#how come i knew that at such a young age?

[whumpfish]

Me, opening up to my ex: [explains my psychotic symptoms]

Her: Omg you hear voices?? What are they saying about me?? XD

Me, now, away from her: That I should have left your ass then and there, but I couldn't hear them over all the ableism in the room

My first hallucination ever was auditory. I was in the shower, and thought my aunt had come over and was talking to my mom. Then I listened harder to the words and realized they were narrating different functions of my brain, and the inside noise I was used to since age 5 was now on the outside. It scared the shit out of me. I was 16.

When I came out that year, people would go "oh you're so brave!" And I'm just sitting there smiling like "Thanks! I'm also psychotic, and my closet only has room for one skeleton."

I spent most of my young adult life dealing with intermittent tactile hallucinations (a special level of hell given my raging entomophobia,) and fucking terrified the auditories would come back, because I had received no guidance from who was quite possibly the worst shrink in the entire country, and so I had subconsciously bought into the idea that auditories specifically are dangerous and scary and make you dangerous and scary. Once my health tanked 5 years ago and all my everything became more severe, they did.

Now, after a couple macrocycles, I'm normal about them. They're not scary, they're just... annoying, because I have to check with my mom if I suspect I'm having one. In fact, I much prefer them to staying up til 4 in the morning in a state of high tension, swatting insects that aren't there.

I've started speaking casually of them to family. I have an uncle who I never met who had bipolar I like me. He died from it, and so everybody has kind of shied away from the subject because nobody knew how to talk to him either and look how that turned out. My bipolar I presenting had a more profound effect on our interactions than me coming out, (which everyone was just kind of like "yeah that makes sense.") Eventually I figured the only way to break this is to be just as normal about my disease.

If I don't, it's going to stay unknown and uncomfortable and scary, and that doesn't help anybody.

BUT, that's family. The whole episode with my ex taught me that if I'm not joking about my symptoms, I am the joke. It's discouraged me from opening up, to say the least. I only share this much because of the safety of internet anonymity.

Double that when I'm outside the home. I wrote in my disability app that I can ask my mom if she indeed left her alarm radio on or if the neighbors are in fact having a loud party next door, because it sounds like medium to loud voices but too "distant" to make out words, but I cannot for my safety ask a coworker if they hear that too.

there's a lot to be said about how the average person indulges in delusions far more than anyone is really comfortable grappling with. every now and again, a poll comes out that reveals some sort of number of people who believe they have magical powers, usually pretty high, and everyone takes turns making fun of it and affirming their own Sanity

this is more observational than scientific, but it really does seem like writing off delusional thinking as the realm of the "insane" creates this valley where the "normal" person's thinking (especially a person who considers themself normal, but that's a whole other kettle of fish) must be more empirical, because, categorically, they are not insane

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Alright, so this is basically...an art dump for all the pics i drew when i was trying to draft the ending i wanted my Odile looping Au 'Like a Wheel Ever Turning' which...is not even SLIGHTLY how this fic is going to end now, but while figuring that out i still like draw all this and had to do SOMETHING with it.

So figured I'd post it and be like 'hey! fun Odile looping act 5 boss fight vibes not connected to anything else!' since like...that basic IS what they are at this point lol.

The one cool idea i loved that i think is now FIRMLY ditched is the act 5 boss fight starts when Odile uses wish craft to splinter herself into two halves.

The 'old/current' her that is meant to be her coldly logical side, and a younger 'copy' version, which is meant to be the childish irrational side...that is what's stopping her just shutting down the time loop because she can't figure out how to be happy with her friends leaving.

I mean, if you murder the part of you that WANTS the wish to come true, that's basically a 'get out of time loop free card' right? Right! Totally sound logic!

Yes the 'young' version of her firmly believes that she's real, and also also got memories going up to about age 21, and also that she ought to be in Ka Bue not HERE among these french weirdos.

Also yes again, a 'young' Odile is EXACTLY as unhinged about this as you'd expect a 21 year old to be upon finding out that apparently the 'real' her think murdering her is the correct solution to this problem!

The shift of the fight was meant to have the inverse 'colors' shift from one version to the other by the end, wrapping up with the point where the 'original' Odile is forced to have a heart to heart with the personification of her perceived 'worst' qualities.

Pretty sure the vibes for this ending was a lot more focused on the resolution of having deeply complex feeling about EXPRESSING emotion directly to other people. That along with a side helping of how isolating it is to be perceived as a 'real' adult such that you can't be weak enough to ask anyone for help. Because really if you can't even be that then why are you any different then when you were irritating mess of a youth?

Not saying any of that isn't still present in the story, but like...there is a LOT of other stuff going on, and those themes are now linked into many other ones too, and that's not even TOUCHING on how Loop's been...somewhat complicating my redrafting lol.

...Also I might have drawn/plotted this version before i knew about two-hats lol. THAT also is a factor.

Anyway! Still liked all of these enough to want to do SOMETHING with them, and figured this worked, so i could like map out my thoughts on them, even if i never got to write this.

[bones4thecats]

┗ They're Mine; TFA! Cons × GN! S/O ┛

Characters: Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave (Transformers Animated) *characters aren't shipped together A/N: This was actually fun to write, I made the idea while ago but never had any energy to write it out. Thank goodness I did, though. I love this, by far one of my most enjoyable pieces to write. ⇘ Summary: After returning from a mission with Shockwave on Cybertron, you attract the attention of Lord Megatron and his second-in-command, Starscream. But, after becoming more comfortable around the Decepticon team, they're shocked by the realization of your status with your spy-partner.

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┑

┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

👑💫 Having one of these mechs on your aft is hard enough. But having both of them? Oh, I feel bad for you.

👑 Megatron doesn't hesitate to show his disdain for any of his fellow Cybertronians, or really anything in general. But, because of this quality, it's easy to tell when you likes you around. Examples of this is Shockwave.

💫 Starscream on the other hand is the exact opposite. He never really shows he likes anyone. Probably because he doesn't, but I regress.

👑💫 However, when you came around, these two changed their actions almost fully. They're still just as unstable as before, but they do try to tone it down when you're nearby. Starscream does this better than the anger-issues having warlord.

👑💫 You were terrified when you met the warlord. You may have been a Decepticon who followed him for many years through the war back home, but actually seeing him face-to-face was totally different.

🧪 During Shockwave's time on Cybertron, you were right by his side. You managed a lot of the background parts, you made sure there were records of a Longarm and Hillcrest being created and being raised on the planet. Longarm being Shockwave's alias and Hillcrest being yours.

👑🧪 When you both were revealed as traitors, you fled to Lord Megatron as quickly as possible. He wasn't happy you both failed, but the way you somehow managed to go that long and get quite a bit of information, did please him.

👑🧪 You stared up at the mech as he looked blankly at you. Shockwave looked back at you with his singular optic, before motioning for you to come closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and introduced you to your shared boss.

"Lord Megatron, I am pleased to introduce you to Y/N. They've been my right-hand during my time on Cybertron. Their knowledge almost surpasses my own, it's quite jarring."

"My Lord." You bowed, nervously staring at the ground as Megatron stared down at you.

"Rise." He demanded, to which you obliged and looked at him with slightly-widened optics.

"So," he began circling around you as he spoke. "You're the infamous Hillcrest Prime, leader of the Cybertronian Defense. Impressive work weakening their defenses on the inside without Ultra Magnus discovering."

"I-uh, thank you, my Lord. Though, Shockwave did do quite a bit of work himself with that." You chuckled.

"Oh, I'm sure he did." He purred, making your cheeks flare with a slight blue tint.

💫 Your first time meeting Starscream was far different. You actually knew him from before the war. He was one of your best friends as you aged. Starscream enjoyed being around you because you helped feed into his ever-growing ego.

💫 He always said you were adorable when you were young, but seeing you and how you aged was shocking. You stood alongside Shockwave, trying to put a few things together before Lugnut began to spout off about Megatron once again.

💫 You looked at Lugnut and blinked annoyingly, a scowl on your face as he kept rambling. He was pissing you off and both Starscream and Shockwave knew this, but didn't bother trying to stop you. They both understood your anger far to well.

"Lugnut. Please be quiet. Shockwave and I must continue our research into the ship and getting information out of Arcee."

"Are you saying you don't want to hear about our glorious leader, Lord Megatron?! How dare you insult him in such a menner?! Why-"

💫 Your optic twitched as you, without hesitation, stomped on Lugnut's ped, kicked him on the side of his face, and pushed him out of the room.

"And if you don't want to listen, stay out!" You yelled, slamming the doors shut.

👑 Megatron heard the noise and went to the room, only to find Lugnut pouting outside of the room.

"Lugnut? What caused that loud boom?" Megatron asked.

👑 The green and purple Decepticon stood up abruptly and bowed to the stoic mech before telling him the story. Only for you to yell back that you heard him and he should stop acting like a sparkling unless he wanted you to come out and throw him out the nearest exit.

👑 Megatron was slightly surprised. When you first arrived, you were on the shy-side, not really speaking unless necessary. But, perhaps that was how Hillcrest acted around people of authority and not Y/N? Most likely.

👑💫 Megatron entered and looked at Starscream, only to see the mech talking to you like he knew you for eons. Of course he did, but the warlord couldn't give a scrap. His second-in-command really knows how to make Megatron want to cut each cable in his system, doesn't he?

"Y/N, can you grab some supplies from the back?" Shockwave asked.

"...Huh? Oh- yeah. What do you need?"

"Just some lubricants and extra cords." He answered, antennae moving around as you smiled and nodded.

👑💫 Megatron and Starscream glared at one another, but they looked at you as you whipped off your servos and laid a cloth down for Shockwave to do the same later on. Come to think of it, the only Cybertronian they saw you always positively and freely interact with was the scientist...

👑💫🧪 Just as they began to go through the few memories they shared with you in the team, you stepped up slightly and pecked the scientist on the side of his helm. His antennae moved slightly upwards as he leaned his helm on yours for a slight second before you left to grab the materials he wanted.

"Did that just... happen?" Starscream mumbled, Lugnut beside him with his jaw dropped open.

"Uh- Shockwave." Megatron called.

👑💫🧪 Shockwave looked at his leader and hummed, wordlessly asking for the larger mech to continue.

"Are you and Y/N a... couple?" He strained out.

"We started acting lovingly while undercover in Cybertron's ranks, those small actions are practically in our average movements now." He replied.

"That doesn't answer the question!" Starscream yelled, servo balled in a fist as he yelled.

"To sum it up...

They're mine."

[storiesfromafan]

Christmas Wish - Mattheo x Hufflepuff!Reader

A/N: Merry Christmas all! Finally finished my Mattheo Christmas one-shot 😊

It's a little all over the place, but not too bad haha.

Warning/s: fluff, all over the place, a little rushed, possible grammer/spelling mistakes

In your family there’s a silly little tradition. One were the night before Christmas – Christmas Eve – you light a candle and make a wish. It’s something you have done since you could remember, it’s a core memory for you. How your parents explained the tradition, saying you could wish for anything. Then your father would pull your mother into a bear hug saying how he’d wished for her, and his wish was granted.

You never understood the appeal or want to wish for someone, or wanting a relationship like that at such a young age. You wished for toys or food, as you got older it was good health for those that meant the most for you or a good year to come. Your selfish wishes became more thoughtful and caring.

But that changed after your first year at Hogwarts, after meeting Mattheo Riddle. He captivated you, along with almost every female student, with his boyish good looks and cool presence. But for a brief moment you saw another side to him, a kinder side, after he saved you from falling down a flight of stairs. From there the Slytherin Prince took pity on the lowly Hufflepuff, an unlikely friendship was formed.

Sure, it wasn’t easy at first. The whispers and looks were unsettling, but Mattheo confronted or fought anyone who spoke ill of you. Mattheo accepted you for you, a friendly, kind but clumsy Hufflepuff. And you accepted him for him, a quiet, somewhat brooding but secretly sweet Slytherin. That’s why on Christmas Eve on your second year at school, your wish was for Mattheo to see you, to pick you. You loved being his friend, but you were madly and stupidly in love with your friend.

This was the first year you hadn’t gone home for Christmas, your parents having to travel to see your sick grandmother, on your father’s side. They had been in such a panic that you thought it best to save them the worry of you and getting back to school. And once Mattheo heard you were staying, he did too. He said that his family didn’t really do anything for Christmas, it was just another day.

So Christmas Eve, on year five at Hogwarts, after your other roommate out of three was deep asleep. You sat on your bed, taking out the candle and matches from your bedside table. With a little struggle, you finally lit the candle. Sitting there in the silent night, the candle the only light besides that from the rooms window. You looked at the flame, mind focused on your wish. When the wax began to melt, slowly dropping down the side, you blew out the flame.

I wish for Mattheo Riddle to see me, and want me. And no one else...

Walking into The Great Hall, you looked around at the small number of students, many sitting at different house tables enjoying the Christmas morning with other students. Finally you spotted Mattheo, he was sitting at the Slytherin table with both Lorenzo and Theodore. Both had also chosen to stay then rather deal with their families and their politics. You knew roughly about all three's home lives, but never asked too many questions. Out of fear that Theodore would hex you, yet you know Mattheo, and possibly, Lorenzo would not resort to such an extreme.

You crossed the room, a soft smile on your lips, as you made your way to them. Mattheo saw you out of the corner of his eye, and the way he smiled brightly at you as you approached made your heart skip a beat. Those chocolate brown orbs fixed on you, and paired with his gorgeous features and unruly mop of hair, he was perfect.

“Happy Christmas!” Mattheo beamed as you stood next to him.

“Happy Christmas!” You returned, eyes moving from him and to his friends and repeated your words.

“Happy Christmas” both boys responded with. Lorenzo was warm and welcoming, while Theodore was off handed and uncaring.

“Sit" Mattheo said patting the seat on the bench next to him.

You didn’t need to be told twice, holding your skirt as you lifted your leg over the bench and then the other, before sitting down. The three Slytherin's fell into a heated debate while you dished up your breakfast, adding in a word here or there until you started to eat. That breakfast felt like a dream. Sitting next to Mattheo, so close you could smell his aftershave, and arms brushing together from time to time. And the conversations you had with Theodore, who wasn’t a complete jerk to you. A Hufflepuff sharing a meal with three Slytherin's, who would have thought? Maybe there was some Christmas magic at work, allowing you all to have a pleasant start to the day.

“So, what did you get from your parents?” Mattheo asked while the other two Slytherin's bickered across from you.

You put down the cup you’d just drank from, briefly looking to Lorenzo and Theodore. And deciding if Mattheo didn’t have an issue with their heated words, you could let it go. “Just the usual, ugly sweater" – you gestured to what you were wearing – “some sweets and a book. How about you...?”

You wanted to kick yourself. But it was just natural to ask what someone got. You watched how the warmth in Mattheo flickered for a second, but he put on a forced smile. Just making you feel worse. You should know by now that he never to rarely got a present.

“That’s nice" Mattheo began, moving uncomfortably in his seat. “Ah, I got nothing...like usual...”

“I-I’m sorry!” You said in a rush, regret written on your face.

Mattheo's face softened, his smile becoming less forced. He knew you meant no harm, it was just a reflex. “It’s all good (Y/N/N). No damage done". He bumped shoulders with you.

You sighed, relieved to hear that and see him going back to how he was. You finished breakfast in a comfortable silence, except for the other two Slytherin's keeping the conversation going. Not even seeming to notice the change and change back.

After finishing, you all headed out of The Great Hall and outside to one of the courtyards. The boys wanted to see the snow, and play in it. You foresee many snowballs coming your way, mostly from Theodore no doubt. It was chilly outside but your ugly sweater would do for now. For the moment it wasn’t snowing, but you couldn’t rule out any more falling.

It didn’t take the three long to start throwing snowballs, as you thought. You took refuge in a little seating area, where it would be harder for Theodore to get you. You sat and watched the three from the cut out in the wall, laughing when both Mattheo and Lorenzo pelted Theodore with snowballs. He did get his revenge though, stuffing snow down Mattheo's top before chasing after Lorenzo. That was Mattheo’s cue to escape and beg for sanctuary and protection, not that you could protect him, as you couldn’t protect yourself.

He flopped down next to you on the bench, a small chuckle leaving him as he continued to shake his top. The snow had all fallen out, but Mattheo wasn’t entirely convinced it had. You shoved him a little, which he shot you an offended look for. But you just laughed. Which triggered him to laugh. Slowly the laughter died down, leaving a comfortable silence between you both.

Feeling like it was now or never, you pulled a beautifully wrapped gift from your bag, it wasn’t much but it was the thought that counts. Bashfully you turned to Mattheo, gift out stretched to him. An unsure smile on your face as you waited for him to notice. When he did, Mattheo sat there blinking. Looking from the gift to you with a puzzled look.

“I-I know you don’t really do Christmas...but I noticed you needed a new one...” you stated with a shaky voice.

Mattheo took your gift slowly, a tad cautiously. He was surprised to receive a gift, and it be from you. He didn’t really get gifts from his friends, more stuff he needed like smokes and alcohol. So to get an actual wrapped gift, and from you was a surprise.  Mattheo noted there wasn’t any weight to the gift, so not a book. He shook it slightly, and it made no noise. What lay behind all the wrapping paper then?

You laughed nervously, watching Mattheo closely. “Y-you can open it, it won’t bite".

The way he looked at you, like it would bite him. Reluctantly Mattheo pulled it to his lap and began to open the present. He was gentle and continued to proceed with caution, which made you want to laugh.

Finally it was open, and he felt silly being worried the gift would bite him. Laying in his lap was a brand new Slytherin scarf, neatly folded like that was its natural form. Mattheo didn’t want to pick it up, but he did, holding it up and the scarf unfolding to show its length in his grasp. This was a thoughtful gift. His first true gift. It warmed Mattheo's heart to have received it from you, even if it was just a scarf.

“T-thank you...” he said sincerely, his chocolate brown eyes on you. Showing you how genuinely grateful he was.

You smiled warmly, nervous washing away. “I am glad!” You sighed and then laughed. “Honestly...I wasn’t sure how you would have reacted to a gift...”

Mattheo looked mock offended, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me" was his dramatic reply.

Which only made you laugh harder, as well as the boy at your side. “Never know with a Slytherin" you retorted.

“Hey! I take offence to that. I like gifts...I just don’t get them often, alright?” His tone wasn’t angry or hurt, but there was a small touch of sadness.

You decided to drop it after that. Just saying you were glad he liked the gift. And after a few more awkward moments, you excused yourself. You had to get ready to speak with your parents, you know...to wish them a Happy Christmas. It was true, but you also didn’t want to stick around for the awkwardness you’d both created. So, you left Mattheo sitting there, with his new scarf and thoughts and feelings.

Next time you’d seen Mattheo, Lorenzo and Theodore was for dinner. Which had been a nice Christmas feast. You’d ate and drank so much, you felt like you needed looser clothing. Walking out of The Great Hall with the three Slytherin ‘s, you said your good evenings and was about to walk back to the Hufflepuff house, when Mattheo said he’d walk you.

You didn’t look to his friends, but just knew they’d be sharing a confused look. But none the less, you walked off with Mattheo. It was silent for most of the walk, you both speaking when replying to the paintings you both passed. Eventually the silence had gotten too much for Mattheo, and so he was the one to break it.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, (Y/N/N)...I wanna thank you for your gift" he began, unsure if he was saying the right thing. “I-it’s something I needed, t-thank you...”

You smiled fondly at him, holding back a giggle. “It was nothing Matty".

He shook his head. “N-no it was. You took the time to get me something, while I-"

You knew what was coming, so you cut him off. “It’s fine that you didn’t get me anything, I didn’t do it for a gift".

He stopped, grabbing your arm and stopping you also. “No, that wasn’t what I was going to say! I was gonna say; while I don’t really do Christmas. That you were thoughtful, like always".

A soft smile graced your face. “Oh...well, I guess I’m just a thoughtful person by nature...”

Mattheo chuckled. “Yes, you are...” he then pulled out a small wrapped box, holding out to you. “T-this is for you, I got it a little while ago...just wasn’t sure if I should give it to you...”

Shocked you took the small box, removed the ribbon and opened it. Staring back at you was a small oval shaped locket. You brushed a fingertip over it, feeling the light coolness of the metal. Mattheo encouraged you to open the locket, and so you did. Inside was a photo of your parents on one side, and – to your surprise – one of Mattheo on the other.

Looking back up at the boy before you, who now looked embarrassed, you thanked him with the warmest tone. He knew how much your parents meant to you, so for him to have put a photo of them in there meant more than anything. And his photo, that was just a bonus. The moment between you both was silent, but warm and content.

But then Mattheo's eyes darted above you both, as you’d both stopped in an archway. His eyes widened by whatever was there. And so you tilted your head back to see for yourself. Well you weren’t expecting mistletoe to appear above you both. You want to say it was the Castle, but maybe someone else had a hand in this.

“Ah, well...” you mindlessly said turning your gaze back to Mattheo, who had been staring at you with a firm look.

You felt a pleasant chill run down your spine. And before you could say another word, Mattheo moved in. One of his hands cupping your cheek as he lips descended onto yours in a soft, chaste kiss. All the while you stood there unsure of what to do, or how to react. When he pulled back, he shot you an apologetic smile.

“S-sorry...” he sputtered. “Mistletoe, tradition is to kiss...the person...you’re with...”

He was blushing, and a mess with words. Even through your shock you found it cute. Your cheeks warmed, no doubt turning a bright red. You sputtered, trying to form words but nothing came from it. Which made Mattheo laugh. His thumb caressed your cheek, only making you blush more.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered" Mattheo stated with a cheeky smile. “I’ve always liked making you go red...I-I've always liked you...”

Was that a confession? Did Mattheo Riddle just confess to always liking you? You wanted someone to pinch you, you needed to know if this was real or a dream. Though you begged for it to be real. For your friend, the one you have been longing for, to finally return your feelings.

“Y-you like m-me?” Was all you managed to get out, your brain a jumble from what was happening and just said.

Mattheo chuckled, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours. “Yes...and it was time to tell you. Because I so badly wanted to kiss you...”

If it was possible, you blushed more at him wanting to kiss you. Yet you wanted that too. Have for so long now. You then did something that surprised you both, you leant in and kissed Mattheo. It was a hard kiss, one that hoped to tell him how much you have wanted this moment. Instinctively Mattheo wrapped his other arm around your waist, drawing you closer as he adjusted the angle of his head.

You jumped when his tongue made contact with your lower lip, but you bashfully parted your lips. His tongue slipped in and explored your mouth. Both tongues coming together in a clumsy dance, clumsy on your part. As you didn’t know what you were doing, you’d never kissed someone before. And when Mattheo pulled back with a soft laugh, making a comment on your lack of grace when kissing. Yet your reply floored him.

“I-I'd never kissed a-anyone before...” you sounded hurt.

Mattheo then realised he had taken your first kiss. Quickly he cupped both cheeks with his hands, and pressed a quick reassuring kiss to yours lips. “T-that’s alright, I-I didn’t know you hadn’t been kissed before...but I’m glad it was me...”

You believed his words. The way he smiled brightly at you, caring for you. Christmas wishes, or maybe miracles, do happen after all. You got the boy, and had your first kiss. Though embarrassed by most of it, you wouldn’t change the outcome.

-Bonus-

Of course after leaving the blind love birds, Lorenzo and Theodore had devised a plan of attack. Or rather, push you both together. Theodore did put up a fight, not entirely liking you for his friend, but after spending time with you today, he noted you weren’t that bad. So agreed in the end to the plan.

Both boys had followed at a distance, watching painfully how you both were together. And then the awkward conversation before Mattheo gave you his gift. They lay in wait, glad you’d both stopped in an archway, the perfect spot for mistletoe.

“Now?” Questioned Lorenzo with his wand in hand.

“No, no" muttered Theodore, eyes glued to you both.

When the silence washed over you both did Theodore give the order, and Lorenzo said the spell and flicked his wand. They both watched how Mattheo was the one to see the mistletoe first, followed by you. They snickered at your sputtered words. But those snickers died the moment Mattheo kissed you. They wanted to hoot and hollow, but chose to remain silent.

The admission of Mattheo’s feelings to you made Theodore want to be sick, while Lorenzo smiled happily for you both. They say love is blind. And you both were as blind as they come. But it was a little weird watching the awkward kiss exchange.

The whole scene was priceless. Especially when Mattheo made a comment on your kissing. To which you advised you hadn’t kissed anyone. Theodore snorted, and said we knew that. But that memo must have gotten lost on its way to Mattheo.

In the end both boys decided to leave you both alone now. Their job done. You’d both kissed, feelings are now known and finally no more longing looks or jealousy – in Mattheo's case.

“Hope he knows that tomorrow I’m not letting him live down that awful kiss" comment Theodore. “Mattheo always boasted about being a good kisser. Apparently not".

[confusedshades]

Jason and Dick were sparring in the cave when a portal opened up. Dick and Jason flipped to confront whoever it was that had summoned the portal while the Batcave alarms shrieked in the background about intruders. Jason however recognised the portal and stood down. "Hey Danny. Thought I wasn't due for another session until next month." Jason called out to the teenager? Young adult? Who floated out of the portal. Dick eased out of his position and walked over to the Batcomputer to silence the alarms.

The last shriek had barely faded before the cave door slammed open and Tim came bolting down the stairs while Bruce and Damian - who'd barely left for early patrol came screeching back in the Batmobile. "Friendly presence." Dick called out as he walked down to the lower levels where everyone was. "Jason's friend came over suddenly is all." Jason was still talking to the person and both had ignored everything around them, but hearing the questioning lilt to the word friend they both snorted and turned to everyone else.

"Hi, I'm Phantom." The - teenager? Young adult? Dick was having a hard time figuring out the person's age - person introduced themselves with a wave. "I'm the prince in training for the infinite realms and one of the duties I have is fixing time stream nonsense and ectoplasmic leakages, poisonings, etc. it's why I'm here."

Dick thought of Wally and Barry and winced. "If you're looking for one of the Flashes, they're not here; not sure what ectoplasmic leakages would even look like so can't help you there." Dick could feel Batman's glare at the easy share of information but he ignored it. If Jason trusted this Phantom, then that was enough for him.

Jason huffed a half laugh and shook his head. "Pits are ectoplasmic leakages. Phantom's been treating me for what we call Pit rage but is basically ectoplasmic poisoning. In exchange Ra's has been loosing his Pits throughout the world - some explosively some just mysteriously." For however freely the words were offered, Dick noticed how he kept shooting looks to Batman's grim countenance. He'd turned into a brooding looming statue where he stood. Given Damian standing almost shoulder to shoulder, the transformation was almost everyday now.

Robin had just nodded as if this was information he already had. "There are no Pits in Gotham Phantom. What brings you here today?" Dick mentally cheered - Damian's attack first ask questions later behaviour had been on the mend lately and everytime he was more polite and not aggressive, Dick took it for a win.

Phantom, Danny Dick suddenly remembered Jason calling him, just shifted. "Not here for a ectoplasmic leakage or one of the Flashes - Clocky can take care of those idiots himself. I'm here because Red there needs an anchor." When Danny gestured to Tim, everyone turned to look at him.

Tim for his part, blinks. "Uh what? I don't live on a boat anymore so if you're here for an anchor for that, I don't need it?" Dick frowned. He recognised what Tim was doing, he'd seen that technique of teenage naivete and misunderstanding pulled out at various social functions before he pulled off whatever maneuver he had planned to take the other party off guard. Businessmen, CEOs, rogues - they all fell to it. But the reason it worked? Tim always knew what they were talking about.

"Tim?" Dick asked. "Why would you need an anchor?" When Tim opened his mouth, Dick cut him off. "A non boat anchor?" Tim obediently closed his mouth and looked away mulishly.

Phantom coughed awkwardly. "Um, we can talk about it privately given the medical aspect of it if you prefer." When Tim nodded, he and Phantom went to the corner where all sounds were naturally deadened. While they had their own whispered conversation, Robin moved to Jason's side. "Has mother contacted you recently akhi?"

Dick left them to their own conversation and turned to see Bruce still scowling. "Oh come off it B. Jason recognised them immediately and you know Jason doesn't trust easily. If he trusts them, that's good enough for me."

"hn." Was the only grunt Dick got for his trouble, but after decades of Batmanese he knew it meant I don't like it but you're right.

----

"I'm not accepting an anchor Phantom. I told you last time too. There's too much to be done and getting older isn't going to help." Tim hissed as he crossed his arms angrily.

Danny just sighed. "Dude, if I don't do it soon, you'll become unglued. As in the next timeline shenanigans you get pulled into might turn catastrophic."

Tim just huffed. "So you've said. I've got contingencies in place for that. Do you have one for keeping Batman tethered?"

Danny scowled. "Yes I do. It's called therapy."

"Good luck getting him to accept it." Tim muttered.

When Danny Phantom appears in the Batcave, everyone expects he's there for Jason. Whether to cleanse him of Lazarus water, or pull him into the afterlife it depends on the person, but what no one expects is that he's there for Tim.

Meanwhile, Danny doesn't mind dealing with some ectopoisoning while he's in the neighborhood, but the real reason Clockwork sent him to Gotham is to retether Red Robin to the time stream so he can finally age to adulthood. He has spent way too long as a teenager, and no one seems to be noticing.

[bratdotcom]

How Many Steps Till I Reach Your Heart?

young!silco x reader ⋆ after-hours yap session leads to something more

Cheap cigarette smoke fills the already smoggy air, your hands balled into fists for some semblance of warmth in the fur-lined pockets of your coat.

"Something wrong?" Silco asks quietly, the cherry of his cigarette glowing a bright, bright red. The smell of nicotine mixed with the usual smells of the underground hitting your senses dully. You were used to the smell suffocating your lungs.

The sensation was as welcoming as a snake constricting its prey. At least you were being held in its embrace.

"Huh?" Your dazed reply makes Silco raise a brow, smoke leaving his lips in small rings in the same breath. "The fumes aren't getting to you, are they?" He quips, the smell of cigarette smoke getting more intense as it lingers in the air, forming long strips as they scattered about.

A suppressed, silent laugh leaves your lips. "You mean from the mines?" You question with a faint smile.

"You aren't losing faith in me, are you? That's rich to hear, coming from someone like you."

Silco rolls his eyes at your words, leaning his weight against the poster-covered wall.

Some of the papers are already peeled and torn from age. A grin of amusement appears on his features as he looks at you, cigarette stick still faintly glowing between his fingers.

Silco answers immediately after you ask your question, eyes sharpening as if he were offended by it. His words almost came from his lips as if blurred together. "Of course I'd walk you."

Why wouldn't he?

Silco snubs his cigarette against a weathered brick wall and puts his hands in his pockets. Ready to leave despite not being done with the stick itself.

"You take me for some sort of monster?" He asks, his gaze switching from his nails to you.

"No, I don't." You reply, smiling to yourself.

"I take you for a fool."

Silco cocks his head to the side, curious by your answer.

"A fool?" He echoes.

"A fool with a dream. You and him."

Silco knew who you were referring to without you even saying his name. For a moment, no words leave him as he takes in your smile.

Outwardly, he showed no signs of reaction. Calm and collected, as always.

Inwardly, he was taking you in, looking at you as you walked beside him on the streets of Zaun, as if trying to commit the way you looked to memory.

Perhaps he was.

[pleasantphantomhologram]

Title: longing (Part 1)(PART 2)

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Reader 

Warning: Modern Setting, Fertility problem, Angst, Hurt. 

Summary: When the doctor said that you will lose your chance to have a children, suddenly your world collapse, but Marcus Acacius, your husband is there no matter what's your choice.

A/N: Hello! i just want to drop this fanfiction that have been on my draft since i dont know when. so... yeah, enjoy the part 1. Please leave a note,if you are interest for the part 2 :') (I am so sorry if it is there any grammar error, it is not my main language :'( )

"You are the only matter to me Y/N. No matter what you choose, I will support you."

The baby's cries were like the incessant honking of cars at a busy city intersection. Y/N stared blankly at the dull white ceiling of her hospital room. This shared room was meant for two patients, and she didn't know much about the woman in the next bed, but she was certain the other woman had just given birth to her first child.

Child, a familiar word on the tip of her tongue, yet so foreign at the same time. For Y/N, having a child was a small dream she had harbored for a long time because having a small family with Acacius was the meaning of happiness for her. Acacius, a middle-aged man who had unexpectedly entered Y/N's life and promised to be by her side until death did them part, the man who was always there for her when she had to endure the severe cramps every time her period came, the man who only looked at her with concern and not judgment when the doctor said...

"I'm sorry, but it's no longer possible to save Mrs. Y/N's uterine wall,"

Acacius held Y/N's hand, which was starting to tremble as the doctor's verdict filled the room.

"No, there must be another way, doc, I'm still young, not even thirty yet."

"Once again, I'm sorry Mrs. Y/N, but your fibroids are too large and attached to your uterine wall."

"NO! IT'S JUST A NORMAL FIBROIDS, WHY DOES MY UTERINE WALL HAVE TO BE REMOVED TOO?" Y/N's anger came out in every word she uttered.

"Y/N, hey, calm down, honey."

"NO, THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE JUDGEMENT..."

Acacius slowly embraced Y/N, who was now starting to become hysterical. Removing her uterine wall? Really? It was like forcibly taking her soul away, and it was so cruel. The man hugged her tightly, stroking Y/N's back slowly, hoping his wife knew that even though this was difficult, the most important thing for him was for her to get healthy and smile again like the first time they met.

"Hey, Y/N. Please listen to me for a moment, honey? Please look at me. I know this is so heartbreaking for us. Yes, I know you will feel less than any woman, but the only thing that matters to me is you becoming healthy again. You are still my wife, the one I chose to be with forever. Screw people and society. Please, baby, we will get through this together. I promise it will be hard at first, but trust me, it will be alright." Acacius said, his hand gently touched the lines of Y/N's face and directed her eyes, which were now filled with tears, to look into Acacius's eyes.

"I love you, always. with or without children. You are the only matter to me Y/N. No matter what you choose, I will support you."

Their conversation in the doctor's room a few days ago echoed in her mind, accompanied by the sound of Acacius's anger coming from outside the hospital ward. Her husband was protesting to the hospital staff about their decision to place her in the same ward with all the women who had just given birth. Of course, he was angry, very angry to be exact. How could the hospital staff be so heartless, when it was clear that she had a different condition than the others? He was afraid that all this would add stress to her life.

You could still faintly hear Acacius insisting on moving you, who had just finished having your uterine wall removed, to a VIP room. Shortly after that, Acacius came back into the room and sat beside you. His expression still looked angry, but he tried to hide it.

"Honey.., talk to me..,"

"I am so sorry Y/N"

" It's not your fault."

"I am so sorry, I swear I will make things a lot easier for you." said Acacius.

"You are here. and it is already enough."

Acacius looked at Y/N, you knew he was calming himself down as his fingers slowly held your fingers and kissed them.

[utilitycaster]

I kinda felt disappointed and kinda disheartening in the discussion surrounded taash being non-binary and people just framing their gender identity discussion as just baby first queer meetup it just I've been out for several years as non-binary and I still don't have access to these kind of outlets I don't know but I guess people forget that everyone journey is different.

and also like it does make sense for taash experience to be like that since its literally their first time exploring new gender identities?

Hey anon! I think that's exactly it - this isn't at all limited to people talking about Taash or the Veilguard fandom (or people who played and didn't like it) but on some level Taash actually seems to me to exactly play out the (explicitly canon scenario) of "what if you felt like something was weird or off about how you experience yourself but didn't know what and it had been going on so long that you'd internalized it and thought it was normal for everyone and this also got caught up with your complicated relationship with your mother and you blew up at your coworker for walking around in a kinda low cut shirt on her own personal time and instead of being like WELL FUCK YOU TOO she was like 'interesting. why are you doing this because I don't think I'm the problem.' " Like, I was on a lot of feminist websites aimed at young women in the early 2000s as a teen and so lesbianism and bisexuality were both talked about a lot but no one was like, bringing up Kate Bornstein and Leslie Feinberg and actual THEORY until college. Like, truly, until maybe 15 years ago, when social media with an anonymous angle started blowing up? You had your gender and sexuality discovery through doing and living and talking to other queer people irl or by finding a library or bookstore that had what you needed, if you even knew what you needed beyond "I'm weird and feel wrong." You had to go to a group. You can literally read Alison Bechdel's account of doing this for lesbianism in the 80s. Taash is actually just acting like someone who can't privately learn all of this from a carrd and has to actually talk to people and take notes. And as for the actual term...you know how people always mock historians for being like "these two people were close friends" and they're like OH MY GOD THEY WERE FRIENDS WHO WANTED TO BE BURIED TOGETHER? Well, have you considered Taash is referred to as nonbinary and has the whole pronouns discussion because if you go with more euphemistic language, again, someone will be like "no this is just representative of gender nonconformity" and call Taash a tomboy.

I don't want to derail the above but I do feel a lot of people online, especially who have been on social media from a very young age, just...struggle to comprehend the following three things to a degree I find worrying.

perspectives, opinions, and experiences that are different than yours are good things to experience regularly; you should expand your mind and comfort zone

representation does not mean "people who had the same exact experience with the same exact outcomes as you for the same exact gender/sexuality/race/ethnicity/gender" and is just as much to show people not of those demographics the inner life of characters who are

You do not need to like a character as a person to find them interesting or well-written/acted.

and i feel a lot of weirdness towards Taash coming from people who are nb or queer themselves lands in those categories.

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Reconnect | Connor Bedard

wc. 2.5k

You and Connor have a falling out after he gets drafted that neither of you seem to understand until fate brings you back together again.

Italics = flashback

Sometimes you wonder if moving to another country and almost two thousand miles away from everyone and everything you know and love was the right idea. 

Granted, the most important person in your life left first so how could anyone blame you? 

At the young age of 18, Connor Bedard had been drafted first overall to the Chicago Blackhawks, a dream that had been a long time coming. When you heard the news you couldn’t help but think about all the times the two of you had talked about the NHL draft. 

“Do you think the Canucks will draft you?” You ask, your head hanging off of Connor’s bed to look at him upside down. 

“That’s not how that works, bear,” Connor responds and you roll your eyes at the childhood nickname. 

Your eyes trace over Connor’s features and you find yourself frowning at the boy. His smile hadn’t reached his eyes and he looks away from you quickly. 

“Bedsy?” You ask quietly and when he looks back at you his expression is hard to read. 

“What if I don’t get drafted at all?” 

You tilt your head at him but when his expression remains the same, you’re quick to get up from his bed and kneel down in front of him. You place both hands on his knees, forcing him to look at you. 

“No matter what happens, you’ll always be number one to me,” you tell him sincerely and a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. “Besides, they’ve been scouting you since you were in pee wee. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

You thought you would have been there when Connor got drafted. You thought you would be able to cheer him on and hug him afterwards. Finally tell him that you told him so. 

You never thought the news would reach you as you unpacked your first apartment in Minneapolis and one of your high school friends called you to tell you. 

Your contact with Connor after that had essentially been non-existent. You texted him a congrats and he responded with a short text and that was it. 14 years gone in what felt like minutes. 

And for the life of you you still couldn’t figure out why. 

A few months before the draft, Connor had started to distance himself. You knew he was busy with practices and games, the stress of the upcoming draft making it harder on him. You tried to be there for him as much as possible but he didn’t want you. 

“(y/n)?” you feel someone shaking your shoulder lightly and your eyes flutter open to meet Connor’s dark ones. 

You look around for a moment, forgetting that you had come over to Connor’s house to hangout with him after his game. Connor looks like he just got home, jacket still wrapped tight around him and the tint of pink still staining his cheeks from the cold. 

“What time is it?” you ask groggily as you sit up and rub at your eyes. 

“Almost midnight,” he tells you and your mouth forms into an awkward o at the answer. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Connor murmurs quietly, taking a seat with a heavy thud onto the couch next to you. 

“What?” you ask, not sure if you heard him right since you’re still waking up. 

“You shouldn't be here. I didn’t ask you to come here,” he says more firmly this time. 

“I just-” you start, his words stinging but he doesn’t let you explain. 

“I didn’t ask you here and I don’t want you here okay? What are you gonna do? Follow me to the NHL?” 

Each word feels like a knife to your chest and you’re genuinely stunned at them. Your mouth opens and closes, floundering like your heart was, trying to come up with something to say to your best friend. 

“Just go,” he says at last. “Go.” 

For weeks afterwards you grappled with the loss of your best friend. You barely left your bed for weeks. Your family and friends had to drag you out of the house and force you to keep living. For a while you didn’t quite understand why it hurt so fucking badly. 

At last when you found out that the Hawks had the first pick in the draft and every news outlet, sports analyst, and casual fan declared Connor as their pick you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted out of Vancouver and certainly out of any vicinity that Connor might come near. Even though you knew Connor was headed to the states for hockey, you couldn’t help but need a fresh start away from Canada and all the memories that your home country came with. 

You looked and applied for multiple colleges throughout America and for whatever reason when you saw an acceptance letter from the University of Minnesota, you found yourself accepting. It was in a different country and far enough away from both Canada and Chicago that you could start new and try to forget about Connor. 

Besides, Connor would only be in the same city as you a couple of times a year. The occasional game against the Wild wasn’t going to stop you from this opportunity. 

You settled into Minnesotan life quickly, enjoying the weather since it was so similar to home and your college classes had been going well. You made friends with ease and as much as they tried, you wouldn’t be going to a Wild game any time soon. 

Connor had been in an ongoing bad mood since the night of the draft. 

Nothing in his life felt right if you weren't there beside him for it all. He smiled for the media, explained what an amazing opportunity this was for him, and tried to bond with his teammates but there always seemed to be a storm cloud following the young centerman. Thankfully most people chalked it up to a tough rookie year for him but he knew it had to do with you. 

You were his good luck charm. His best friend. The girl he had been in love with since god knows how long. He pushed you away before the draft because he was scared of losing you. Or worse, scared you wouldn't want him the way he wanted you. 

Even if you did, he didn’t know what the NHL life would be like. He didn’t want to throw you into the spotlight with him and drive the two of you apart because of a dream he had been chasing his whole life. He knew himself. He would have given it all up for you. You were his first and only dream after all is said and done anyway. 

He had heard from a friend of a friend or something along those lines that you had decided to go to school at the University of Minnesota, a full ride scholarship being your main reason for going but Connor knew you better than you knew yourself. You wanted out of Canada and away from the memories. Connor had been doing a decent job of forgetting the memories too, until he had to play against the Wild. 

You don’t know how your new friends had managed to convince you to go see the Wild game. You had planned to stay far away from the Xcel center for the entire time you would be in the state of Minnesota but you hated the way your friends were begging you to go just this once. You broke down and said yes and besides, how could you turn down free tickets to a hockey game? 

Your friend let you borrow a jersey and the four of you headed out to the arena. The minute you walked through the stadium doors you were hit with a sense of longing and nostalgia. You missed the days you and Connor would spend watching hockey together, bundled up for the cold rinks to watch high schoolers play whenever Connor wasn’t and living your best life when you got to watch the occasional professional game. 

The two of you always imagined a future where he would be the professional on the ice and you were in the stands cheering him on as you always had. Your best friend for life. 

“(y/n)?” you hear your friend call and you fail to notice how the whole group paused to look at you with worried expressions. 

“Sorry,” you apologize before joining them again and forcing yourself back to the present. 

The seats were close to the ice, a row back from the glass seats and you wanted to question how your friend got such great tickets but decided to let it slide. When you got there you dropped your items on the seat before turning to see the players warming up. 

For whatever reason, Connor had been jittery since entering the state of Minnesota. He couldn’t quite place why but he knew from the moment he crossed state lines he had been shaking ever since. The game tonight was against the Wild, them having a better season than the Hawks by far with a second place spot in the central division to prove it. However, that wasn’t the reason Connor was nervous. 

The minute he stepped out onto the ice nothing else mattered anymore. He felt his mind rush quiet, the crowd fading, the worries slip off his skin like water in a rainfall. It was him, the ice, and the sport he loved. However, just as he completes his first lap of warmups he sees you. 

You turn, your eyes scanning over the players, your friends deep in conversation about something when you see him. He’s gliding along the ice with ease like he’s done a million times, like you’ve seen him do a million times and your heart has effectively ceased its actions in your chest. Why didn’t you check to see who the Wild were playing? 

It suddenly all made perfect sense as to why Connor couldn’t seem to breathe properly when he crossed into Minnesota. His heart knew that you were here. You were so close yet so far away from him and his body couldn't take it. 

The world turns to slow motion as you and Connor make eye contact and you watch with bated breath as he skates over to your spot by the glass. His eyes search yours, the world fading away around the two of you. His gloved hand reaches up, tapping the glass twice before drawing half a heart, a pregame tradition that dated back to when you were just kids. 

As if your body couldn’t help it, you reached up, tapping the glass with your finger twice as well before drawing the other half of the heart. His hand comes up to rest on the glass and yours mirrors it, the two of you focusing on the movements instead of each other. Your hand clenches till it’s in a fist, bumping the glass before one last touch with your pointer finger that Connor mirrors on the other side. 

When you finally get the courage to look up at him again, you see a hurt resting in his eyes that never seemed to be there before. His head dips as he skates away and you don’t move for several long moments after that. 

“(y/n)?” your friend calls for the second time that night. 

“I uh,” you stutter out, meeting her gaze. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” 

With that you tear up the stairs, taking the steps as quickly as you can, all but sprinting out of the arena. When you finally crash through the exit doors and the freezing Minnesota temperatures wash over you is when your emotions catch up as well. 

Connor was your best friend. He was also your first love. Something you never let yourself dwell on much until this very moment. When you thought it was all said and done, but here he was. You had to face the music now. You lost your best friend and the love of your life in one fell swoop months ago and now you had to deal with the fall out; for real this time. 

You catch an uber back to your apartment, the quiet of the building greeting you like an old friend. You spent the whole drive back thinking about Connor, wondering what he was thinking and feeling. Wondering if there was some way, somehow, some time the two of you would be able to find your way back to one another. You pad around your apartment for what feels like hours just thinking about everything that has happened. 

Connor knew the minute you had completed the pregame handshake ritual, he hadn’t totally lost you. He knew you had come back to him even though there was still so much to do. So much to talk about and explain between the two of you. He knew though that he had time. He was certain of it now more than ever. 

He managed to find out where your apartment was through your sibling and several phone calls. He headed there right after the game, his mind hadn’t left you ever since he saw you again. 

You’re snapped out of your looping series of thoughts by your phone ringing. You don’t recognize the number but still swipe to answer it anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“It’s me,” Connor murmurs on the other end of the line. 

“Bedsy?” you ask, the childhood nickname slipping off your lips. 

“Can you please buzz me in?” he asks and your jaw drops open in shock. 

“What?” you ask unsure if you really heard him correctly. Was he seriously here? At your apartment? 

“Can you please buzz me in?” he asks, a little more edge to his tone than before. “It’s cold out here.” 

Without a second thought you cross the room to your front door and buzz Connor in. You wait by the door and yet his sharp knock still causes you to jump when you hear it. You swing the door open and before you know it, Connor is pulling you in close. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. His arms are wrapped tight around your waist, his face pushed into your neck, his words muffled in your hair. You’re shocked not only by his presence but the fact that he was holding you like you might disappear in his arms out of nowhere if he isn’t careful. 

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him even closer than before. 

“Bedsy?” you call his name quietly and he pulls back to look at you, really look at you with those blue eyes that seemed to read you like a book. 

“Can I stay?” He whispers the question and you’re hit with an image of young Connor, nervous and worried and scared. Your best friend. The one you’ve missed so dearly. The one that you hoped you could be more than just best friends with one day. 

“Come on,” you tell him, tugging him further into your apartment with the intent of bringing your two souls back together again. 

[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.” 

[mitsybubbles]

Sometimes I remember that when Mob was 3 Reigen was 17 and Reigen makes a lot more sense to me lol

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa, circa 40-ish hours ago: Hey, what if our newest bunch of OCs adopted a baby from one of the other brothel girls who knew she couldn’t afford to raise one? That would make for some fun shenanigans :D

Me, with a notoriously non existent sleep schedule, instinct of self preservation or concern for my poor wrist: Alright, bet. Watch how fast I can make you fall in love with this hypothetical baby >:)

Daneli as a gentle and loving caretaker-turned-adoptive-mother is something that can be So Personal, actually, and originally I was going to leave it at this quick sketch, but then I got carried away thinking about what this child will grow up to be like raised by this little gang of misfits, so…

Here she is!! A little older and so, so beautiful, I need more of her in my life immediately, she’s way too precious

And, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also add a sapphic element to this absolute cinnamon roll, a small crack ship that I’m only half serious about for when she’s a little older still:

All in all, we may be getting impossibly far from canon, but I for one already cannot get enough of sweet darling Kumisai <3

(I fully drew three pieces from scratch in 9 hours I cannot feel my brain or my hands anymore send help)

[queers4years]

I just keep thinking about august when I had 2 nonbinary kids talking to me about how scared they were. One told me she might have to go back into the closet for safety.

[haysgrove]

vent in tags dont mind me ✌️

[freebooter4ever]

Hey thanks I thought I was the only one who didn’t like the joke. Everyone laughed yuck

Ahhhhh yeah :/ i thought the joke was definitely funny, but with that harsh twinge of sadness at just how normalized and accepted this sort of sexism STILL is.

' i was never good at telling jokes but the punchline goes, i get older but your lovers stay my age '

And its not necessarily a damnation of the man himself - obviously rami is a favorite of mine but i dont think hes ever dated anyone over 30 and is veering towards jake and leo disease too, and i still think rami is one of the most brilliant character narrative builders in the business currently - but its a damnation of a culture that treats romantic partners not as equals but as disposable play things with an expiration date. Look, i got flirted with by much older guys in pittsburgh all the time - usually it was cute, they were friendly, very complimentary and flattering about it, and they never treated it seriously or asked me out. Then i came to LA and the difference was night and day. Older (rich) men here feel entitled to younger women in a way that is frankly scary - at one point in a bar when a guy in his 60s was hitting on me my muscular male friend had to physically step between us and scare the guy off to get him to go away.

And it doesn't help that im sort of in the 'one of the guys' category, so i've heard the way these super rich dudes talk about the models they date behind their back while hanging with 'the guys', and, ugh, its not nice. I will say one thing for sports dudes - i imagine guys like ja*gr have way more respect for young women who are passionate about health and fitness than computer science executives.

But there's negatives in the sports world too - yall know how much i adore taylor. But even i recognize that she's not 'sports bro hot' - she doesn't have silicone, her make up is understated, she doesn't have that social media defined 'hotness' that sports fan dudes expect their sports heroes to date. So while i was naively scrolling insta looking for cute snapshots of taylor and travis being all lovey dovey at the end of the game, a good half the comments were men complaining about her. Saying they cant understand why travis is dating someone so old, that she will never be able to give him kids, that she's already showing her age (both of them are 34 btw). So far travis seems to ignore these types of comments but it would be hard to judge him for giving into peer pressure because this stuff is just so prevelant and exhausting.

And it does effect us older women - while i was dating Pilot Boy i was absolutely hyper aware of the fact that here is this rich, handsome, successful, and extremely smart guy dating beneath him. Like we bonded over being literally the same age - we had mutual friends in college without even knowing it. But i was always questioning like what does this guy see in me - why isn't he dating a gorgeous 25 year old whose only goal in life is to live on the beach with him??? Like he was honestly more the type of dude i would be friends with while he dates hotter women, lol. So i really was not surprised when he ended things (i was mostly sad that we couldnt stay friends and continue geeking out on airplanes and history together LOL), it just felt like it made sense, of course he wouldn't be serious about me, a guy like him should be dating a fresh, youthful, less bitter and cynical 25 yr old blonde. Six years in LA and this is just the pattern i see repeating itself over and over.

And im the romantic - when i fall in love its ALL in. Usually it's personality, usually its intellectual - that comfort in finding someone who just understands how you think. I love being so close to someone that you know them better than yourself, that you can communicate wordlessly. Shared humor, shared experience. As i age im learning that i actually dont pay much attention to the signs of aging when it comes to attraction - who notices wrinkles when what you're in love with is that look in their eye when they smile at you? The mental connection between romantic partners is the most important for me in my book. For me this typically means someone within the ten year range plus or minus - though i prefer it even within a five year age gap.

[relicsongmel]

9 year-old Melanie 🤝 24 year-old Melanie

Being Mentally Unwell about the Mamma Mia soundtrack