. I remember when I made my grad school attempt (which did not go well), at the end of 2022 when things were starting to clear up, I still felt so fatigued that I would lay in made for hours TOTALLY MOTIONLESS, I mean, still like a corpse. Even the idea of moving my arms a little felt exhausting. It took me another roughly two years to slowly start to feel like a person again.

After all this happened, my memories of uh, anything other than the weird life I had been living were very faint. I could hardly recall what life was like before. I knew all the factual stuff but it felt like a dream. I often found myself, in 2023 and 2024, straining to remember. And I do mean straining, it was like I was exerting myself to uh, push a faint memory into my vision again. It worked, and I started to remember what life was like before, but the more I did it the more exertion it took, until I was literally straining my whole body and squeezing in order to remember pre-pandemic memories. I would often get this feeling of pressure behind my eyes, that had actually started to hurt. At a certain point, maybe mid 2024, it had started to actively make my eyes tired. I made a post about it on here. It had given me eye strain, and even passively remembering these things (which would now happen, because I had sufficiently jogged my memory) would give me pain between/behind my eyes and generally feel kind of weird. The memories became harder to "look directly at" in my mind, even when I wasn't straining, because they would just give me automatic eye pain. I figured "I should stop straining like that, the memories will still be there, but this is kinda hurting me".

One way or another, I then found myself at the dentist. Uh. The whole deal is I was super anxious, and for reasons I won't go into, almost reflexively started straining in the manner described above. This is when they were giving me the anesthetic. I tried to stop straining, but it's like I couldn't, something was numb and I was stuck in the "pressure behind eyes" mode. Then I felt a... pop? A very gentle pop, and, hey, that's how I ended up in my current state. Mind running, uh, hyper emotionally, like all my memories are playing out vividly all the time and I can't stop them, but I also can't look straight at them. And my friends and so on from pre-pandemic don't feel like real people, it feels like their mental "profile pictures" have been deleted from my mind, and all this shit I've been posting about.

Oh! And for a few days after the dentist, I had these huge, HUGE dark circles under my eyes, like fucking purple. For almost a week.

Anyway, I was diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy and trigeminal nerve damage (cause parts of my face are numb), and that's where I am today. But forgive me if I think maybe something else is going on? I've explained all this shit to doctors and parents but they kind of dismiss it; I think it's kind of important though.

Uh, I guess the main piece of advice I'm curious if anyone can give me is: what type of doctor would I go to to look into the eye shit? It really feels like the eye shit is central. Mental experiences were already coupled to weird eye shit before my bad dentist trip. Uh. Nobody takes me seriously but I think the eye shit is central. But also just uh... anyone heard of anything like this before? Anyone have a reference point I can turn to?

[midnightshindig]

a platonic drabble for cecil who has a kid that’s just like him and also ends up majorly scarred while saving someone on a mission?

Cecil & family!Reader hcs

Oooooo I like this, you guys really wanna tear this guy apart

Hcs below the cut!

You're his pride and joy

literally the exact same as him like to the way you take your coffee and the way you button your cuffs

From the first time Cecil got called into the office because you "organized detention" to fit your whims

God he's so proud

You're the product of a one-night stand with a visiting alien gone very wrong, dumped at his doorstep at the ripe age of four

it's just been you and him ever since

Cut to years later, and your powers have manifested, and he's all but forced to put you in the field

"You can either send me on missions, or I'm gonna start roaming the streets to fight crime on my own."

God you're gonna give him a heart attack

and so he agrees to put you, his fifteen year old pride and joy, into the field

Donald finds him like completely hungover the next morning cuz he's just so fucking stressed

After a few good missions, though, you prove to be like him in other ways:

you're dependable, a good listener, you follow orders flawlessly and improvise like a pro

Well, he guesses you are a pro now.

You're going on missions relatively frequently, still smaller fish but your powers aren't too insanely useful, you're more like a glorified and enhanced spy than anything.

A lot like he was.

This mission is bog standard, local cult in Midnight City that Darkwing II has requested assistance with since he's too busy with Guardian stuff

And so you go undercover in this cult, robes, rituals, the whole affair

Why is it always Midnight City?

ugh.....

You're handling it like a champ, though, and Cecil's sending backup

The backup is ON. ITS. WAY.

"Do not engage, Y/n, the cavalry is coming, you did good, now just hang tight and don't cause a scene."

He can hear you scoff, not able to verbally respond due to your yknow, undercoverness

What he can't see is that this cult is in the middle of some mad witchy shit, super culty, ritualistic sacrifice aplenty and you're helpless to stop it, at least without a lot of people getting hurt.

You have no idea what's going on, but you overhear two cult members talking to one another

"So what's this ritual for again?" "The spiritual cleansing of the world, dumbass. We're going to rid this world of filthy sinners with the cleansing blood of our leader"

Oh. I guess that guy on the ritual table does look like the cult leader.

You squint from a few rows back to get a better look at him-yeah- yup, that's definitely him.

His blood flows through the grooves in the table, onto the spell circle underneath

Much to your surprise, the circle actually begin to glow a familiar glow

the magical glow of a pre-explo-

BOOM

Cecil only hears you swear quickly before his line gets cut, and its all hands on deck.

Shortly after the explosion, the backup arrives, their priority getting as much of you out in one piece

It's a similar case to Cecil, saving whatever skin they can and grafting it onto you, and offering you the choice to get it replaced with fake skin.

You can't do it, though, but not for the same reason as your father

oh my god you're such an asshole

Cecil teleports straight to the side of your bed, checking you for harm after the doctors finish their procedure on you

"Y/n- fuck- stay with me kid- are you okay? Tell me you're okay." He's a little fast talking, but otherwise he holds himself together remarkably well.

Unti he notices your face

From the bottom of your mouth curving around the left half of your jaw, and down your neck, is burnt skin

Your shoulder and hand on the same side have similar burn marks

"Why?" He asks, softly, praying he hasn't burdened you with the same guilt he's felt since his own incident.

You give him a wide grin, uncharacteristic of the stoic relationship you shared

"I did it because it looks sick as hell! Don't you think?"

Oh man, you're such an asshole.

He ruffles your hair and groans

"You pull it off"

and that's good enough for him.

he's never letting you on another mission ever again omg

[juchily]

Yellowjackets S3 Ep2 thoughts

spoilers below ⚠️

I'm laughing my fucking ass off, Mari's scared for her life screaming like an NPC and Ben is talking like a coach again... Honestly this has convinced me maybe Ben didn't set the fire (although before now I also have liked the theory other Tai did it, this just solidifies it a bit for me)

The switch from Ben yelling push to Mari and Shauna digging up her dead baby to hold him... Oh I'm crying. HE WASNT THERE WHEN SHE NEEDED TO BE TOLD TO PUSH AND NOW HES THERE TO TELL MARI! AGGH

Shauna burying her baby in a different place, rejecting the miracle and occult ideas of the wilderness the other girls have come to welcome

Misty the simp of all time

Taivan going to but "not going with them" lol they know Misty's just going to be trying to get comfy with Nat the whole time

Van's arms, that's it

Lottie's being problematic about inducing drug psychosis... Who would have guessed

Shauna actually saying something good about her family for once. Damn who knew all it took was for your kid to commit assault for you to start actually loving them

SIX WEEKS, HOW THE HELL IS LOTTIE OUT TF, I can't complain I guess

Lottie they were cruel af for calling psych on you (it's logical but coming from the YELLOWJACKETS it's just hypocritical) but those crocodile tears... The definition of grown ass puppy eyes. She sniffles!

Callie already ride and die for Lottie... Did she forget she SHOT her... Oh wait, I forgot that's literally Callie's dad obv she's ride or die 🤗

Jeff checking to make sure Lottie leaves to the porch before speaking his mind HAH

Van's got some PIPES, Taivan freaky once again everyone 👏

Walter and Misty are so simp4simp except Walter is the one person Misty won't simp for... She's digging her nose into that jacket and springing to attention AS SOON as Shauna calls... Walter can't believe this girl

wtf is up with Walter in that scene where Misty is talking to him. Dude looks like he's grieving, in depression, and scheming all at once I don't even know

Oh yeah Crystal, they didn't have a grave for her either (or mention her) on top of Laura Lee last episode (and before you talk about that theory that she doesn't exist, I'm pretty sure that's easily ruled out as not being possible)

Nat does not wanna talk to Misty... And she sure as hell is trying hard to hate Ben/look like she hates Ben... My Nat and Coach Ben friendship... I'm mourning

Callie's more afraid of Misty than Lottie (valid??) but this is hilarious she's immediately freaked out the contrast is insane

Nat sees the trap (Ben's) and tries to hide it, so obviously she doesn't actually want the girls to know/think he's alive, im wondering if she's found his traps before or not. Maybe she hasn't and that's another reason she gets super surprised

Anyways more Mistynat 😭😭😭 Nat's horrible at lying...

HOLY FUCK VAN'S ARMS 🙇🙇🙇

Wtf are lottie and Travis doing... Lottie stop feeding his psychosis baby 🙏

Lottie is sooo insane this season

Misty is absolutely failing at babysitting Lottie and Callie. Callie wants to get them drunk enough to talk sooo bad. Lottie IS the father

Mari and Ben team up?

Uh I just ate my words.

Anyways

A NOOSE??? Mari is not having a fun time, damn... She's catching Ls left and right

Now who was that in the bathroom???

These start up bros are super weird... And Shauna's catching them on their shit

They have ducks and bunnies 😵‍💫 absolute art

His name is Mortimer? His name is Mortimer!

Oh Travis deserves so much better my baby ❤️❤️

LOTTIE DONT, he needs a wilderness restraining order on her fr...

Why does Lottie make Travis the test dummy for this "communication"?? I'm interested because she isn't acting like this to any of the others, not even Nat (who sort of has the blessing of the wilderness)

Oh well Akilah is NOT safe now...

I KNEW IT! MISTY'S PLAYING THE CARDS IN HER FAVOUR TO GET ATTENTION. Shauna still doesn't like her though lol

Oh my Lord forget the Caligula dance number they FILMED THIS for a tv segment for the TV show...

Question is, what did Lottie spill to Callie while Misty was out cold?

Callie braiding Lotties hair <3

Misty just wants to have toxic one-sided codependent friendships Walter, what's so wrong about that? 🙄

Well Ben might be a bit insane

Ooo who laid flowers at wilderness baby's new grave?

Oh, well Melissa with her stupid ass boy shorts and that pretty crop top, she's so pretty 😍 her poor hat's gone MIA though

I'm gay, Melissa's gay, Shauna's a girl kisser

Shaunahat has to be one of the most interesting things i have ever seen

Oh they're freaky alright WITH THE KNIFE AT THE NECK STILL

Ending thoughts:

Want more Laura Lee... obviously I'm a sucker for Jane Widdop I would love to see them back on the show for flashbacks, but overall just an acknowledgment of Laura Lee this season ❤️

Is Ben insane? Is he hallucinating or actually talking to someone and we just can't see/hear them?

Wtf is up with teen Lottie?

What is going to happen with Callie regarding the Yellowjackets and the Wilderness?

I'm still manifesting a pig blood orgy like those mean highschool girls 🤷

More Shaunahat honestly 😈 , would love to see more teen Taivan

I don't think Akilah is going to be safe anymore after this episode since Travis just put Lottie on her.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Truly the grief for shows with 20+ eps a season is so indescribable, not everything needs to be 8-10 eps with 45+ min each episode!

And honestly, so true? Agree heavily here. I love the drama of the scene (mostly), Cecil v. Mark, ex. Mark thinking Cecil would outright try to kill him, b/c Mark's prob seeing the Nolan in Cecil, who takes the rejection of obedience into outright violence (presumably?). But still! Lacking! This would hit harder if there was more built up to Mark's trust in Cecil, any mentor-like advice, or paralleled Nolan in Cecil as it did Mark! But, Mark's difficulty in vocalizing his own morality, like you mention, just kinda leaves me a little confused on this whole conflict between them. It retracts from scenes with Oliver, too, it retracts the drama of A LOT, if it just leaves same outright squinting at the screen, 'cause the very foundation, what Mark knows and thinks is right, isn't exactly solid and established.

Like, why doesn't Mark vocalize the importance the HELPING people? Some classic spidey "great power, great responsibility", why is my guy going through the motions, and clearly STILL struggling? I feel like s1 does make some point to highlight Mark does want to help people, or trying to prod at his idea of what helping people means, even if it ends up going terribly wrong. Him failing to rescue a dying woman, him roped into fighting Machine Head, does prod at his ideas of what his job can/doesn't mean, but it feels like they never dive back into that properly? Which is strange, 'cause that's another potential Eve, Mark tie-in, as Eve realizes she can't do everything yet, Mark tries to figure out what he can do. Then they're both learning! Even supporting each other while pushing character growth! But it seems his only goal posts are Don't Be Dad (somehow? vaguely? no sub-goals, here), and Punch Bad Guy...? It's so strange.

Rewatching clips of s1's Mark vs Nolan fight rn, and Mark's weirdly unspecific morality is even weirder? He was trying to save ppl in that battle, desperately, no? I would think post-Nolan fight, he'd want to work real hard in gaining public trust again, and getting real emotional when ANY civilians die. Nolan outright tells him it's his fault ppl died, and Mark, later, learns Nolan is dead ass serious (pun intended lol) about replacing him, why wouldn't that message sink in further? Make him try to saving people first, over fight? Why not show Mark struggling with taking out the bad guy to stop threat, OR saving people whole the threat lingers, unable to choose a higher priority or outright choosing the wrong one, ultimately taking any mistake as proof the s1 fight was his fault.

Truly, some good ol' flashbacks into Guardian dynamics would be so thrilling, because yeah, it seems they were all in good terms! I also just want it so bad. How dare you gimme bootleg Justice League and then don't give me the dynamics. Outright entertainment robbery. YES TEAM DYNAMICS MY BELOVED FOR REAL. The deprivation of small, but so TELLING character moments make me so ill, because it's SO NEEEDED!!! Same brain waves, because the outright visual communication of these characters is NEEDED and would make me so ill in a good way. The budget issue limiting this show will never NOT drive me insane because Amazon HAS THE MONEY FOR SURE, but refuses to make this show something that, even if the writing isn't exactly fantastic, the FIGHTS could be legendary, if not playful. Also WHY did all of them go fr????? That's such a stupid decision? Especially if limiting it down further could have more character moments, even if small visual cues the show lacks!

I feel I violently check out when it comes to romantic focused media to not fully click this trope is so persistent and so ODD? Like HELLO? That's such a backhanded gift at best, inpersonal and one-sided, and outright cruel if I really wanna go there 'cause like you said, you don't know them. Even making a JOKE out of what's supposed to be a meal meaning gift is crazy??? Like this is fiction, a gift is GREAT way to demonstrate intentionally who these characters are and their relationship to each other. Don't remember the episode or if you're there already, but Justice League has an episode where Wonder Woman + Batman get Superman a bday gift before plot happens, (tho it's strange tbh, in the comics WW's gift is actually Batman's? But they switch it for the show if I'm not mistaken???) and GREAT moment!

Kate and Immortal piss me off so bad but we've already discussed why, like this girl isn't a character istg, EXPLORE HER DAMMIT, but seriously! We got a secret identity plotline BRIEFLY before dropping it and then just straight up functioning on how it's not a thing at all like hello????? Can this have any consequences or impact, even if it's people just look the other way? Which is so odd when it's a common staple for the hero genre, too, but I suppose they don't want to explore it? Perhaps too much of a staple to be interesting for them?

AND TRULY i am so tired of mark getting kicked around, bro, what the heck? Do something before the eleventh hour? But characters being genre savvy would be so funny, imagine somebody just pretends to be hurt to get Mark to actually focus lol.

THE ROGUE GALLERY IS SO SAD AND IT MAKES ME SO UPSET. How we get a bootleg JL and no actually good rogue gallery????? CRAZY WORK. Like part of the WHOLE FUN of superhero media is the villains, like, batman villains are crazy interesting or always just entertaining to SOMEONE, poison ivy, harley quin, penguin, etc, which usually reflect back on batman's character in some way if ya wanna dig into it, or just enjoy a good villain! Instead... it's just sad and empty. Currently foaming at the mouth for ANY super villain to be a mark parallel (like a former villain sidekick trying to step out the shadows of their mentor), or straight up used to be Nolan's nemesis and just tries to keep it up with Mark, insisting they're the same for example IDK. Villains are also good at establishing the world!!

ALSO SO TRUE? I don't think it's ever been actually acknowledged??? Ever?? Why doesn't he explore being mixed raced???? My guy is mixed race AND half human, there is SOMETHING to say here. ALSO SO FUCKING TRUE? WHY CAN'T OLIVER AND MARK BOND ABOUT BEING HYBRIDS? ABOUT HOW OLIVER CAN'T PASS AS EASILY?? My guy can't even go to school 'cause he grows up too fast, like can we talk about this??? Can Oliver be a person??? That could put some conflict / added conflict in the relationship?? Can Mark think about what it's like be HALF ALIEN? Can this mf have some unique oddness because of being a hybrid, I BEG. This is why the lack of self introspection in the desert makes me utterly insane. IT WAS RIGHT THERE.

Also you're telling me we got demons, billion dollar teleporters, cursed family lines, aliens, but nothing to instantly make Oliver look human so he can walk around? Easy way for Mark to feel indebted to Cecil, or Oliver trusting Cecil, something???

Cecil is so fucking interesting because he truly must be Like This. Which is even funnier because you'd think he'd be easier to guess with a focus on his, like, trajectory but no???? At least to me. I am squinting, personally. One would think you'd want needed allies close by and endeared to you, control 'em better, but Mark threatens, and he threatens back even harder, like I GET WHY but also DAMN. Instant escalation. Never threaten this mf, he'd take you AND himself out. It's also funny because like Oliver kills and Mark struggles articulating why it's bad, but also Cecil is presumably A-OK with killing (now) but only when he says so (assumingly). Like, don't kill because we could use them, isn't a because it's bad :( argument???

So, I'd imagine if he had to tackle training/mentoring Mark and Oliver it'd be a challenges in the opposite direction. Like No, Oliver you can't kill them ALL. Yes, Mark you DO have to kill sometimes. I'd kill to know what that looks like. Does Oliver get a whole team dedicated to training him, and Cecil check-ins?

But back to his side of things, I just wanna shake him furiously. Like, you point out, you're telling him to stand down WHY inducing pain AND beating him the fuck up like HELLO? You did not make Mark seem dangerous, now YOU look unhinged in dangerous in a desperate power grab/for control. You're basically tazing someone and telling them to calm down LMAO. Which also like did you try calling them off or is this legit an error here? Which yes, yes, characters can make wrong decisions or have flaws and ruin things despite their best intentions, paved roads and all that, but also it so funny if you tilt your head. Cecil why. I get it yes, but also Cecil, no, Cecil no.

Also exactly, when it's TOO vague I just stare the doc. There's no jumping point to push it's anything goes and how hard do I want to overthink it?

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[total-drama-brainrot]

World Tour Assistant Noah AU (where he is always an assistant):

After the gross kiss failed to stop Alejandro's flirting... Noah begs Duncan to convince Alejandro, that Noah is too dorky to date... but Duncan has an even better idea; make Alejandro jealous for fun!

(In this AU, Duncan and Courtney had broken up before Season 3, so Duncan isn't a cheater!)

Duncan: "Thanks for letting me return to the show, handsome.~" 😘

(Duncan kisses Assistant Noah's cheek.)

Alejandro: "Duncan, I will DESTROY you!" 😡

Noah: "I just want to be left alone!" 🙄

Wait hold on... hold on... this is just the premise of my favourite Dunnoah fic series but with an assistant Noah twist. And extra Alenoah flavouring. That's not to say I'm against the idea.

Though I can't really imagine Duncan ever committing himself to flirting with Noah unless the two had struck up a deal prior- Duncan's that specific brand of 2000s era bigoted where being seen as anything but straight is a social crime (despite the fact that Duncan is definitely a boykisser, just in denial), but he's also aware of just how much of a threat Alejandro is in the competition and the latino's huge obvious crush on Chris' personal assistant, so I think Duncan could push aside his own internal biases to at the very least propose a similar idea to Noah.

Really, it'd be beneficial for the both of them; Noah gets to subtly-not-so-subtly tell Alejandro to back off by responding to Duncan's advances but not his, and Duncan gets to rile up Alejandro enough to redivert his attention away from the competition itself thus increasing his own chances of winning. It's strategic, really, nothing more.

It's that line of logic that has Noah eventually conceding that, for all intents and purposes, it's a good plan. So he deigns to play along, at least for a little bit, just to get Alejandro off of his back.

And, canonically, they're both shown to be at least half-decent at flirting, so whatever displays they have planned to annoy Alejandro would be just convincing enough to really get under his skin. Especially since Alejandro's shown in canon to be the protective/possessive type (mostly in All-Stars, in how he reacts to José insulting Heather) and likely wouldn't take too kindly to Duncan swooping in on "his amor" or whatever Spanish nickname he'd substitute it with.

Which all eventually leads to the scenario you proposed; Duncan plants a wet one on Noah's cheek and Alejandro sees red.

Noah's already exhausted by default, but feels weariness seep into the marrow of his bones as a seething Alejandro glares poisonous daggers towards Duncan, who's committed enough to their little ruse to in turn shoot a wink and a pair of finger guns towards the assistant. Deciding that he isn't paid nearly enough to deal with the inevitable confrontation between the two idiots who've apparently taken an interest in him (Duncan's, of course, being a known ruse), Noah leaves to go and do his actual job.

...

And then, Alejandro confronts Duncan directly in the Economy cabin, claiming that he doesn't deserve to so much as look at Noah, and that he (Alejandro) was the one Noah kissed and therefore the object of his attraction so Duncan better lay off. This is news to the punk, and adds a whole new layer of complexity to their plan. And perhaps something he can later exploit to give himself a leg up in the competition.

But why does the idea of Noah kissing Alejandro make his chest tighten up with envy?

And then maybe Duncan finds the untamed passion of Alejandro's genuine fury kind of hot and he too enters the metaphorical boxing ring of feelings? Aledunnoah endgame? The intern server has been posting a lot of Aleduncan lately so letting those two get together (and with Noah in there too, as a bonus) just seems natural to my brain at this point.

[angelpuns]

Me patiently waiting for a way to make comics about the shitty things that happened in 2020-2023 but unsure of how to go about it in a way that will make me feel better smh

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Yeah, sure, I'll chime in, but only because I generally agree with everything laid out above. As always, I don't publicly comment on posts I don't agree with. This is not the fandom way. Do not attack others for their opinions on fictional shows. If you disagree and think they're horribly wrong, then roll your eyes, block them, and let them be wrong.

I've made my thoughts on the "true selves" theory pretty clear. It's insulting to the characters on every level. Marinette is not wrong for being drawn to Adrien when he's being sweet and Adrien is not wrong for being drawn to Marinette when she's at her most badass. You're not a bad person for being drawn to positive traits. What usually happens is that you're drawn to positive traits and come to love the whole picture over time. As an example, Marinette doesn't appear to hate puns. It's just that puns won't make her fall in love with you. Genuine kindness makes her fall in love while puns are a neutral trait. It's not about Adrien being better. It's that Adrien is more likely to show the softer side that Marinette values in a romantic partner. Meanwhile Chat Noir can be pretty freaking annoying. It's no wonder she likes the side she does.

All of this is yet another reason why I like Ladrien best with Ladynoir as a close second. Those are the relationships that allow the characters to be the most open and honest while maintaining secret identities. The relationships that let you fall for the whole picture so long as the characters aren't over the top about secret identities which they shouldn't be in a city of millions. Of course, I'm talking about those relationships in concept. In the context of canon, things are a little more messy.

When it comes to canon, Marinette and Adrien both have massive issues re the way their crushes are written. I tend to talk about Marinette's problems the most because of the asks I get, but I've mentioned several times that Adrien is equally bad and I stand by that. His bad behavior just has a different flavor and is framed in a different way, making it less glaring to the casual observer. When Adrien is rejected in canon, we're almost always supposed to feel bad even though Ladybug owes him absolutely nothing re romance. She is allowed to say no! The fact that she secretly loves him does not make his persistence okay, especially since he has no idea that she secretly loves him. Meanwhile, when Marinette fails to confess, we're supposed to laugh. It's pretty messed up and is absolutely part of the reason why she's viewed as the sole problem by some.

While I don't like either character's persistence, if this is the running gag that canon wanted to go with, then it should be framed the same way on both sides. Chat Noir's endless confessions should be as much of a joke as Marinette's endless failed confessions. I've even pointed out that canon should have had them both constantly failing for better parallels and humor. Instead, you get shit like Galciator where Ladybug explicitly tells Chat Noir that she can't meet up later:

Cat Noir: So, uh, Ladybug? What would you say if you and I met up tonight for a little dinner? Rooftop style? Ladybug: For dinner? As superheroes? Cat Noir: Well, uh, yeah. That's right. We're only together when we're saving Paris. I mean, wouldn't you actually like to get to know one another? Ladybug: I... That's so thoughtful of you, but I can't. I have to, uh, I already have plans with some friends. Bus driver: (steps out of the bus and shakes hands with Cat Noir) Thank you. (shakes Ladybug's hand) Thank you, Ladybug. Cat Noir: Well, if your plans end early, come and join me. Ladybug: We'll see. Cat Noir: I'll be waiting, my lady.

Only for Chat Noir to be heartbroken when she lives up to her word and doesn't show. He's played in an incredibly sympathetic way here even though the lesson of the episode really should have been that he was in the wrong. He should have sneaked out get ice cream with his friends instead of sneaking out to waiting for the girl who told him she wasn't going to be able to make it. Yet Marinette is the one who causes an akuma here and the one who is made to feel guilty even though Adrien is never made to feel guilty for missing out on her confessions:

Cat Noir: Just give me a minute. (sets Marinette down and lights up the candles) Alright, you can open your eyes now. Marinette: (looks around in awe) Wow! Cat Noir, this is... beautiful! (notices Cat Noir looking glum) I'm so sorry. Cat Noir: Why? It's not your fault. Marinette: No— Yeah— I mean— What I mean is I'm very sorry for you because, um, you prepared all of this and then... she didn't show.

This is especially saddening since my experience is that you're way more likely to run into an Adrien than a Marinette precisely because of shit like Miraculous where persistence in the face of a no is shown to be a good thing for some reason. In the context of lessons for the kids watching at home, Adrien's behavior is the one I'd like to see addressed because I don't want little girls being told that they're bad for rejecting a guy who loves them. If Chat Noir must behave this way, then it should be played for laughs not heartbreak. The show reinforces a lot of society's messed up standards about the way women are taught to prioritize the feelings of others over their own feelings and I do not like it.

I have also noticed a trend in fics where they either focus on having Marinette apologize or Adrien apologize with Marinette's behavior seeming to get a lot more attention than Adrien's. I get why. She's the one actively making mistakes and being played as needing to learn lessons, but that's part of why it's just not fun for me to dump on her. It would be one thing if they were both messing up, but the longer canon goes on, the more Adrien only exists to flirt and be sad. He never does anything!

As I pointed out in a recent post, canon doesn't even allow him to ask for more responsibility unless the writers want to cause tension in a battle or other high stress moment. When it's a calm moment where Ladybug has time to listen, he's totally content with the status quo and doesn't want anything to change. It's annoying and part of the reason I can rarely bring myself to care about anything Marinette does wrong. On paper, I'll probably agree that it was a bad action, but emotionally I'm just like, hey, at least she's moving the plot forward! I don't think Adrien has done that since season one unless we're counting things like him quitting or getting hit by Oblivio because he wouldn't stop flirting in the middle of a fight. The writers have really failed to make him the cute, supportive, funny romantic lead I signed up for and I hate it.

I've said this part before but I stand by it so I'll repeat it here as a closing statement: the love square is a wonderful setup for a perfect give-and-take relationship. You have Adrien with all the pressure of his messed up home life and Ladybug with all the pressure of leading a team in battle. Meanwhile Marinette has a great home life and Chat Noir is more of a supportive fighter and distraction who just does what Ladybug tells him (not a negative, battle teams need leaders and followers to work). This allows for a civilian setup where Adrien gets all of Marinette's support and a hero setup where Ladybug gets all of Chat Noir's support because that's who needs the support on each side.

Instead of embracing that wonderful setup, canon has made a mess of things creating a toxic mess of a relationship that's unhealthy for everyone. Marinette can do nothing right and Adrien can just generally do nothing at all. It's why my preference is fics that ignore the later seasons and just embrace the cute fun couple we could have always had. I'm here for what canon could have been not what it actually is.

It's you dislike of Adrien solely because of his actions on the show, or was it also because of his fandom?

A mix of both, but honestly? I'd say it's more because of his fandom. With Canon, I probably would have written a single salt fic for him and moved on because I did still like him and overall felt I could do more with him than Canon was willing to, but I was on a binge of Miraculous fics for a while I started to notice a reoccurring trend in the fandom and many fanfics. Even the ones that didn't outright hate on Marinette before seemed to have this rather one-sided view of their relationship.

Them getting together was being primarily for HIS sake, regardless of Marinette's feelings or personal needs.

Any issue was on Marinette to apologize and fix, regardless whether or not he was in the wrong. And completely IGNORING whether Marinette was even realistically or reasonably capable of fixing them.

The "true selves" argument was all too common, mostly if not entirely on the side of Marinette needing to be the one to learn a lesson and accept Adrien for his "true self" as Chat. Nevermind that this was never an actual point in Canon.

Marinette needing to be the one to work to be worthy of him...which, hello? Hasn't Canon made her do enough yet?

All these stories I read and fandom comments I saw were ultimately indicative of a desire for a completely one-sided relationship between the two where Marinette has to be the one to prove herself to be "good enough for him", to "earn" a place at his side, to work to be "deserving" of his heart, to take care of his physical and emotions needs and effectively serve as a replacement mother figure...at least when she wasn't otherwise expected to "save him" from his oh so horrible life as a rich and popular supermodel.

Even in stories where he was completely in the wrong on a major point, matters wouldn't get resolved until Marinette was the one to have to step up and make an effort, make ADRIEN feel better about whatever happened, apologize for something that either wasn't her fault or was relatively minor in the face of his own actions, and fix things so they but specifically HE can be happy.

Sorry all, I know Adrien is popular and has no agency either in or out of Canon, but I can't NOT see it. And I can't stop seeing it, especially as we get more Marinette hate that seems to reinforce this narrative or otherwise say that failing being this perfect housewife/mother to him, she should suffer in loneliness for the rest of her life.

All anyone had to do was just...let Adrien be wrong. Let him acknowledge being wrong, apologize for it, and be the one to make things right. No excuses. No "but but he's a sad boi!" Just let him be wrong and try to be better. And yet much like Canon, the fandom has been quite insistent that THAT be the one thing they refuse to allow.

[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.” 

[nenoname]

always lamenting the loss of the stan+wendy crime bonding b plot.... it would've been so good for both of their characters.....

[mc-critical]

1.10 / 1.09

[quadrantadvisor]

I started shipping Dick Grayson and Percy Jackson as a joke and then got accidentally invested. Help.

The thing about them is that I think they would Know. They would each know that the other had been though more than any one person could be expected to bear. They would feel secrets like a weight between them. And they would just. Not ask. They would decide to be eachother's simple thing. A bright spot of good in a world that's too hard.

Dick comes across as a ray of sunshine but he keeps up with Percy's snark. Percy's bleeding heart for the downtrodden and disdain for any authority endears him to Dick. They just have complimentary energies.

What makes this funny is how everyone else reacts to them.

Dick's family is panicking, since Percy is The Most Suspicious Man on the Planet. He works six months out of the year at summer camps that don't exist. He was accused of terrorism as a twelve year old. They keep trying to bring this up with Dick, who is exaggerating oblivoiusness. "What, Percy, suspicious? Never. He's great with kids, I'm sure the campers love him, isn't that sweet?" Tim is pulling out his hair.

Meanwhile, Percy's telling Annabeth (who he is still dating, polyamory ftw) all about his new guy, and Annabeth is like, "Let me get this staight. You're dating a rich trust fund kid, who's also a police officer, named Dick? That's not a real guy. That's a parody of a person. Who are you and since when do you tolerate cops."