#then I realised everyone else sees me like I see them

[pieflavorpie]

My unpopular opinion is that i dont enjoy bards Lament. At all. It is objectively good, well performed with appropriate buildup. However, I am a child with an absentee father, and i have had similar thoughts to him before, and i used to have a friend that went down his path. I have seen and experienced every point of view. And what that was isnt justice. Its not calling people out, or making them realise how they have hurt him.

Its a very broken, depressed man who finally snaps and burns down the bridges with his friends. No, VM never asked for Scanlan's mum's name because that's not something they do. If you can list me 5 times where the team ask questions about peoples backstory [before Bards Lament] BEFORE it became relevant, then you have successfully proved me wrong. Anything revealed is either probed out of them as part of recon, or willfully offered as a piece of friendship.

[E.g: Keyleth talking about her aramente, Pike's history with Grog vs Percy's backstory being revealed after they get invited to dinner with the Briarwoods and Grog talking about his pack when its revealed his uncle has the vestige.]

And he never offered any of this information. There have been several times where VM have shown concern and actively asked how hes doing just for him to lie and shrug them off. They prank him while he was asleep because they think hes a fairly centred person who will enjoy an attempt to bring things back to normal and they were drunk.

And yes, they are mean to him sometimes, because they are a group of assholes. They never disguise themselves as anything else. Vax and Percy's friendship post-briarwoods for a good while is based in distrust and self loathing, respectively. Everyone has moments where they say mean shit to Grog [except Pike] because he cant understand it.

And the "without his songs hes just a guy" comment or however it was phrased was a tactical comment. Because he would be. He doesn't have any sort of weapon beyond Mythcarver which he refuses to use, and he doesn't have anything else he can use to support or fight. The same applies to Keyleth without her nature magic, it applies to Percy without his guns, it applies to Grog when people are out of range.

And no, I don't blame him for snapping when he woke up. I doubt taking a -4 to any rolls made would translate to a Happy Peachy character in-story. And all of his internalised misery finally coalesces in his tiredness. But what happens isn't good. It isn't progress. It is showing everyone a wound that has been tearing open over months, and then promptly storming out.

And his whole "I didn't want my daughter to see me like this." Isn't some Grand Show of how much he cares, it shows him as fucking selfish. My dad being weak is what drove him away, his insecurity stopping him from getting help from my family. That line of thinking is what makes him a sad, lonely man rotting in a flat after abandoning many families like my own.

That man in real life was strong, a brilliant teacher of martial arts. A true marvel to see and train with. He had a certain charisma to him, but he had his shortcomings. And when his partner got too close to them, he'd hold them tight to his chest and scurry away, only coming back for the drunk sex and eventually leaving entirely. Having enough distrust in his heart to claim any unwanted children to be illegitimate.

Now, Scanlan is nowhere near as bad as him, but there are similarities. And enough that I feel my word has weight when I say, if I were Kaylie, I would not want to travel with him. If he truly wanted to be closer to her and do good for her, he'd get better first. And to get better, you need people. Plural. You cannot depend on one person. And that person can absolutely not be your own fucking child. I'm not saying he should've stayed with vox machina, but he should've stayed with a group. A group of adults that could support him. And honestly I feel like so far from my watching of CR, his epilogue with kaylie is the most unrealistic character development possible. I know she's supposed to be rough and hardy, but I refuse to believe that girl would not be breaking under her father's bleeding desperation for validation. And I definitely refuse to believe that she could actually help him to the point he'd gladly leave her on another continent while he talked to the people he'd snapped at.

Anyway, fuck dickhead dads who don't get actual help. Especially fuck them when they start depending on their children for them to be a good person.

For those who do not know. Scanlan's departure from the party in the stream wasn't as... friendly. It was kind of an ugly break-up. It came from Sam wanting to do some unexpected twist with Scanlan's character and it led to a very emotional moment. That he did not feel validated, that he did not feel appreciated and that he was considered a joke by the group.

And it came down to one phrase from Scanlan to the group: "What is my mother's name?" and when nobody was able to answer the question. Scanlan left.

However, interesting little tid-bit that might help understand this change. which comes from one of the Q&A. which is no longer up because... uhm... a whole other Drama I am not here to explain.

And what Sam said in that Q&A is that there WAS one way in which Scanlan would have stayed.

And it was Pike. who wasn't there at the time (technically was as an NPC, but since Ashley wasn't there, it's the same thing), but which Sam said was the only person who could change his decision.

And what has Pike done the entire season? BE that person who supported Scanlan in his darkest moment, and who deflated the situation probably without meaning to. And so he is able to leave the party in much better terms.

A shame because the emotional rollercoaster that it involved will be missed, but hey, it's cool to see what Sam meant by saying Pike was the one person who could stop Scanlan walking out of the party like he did

[jpmarvel90]

Dont Belong Part 3

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Word Count: 7175

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: Y/n's infection is hitting her hard and she's still struggling with her feelings on her parents. Thankfully, Yelena is there to help cheer her up and she brings along a surprise that might just make everything feel better!

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n POV:

These last two days in the hospital have blurred together, a monotonous cycle of dull light and beeping machines. The weight of my infection drags on me, leaving me shivering one moment and sweating the next. I've spent far too much time staring at the ceiling, feeling trapped in this sterile room, yearning for the freedom of my life before the mission went sideways. The boredom is suffocating, and I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself with every passing hour.

I feel a constant gaze from my parents who rarely leave my side. It's strange to go from having them ignore you to being around all the time. Part of me feels like things were like they used to be when I was a full part of their family. The other part of me is screaming saying they don't mean it and will soon be gone again.

But today feels different, a whisper of hope fluttering in the air. I've been waiting for this moment, and when a familiar knock sounds at the door, my heart races with anticipation. "Can I come in?" Yelena's voice calls softly, and I can't suppress the grin that spreads across my face at the sound of her.

"Of course!" I call back, the eagerness spilling over in my tone. I sit up a little straighter, my heart pounding as I manage to prop myself up, using the button on the side of the bed to elevate myself.

The door swings open, and Yelena steps in, her expression a mix of relief and worry. Her golden hair catches the light, and I can see the telltale signs of sleepless nights etched under her eyes. "Y/n!" she breathes, rushing to my side, her voice trembling slightly as she takes my hand.

"Yelena! I'm so glad to see you." The words come out a little breathless, and I can't help the surge of emotion that washes over me. Just seeing her makes the room feel a little less confining, a little brighter.

"I can't believe you're awake," she says, her grip tightening around my fingers. "I was so scared. We all were. You had everyone worried sick." Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of my situation lifts just a bit. I don't think I've ever seen Yelena emotional like this before and it helps me realise how bad this whole situation is. She would never allow anyone to see her this vulnerable except for Mama.

"Hey, I'm okay. Well, sort of." I gesture weakly to the IV drip, the hospital bed, and the machines that surround me. "Just a little out of commission at the moment."

Yelena's smile is tentative but bright, yet it's overshadowed by the concern etched on her face. "I just hate seeing you hurt like this. You're my niece and I thought I would always be here to protect you." She shares honestly.

I give her hand a squeeze and share a warm smile when she finally looks up to me. "I can't be protected forever. Besides, I need you now. This recovery is going to be shit and I need you to help me when it gets too much." I reassure her and she nods. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here to help you through it all. Stark has even set me up on the same floor as you. So, I'll be there whenever you need me." She explains, making my heart warm with the thought of seeing her for a while to come.

"What about the widows?" I ask, knowing how much that means to her. "I've already been able to help so many. Now I need to help you. The others can wait. Besides, Kate can do the research on where we need to go next." She replies. "Who's Kate?" I ask, surprised to hear that she is working with someone else.

"Just a stray that Clint found. She's annoying, but oddly fun to be around. I think you'd like her. I'm sure she'll be around at some point to say hi." She explains with a shrug.

As the initial shock of seeing me seems to fade, I can see the corners of Yelena's mouth twitching upward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. It's as if she's flipping a switch, her demeanour transforming from worried auntie to the playful, teasing friend I know and love.

"You know," she starts, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms, "for someone who just woke up from a dramatic hospital nap, you look surprisingly like a zombie. I mean, I thought they had strict rules against bringing the undead into the hospital."

I let out a soft laugh, despite the ache in my chest. "Yeah, well, the food here isn't exactly helping my cause. I'm pretty sure I could survive off of those tasteless mushy meals for a week and still look better than this."

Yelena raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Mushy meals? I'd expect you to be on some gourmet diet, considering all the special treatments they give you. I'm starting to think you should at least get some ice cream as a post-surgery reward." She chuckles. "Now that's the kind of thinking I can get behind. Have a word with Tony yeah?" I reply, feeling my spirits lift. "Ice cream sounds amazing. But what are the odds of that happening here?"

"Zero. But I'm prepared for this. I'll break you out of this place and take you for ice cream. You just need to give me the signal, and I'll burst in through the window like a stealthy ninja." She mimics a dramatic leap and landing in mama's pose. "See, I'll even do my best poser impersonation!" She playfully teases and she now starts to pretend to scale the invisible walls of my hospital room, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated seriousness. "You can count on me, Y/n. Ice cream shall be yours!"

I chuckle, the image of Yelena performing an acrobatic escape making the heaviness of the past days lift a little more. "What flavour are we talking here? I hope it's not vanilla. I have standards, you know."

"Vanilla? Please! I was thinking more along the lines of double chocolate fudge with extra sprinkles. And maybe a side of cherry sauce because why not go big, right?" She shares her thoughts whilst taking the seat next to me again. Her hand resting over mine. "Now you're speaking my language," I respond, shaking my head in mock seriousness. "If I'm risking a hospital breakout, it better be worth it." I laugh.

Yelena sits back in her seat, her chest still rising and falling as she laughs at her own hilariousness. She then looks back up at me. "But seriously, let's plan this for when you're feeling better. I'm not above a hospital escape." Her grin is contagious, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders easing. "Deal. Just don't forget the sprinkles."

As our laughter fills the room, I realize how much I've missed this lightness, this camaraderie. It's comforting to think about having Yelena by my side as I navigate the uncertainty of recovery and family dynamics.

But beneath the playful banter, there's an unspoken understanding between us, a bond that allows me to express my fears without words. With Yelena around, I feel like I can face whatever comes next, armed with humour and the knowledge that I'm not alone in this fight.

"Just promise me one thing," I say, my voice turning more serious again. "Anything," she replies, her gaze earnest. "Don't let me give up on the ice cream party, okay? No matter what happens."

"Never! I'll be your ice cream guardian," she declares, puffing out her chest with mock pride. "We will have that party, and it will be legendary. I will personally ensure that you have the sprinkles of life!"

With that promise hanging in the air, I know I can count on her not just for ice cream but for so much more as I navigate this complicated recovery. Even amidst the challenges, I feel a renewed sense of strength.

Though the playful atmosphere soon disappears as Yelena looks at me with a hurt look. "You know," Yelena begins cautiously, glancing around the room as if making sure no one else can hear, "I've been really worried about you. Seeing you like this. It's been hard. I didn't expect to walk in and see my Y/n looking so weak."

"Yeah, well, welcome to the aftermath of a bullet wound," I respond, a hint of sarcasm lacing my tone, but her expression remains sombre. "I mean it, Y/n," she says, her voice low. "I can handle all sorts of dangerous missions, but this... this was different. You're my niece. I've seen too many people get hurt, and it scares me to think about what could have happened if things went even more wrong."

"I know. I didn't want to worry you, but... it's not like I planned to get shot," I reply, my voice softening. "I was trying to do my best, and it went sideways."

"It's not your fault," Yelena reassures me, squeezing my hand gently. "But promise me you'll be careful. Don't rush back into missions. I can't go through this again. I thought I lost you."

"I'm not going anywhere yet. You've got me for a while longer," I say with a playful lilt, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Her smile falters, but she doesn't let go of my hand. "You have to promise me you won't get hurt again. I mean it. You don't have to be the hero all the time, you know." The gravity of her words sinks in, and I can feel a lump forming in my throat. "I thought I was doing well. I thought it was my chance to prove myself," I admit, my voice quieter now. "Prove yourself? You don't need to do that. You're already a part of this family," she insists, her voice firm but gentle.

But I can't shake the feeling of inadequacy, the bitter sting of doubt that lingers in the corners of my mind. "I don't feel like it," I confess, looking down at our hands intertwined. "Not after everything that's happened. My parents... I don't know. It's complicated." I begin tentatively, not sure how to express the turmoil inside me.

"They've hurt me for so long, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around why they suddenly seem to care. It feels like. I don't know, like they're trying to make up for lost time. They've been... around. Too around, if you know what I mean. They've been acting all concerned, but it feels more like an obligation."

I've felt torn about this since I've woke up. They're around all the time and trying to do everything that can to help me. But all I can think about is how much they have hurt me and if they would ever be able to make up for their past actions.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "It's okay to be conflicted. They've done wrong by you, and you have every right to be angry. But if they're genuinely trying to change, maybe there's a chance for you to heal too." She suggests, similar to how Steve has these last two days.

"I don't want to forgive them just because they're here now. It feels disingenuous," I admit, frustration seeping into my voice. "I've been raised to believe that actions speak louder than words, and I need to see real change." I state irritated. "Then hold them to that standard," she urges, her voice steady. "Don't let them slide by just because they're your parents. You deserve more than that." She iterates.

"I guess I'm just afraid of being disappointed again," I whisper, feeling a shiver of vulnerability wash over me. It hurt so much when I slowly seemed to disappear from their lives. I don't think I could experience that again. "What if they go back to ignoring me once I'm healed? What's the point of this?" I share, tears stinging my eyes.

Yelena leans closer, her brow furrowing as she studies my face. "That's not fair to you. They hurt you, and it's okay to be angry about that. But you deserve to feel loved and cared for. You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for." "Stronger?" I scoff lightly, but inside I feel a flicker of hope. "I barely survived my first mission and ended up in a hospital bed. That doesn't feel strong."

"Strength isn't just about fighting, Y/n. It's about surviving, too. You survived, and you're still here. You're still fighting." Her voice softens, and I can see her eyes glistening with tears. I nod slowly, her words resonating with me. "You're right. I just don't want to get hurt like that again. I thought joining SHIELD would mean I'd finally be seen, but now... it feels like a mess."

Yelena shakes her head, frustration evident in her expression. "No. You're not a mess. You're human. They need to step up and show you that you matter, but that doesn't mean you have to accept their love without question. You get to set the boundaries. You get to decide what you want from them moving forward. But I do believe that you have to give them a chance to show you that they've changed." She shares, taking me by surprise.

"It was years Yelena. How can I move to just forgive them for everything that's happened? Just because they're here for my recovery, doesn't mean it makes up for everything that they've done." I raise my voice getting frustrated that no one seems to understand the depth of how much this has affected me.

She thinks for a moment before speaking up. "I know I can't understand the pain they caused you. When I heard about what they did to you, I was ready to kick both of their asses. But I've seen this determination in them. Especially Nat. I just don't want you to let the anger eat you alive. You deserve more than that. You deserve to heal, not just physically, but emotionally, too." Her words resonate deep within me. I can feel the weight of my resentment pressing against my chest, threatening to suffocate me. "It's just hard, Yelena. I don't know if I can trust them again. What if they just go back to how things were?"

"That's the risk, but it's also a chance for something better. Maybe this could be the start of a new chapter for you all," she replies, her voice filled with hope. "I mean, how many people get a second chance to rewrite their story? You can make it count." She tries to reason with me. "Or I could just end up disappointed again," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, no one said life was easy," she counters, leaning forward, her tone shifting to a playful challenge. "You've faced worse. You survived a bullet wound, for Christ's sake! How about you take that strength and channel it into something more positive? Like confronting your parents." She suggests. "Confront them?" I echo, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach.

"Yeah! You're a badass. You fought off those Hydra agents; you can fight for your own happiness." she encourages. "Don't let anyone else dictate your worth. Not your parents, not Hydra. No one."

"I'll think about it," I concede, knowing that deep down, she's right. Maybe facing my parents isn't just about them; it's about taking control of my own narrative, my own healing. "Good," Yelena replies, her smile brightening the room once more. "And remember, no matter what you decide, I'll be right here, cheering you on. We're in this together, ice cream and all."

As I gaze into her determined eyes, I feel the flicker of hope igniting within me. Yelena is right. I can't let the past dictate my future. Perhaps I can find a way to reclaim my voice, my choices. And with her by my side, I feel like I can face whatever comes next.

__________

The soft hum of the machines is a constant companion, a backdrop to the quiet conversation happening in the room. Mama and mom sit nearby, each offering their own version of silent support. Mama, with her usual calm demeanour, sits crossed legged in the chair near the foot of my bed. Her posture is relaxed, but her sharp eyes betray her constant vigilance. She notices everything, always has, and I can feel her observing me like she's looking for something beneath the surface. Mom on the other hand, has stationed herself at my side, like aways. She's less fussy, thankfully, but still has to be close, like I'm going to disappear if she's not.

Sometimes, I find the silence unbearable compared to their constant and sometimes suffocating fussing over me. I feel on edge, like they're waiting for me to talk to them. I think back to what Yelena said about confronting them and doing it on my terms. But I want to do it in the right frame of mind, and at the moment, this infection is still kicking my ass.

Mama breaks the silence as her well trained eyes watch me for a while. "How are you feeling Y/n?" She asks, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me, as though she's trying to catch me out if I say the wrong thing. "A bit better." I respond with a slight nod, my words carefully measured. I don't want to give too much away. Not about how I'm feeling and especially not about the swirl of doubt that's been growing inside of me since the incident.

"Are you sure? You're sweating." She points out, sitting up. Mom goes to reach for my forehead, but quickly retreats her hand. She's been trying really hard not to be too much and I'm grateful for that. I should have known that she could see straight through me and notice the discomfort I'm in. "Just a little." I admit. "Is there anything we can do? Would you like some water? Or we could change the quilt for a blanket if that would help?" Mom suggests.

I think for a moment before giving in, knowing that I am burning up a little too quickly. "The blanket would be better if that's ok." I respond, earning a warm smile from mom as she stands and moves to grab the blanket as mama takes the quilt and folds it up. "Better?" Mom asks as the thin blanket now rests over my legs. "Yes. Thank you." I quietly respond.

"You're being strong, but you don't have to be." Mom says, her voice soft but persuasive. Her green eyes watching me too closely. "We're here for you." She states. Something I've heard more these last few days than I have in my whole like.

I offer a tight smile. "I appreciate that." I reply, but there's something hollow in my words, something they both notice. I see it in the flicker of mama's eyes, in the slight frown mom tries to hide. They want me to let them in, to trust them. But I can't. No right now.

The knock on the door interrupts the thick atmosphere. As we all look to the door, a smile grows on my face as Yelena pushes open the door, bursting in to the room with her usual energy. Her blonde hair bounces around her shoulders as she strides in, a smirk on her lips. She's a welcome distraction from the unspoken suspicions swirling in my mind.

Behind her, there's someone new. A brunette with wide eyes and a slightly awkward smile follows in her wake, holding a small bouquet of flowers in her hands. It's clear she doesn't quite know what to do with them as she shifts nervously, standing next to Yelena like she's trying to figure out how to fit in. "This is Kate." Yelena says with a grin, motioning to the brunette with a flourish. "Oh, right. The annoying stray Clint picked up." I reply with a grin, my eyes flicking between Yelena and the new girl. I feel a small flutter of nerves in my chest, but I push it aside, trying to appear casual.

Kate gasps dramatically, placing her hand over her chest as if wounded. "Annoying stray? Really? Is that how Yelena described me?" She shoots Yelena a mocking glare, then turns to me with a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Don't listen to her. I'm delightful, I promise." She smirks.

There is something instantly disarming about her. Her smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning back before I can stop myself. "I'll be the judge of that." I say, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Kate's laugh is light. "Well, I guess I better make a good impression then huh. I'm Kate. Nice to finally meet you."

As if she suddenly becomes aware of the other two people in the room, Kate suddenly becomes a lot more nervous as she steps forward, holding out the flowers a little awkwardly. "I, uh, thought some flowers might brighten up the place." She says her voice light but tinged with nervousness. "If you don't like them, I can... I don't know, take them back or something."

I can't help but smile at the sudden awkwardness, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. There's something captivating about her, a clumsy sincerity that feels genuine. Like she's not trying to be anything other than who she is. If's refreshing, in contrast to the more guarded and calculated vibes in the room.

"No, no. They're nice. I love them." I say, accepting the flowers with a smile. "Thank you." I say gratefully. Mom steps in to help, taking the flowers from Kate and placing them on the beside table. She flashes Kate a smile, but I can't help but notice the way her eyes flick between me and Kate, like she's sizing up the interaction. Her protective nature is sweet, but right now it feels like an intrusion, like she's watching too closely.

Yelena of course, can't let the moment go without making it awkward. "Oh great. The two of you are already making goo-goo eyes at each other." She says with a snort, dropping herself into a chair next to mama with a dramatic sigh. "I should have seen this coming." She says to her sister. "Goo-goo eyes?" I sputter, my cheeks burning. "Yelena, we literally just met." Kate for her part, looks just as flustered, running a hand through her hair as she laughs awkwardly. "Yeah wow, not even five minutes in and I'm already being roasted. Thanks Yelena." Yelena has a mischievous grin as she gives Kate a thumbs up. "Hey, I call it like I see it." She shrugs.

I glance at Kate again, and despite the teasing, there's something about her that puts me at ease. Something feels unguarded in a way that I haven't felt around my parents lately. She seems real, no hidden motives, no unreadable layers. Just Kate, awkward and charming in her own way.

Mama raises an eyebrow at Yelena's comment but stays quiet, observing as always. Mom though let's out a soft chuckle, her eyes softening for a moment as she looks between Kate and me. "I think it's sweet." She says, but there's an undercurrent to her words. A subtle probing as if she's gauging how close I'm willing to let this new person get.

I shift uncomfortably in my bed, trying to shake off the unease. "Kate seems nice." I say, trying to keep things light. "But you don't need to start planning a wedding already." I joke, earning a loud laugh from Kate.

Yelena leans back in her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face. "Well, you're already doing better than most people who meet Y/n. She doesn't usually warm up to strangers this fast."

"Yelena." I mutter, shooting her a look, but the playful banter is enough to make me feel a bit more like myself again. Even if the tension with my parents still lingers beneath the surface.

Mama exchanges a glance with mom, and I can feel the weight of their unspoken thoughts. They're both protective, maybe even a little suspicious of the new dynamic. I know they're trying to look out for me, but their watchful eyes feel too heavy right now and to be honest, they don't have the right to have any thoughts on this right now. They've barely been my parents for the last couple of years. They don't suddenly have a say in who I'm friends with.

"Well, at least you brought someone who isn't here to lecture me about being shot." I tease, giving Yelena a pointed look. Kate grins clearly relieved the conversation has shifted. "I'm just here for the heist planning." She smiles, her tone light. "Whatever Yelena has you roped into, I'm in." I join in the joke. Yelena perks up at that. "Oh, you have no idea what you've signed up for Bishop. This one here," she jerks her thumb at me, "has a history with getting into trouble."

Kate moves to take the seat next to me as both my parents decide to give us some space and grab some lunch. I'm grateful for them being able to read the room, but I notice the observant and narrow gaze of mama as she passes by Kate. I'm pretty sure I see Kate gulp a little which makes me laugh lightly.

"So," Kate asks, crossing her arms. "what's the plan for today? Ice cream, hospital jailbreak or maybe both?" She smiles, making the butterflies in my stomach flutter. "Oh, Yelena's already promised me ice cream, but she keeps postponing the jailbreak." I tease, glancing over at Yelena who's pretending not to listen.

Kate lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. "Typical. She makes all these grand promises, and then when it comes time to actually execute..." Kate starts teasingly before Yelena speaks up. "I'm literally right here." She complains, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation. "And for the record. I would have busted you out, but your mother threatened to remove all the mac and cheese from the building if I did." She admits with a child like huff.

"Still scared of mama huh?" I smirk, earning a harsh stare from my aunt. "No!" She defends loudly. "Well, maybe when it comes down to you." She admits quietly, making Kate and I laugh. "Well, well. I've finally discovered the one thing Yelena Belova is scared of." Kate torments Yelena. "Yeah, well don't forget that you're the one scared of me." Yelena points out giving her fiercest glare. Something that makes Kate shrink back into her seat. "Yep. You're right. Sorry." She apologises goofily, making me smile even wider.

There's a beat of silence, but it's not awkward. It's easy, comfortable, and I'm surprised at how quickly I've warmed up to Kate. She's sharp, funny and there's a confidence about her that makes me feel more at ease. I can tell she's someone who doesn't take life too seriously, but there's a genuine warmth underneath the sarcasm.

Yelena is watching us again, her arms crossed, and her eyebrow arched like she's trying to figure out how this is going to play out. "You know, I might actually enjoy watching this." She says, her voice laced with amusement. "You two are way too cute. It's like watching a rom-com in real time." She smirks

"Okay, enough of that." I say quickly, feeling my face begin to flush, this time not due to my infection! I glance to Kate who is grinning like she's in on some joke that I'm not, and I can't help but laugh. "Yelena, don't you have some Widow business to attend to?" I question hopefully. "Nope." She says cheerfully, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "I'm on babysitting duty today." She smiles proudly whilst I just roll my eyes. Maybe I do want my parents back right now!

Kate leans closer to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Does she always talk like that, or is it just for us?" She questions. "Always." I whisper back, earning a glare from Yelena. "Alright, alright." Yelena says, pretending to be offended, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. "I can see when I'm not wanted. I'll give you two some space. Try not to flirt too much while I'm gone." She teases.

"And you," she stops in front of Kate, a stern look on her face. "If she so much as flinches you call the nurse. I will have your head if anything happens to her." She warns her lowly. Kate just nods, gulping at the threat. "P-promise." She stutters. "Good. Text me if you need anything. Now have fun being all awkward and flirty." She smirks as she saunters out of the room.

Suddenly, it's just the two of us, the room quieter but still filled with that easy, playful energy. I glance over at Kate, feeling a bit of awkwardness settle in. But it's the good kind that makes my heart race a little.

"So, what now?" I ask, trying to sound casual? Kate shrugs, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I don't know. I mean, we could plot that jailbreak. Or maybe..." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. "We could just hang out and get to know each other a little better." She suggests.

There's a warmth in her gaze, something that makes my heart flutter, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of excitement. Not just for the ice cream or the jokes, but the possibility of something new. Something good. And maybe, just maybe, I'm ready for it.

Nat's POV:

My sharp eyes have always picked up on the subtle shift in a person's demeanour, the tiniest details that others overlook. Right now, I'm studying Kate Bishop. She's awkward sure. A little too wide-eyed and jittery, holding onto those flowers like she's afraid they might combust. There's a clumsy sincerity to her that I can't decide if I trust yet. Y/n though... Y/n is smiling. Laughing even, and I haven't seen that kind of lightness in her face in far too long. Still, I remain cautious.

I watch as Y/n teases Kate, the easy flow of their banter rolling off Y/n's tongue without the weight that usually accompanies her words. It's almost as if she's forgotten, if only for a few minutes, about the turmoil she's been going through. And while I want that for her, there's a part of me that can't let go of my protective instincts. That part that wants to dig deeper into who Kate Bishop really is, figure out if she's worthy of my daughter's trust.

Because Y/n doesn't let people in easily. Wanda and I have made that even harder for her now. To be able to trust is a difficult thing. I don't want to see her hurt more than she currently is. Not after everything that I've caused.

Wanda's voice pulls me out of my thoughts as she steps up beside me, her arms crossed but her expression soft, watching the interaction with a gentler gaze than I have. "She looks happy." Wanda murmurs. Her voice has that quiet thoughtful tone that always means she's been observing the situation for longer than I realised.

I nod, though I don't take my eyes off of Y/n. "She does." I admit reluctantly. Wanda notices this and quickly makes up an excuse of going to get some lunch and we quickly exit the room. Probably much to Y/n's delight!

"You don't like it?" Wanda asks, her lips twitching into a small smile. She can read me too easily, knows exactly what I'm feeling even when I try to keep it to myself. We hover in the corridor outside of Y/n's room as I sigh. "I didn't say that." I glance towards my wife, raising an eyebrow.

"No, but I know you." She chuckles softly, and it's a warm, comforting sound that cuts through the tension I've been holding in my chest. "Nat, you don't trust her yet." It's not a question, and I don't answer right away. Instead, I look back through the window into Y/n's room. My eyes falling to the pair of them. Y/n has leaned a little closer to Kate, her laughter soft, her smile genuine. Kate's making some grand gesture with her hands, her enthusiasm endearing in its awkwardness. Okay, I think. Maybe she's not so bad.

But still. "I just don't know her." I say finally, my voice low. Wanda hums in understanding, her gaze never leaving Y/n. "But look at her, Nat. She's the happiest we've seen her in a long while." She points out. I know she's right. Y/n hasn't had this kind of lightness in her eyes since the incident. Even in the days leading up to it, she was closed off, burdened by the trauma we had caused her. I couldn't do anything to help her, I couldn't fix what I had broken. And now here comes this Kate Bishop, breezing in like a ray of sunshine, making Y/n smile like it's the easiest thing in the world.

I sigh, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. "Maybe." I admit after a pause, my voice quieter now, more reflective. "Maybe Kate is what Y/n needs right now." Wanda turns her head to look at me fully, a surprised look on her face, but she soon gives me a soft knowing smile. "That's not easy for you to say."

"No, it's not." I say honestly. "But I can't ignore how she's acting. It's good to see her like this." I glance to Yelena who's still grinning like a proud instigator of all this chaos. Y/n has her laughing too, which is aways a good sign. "And Kate, she's not what I expected." I share.

There's an awkward clumsiness about the girl sure. But underneath that, there's a kindness in her eyes, something genuine that makes me reconsider my initial assessment. She's not just some reckless kid, despite the reputation. She cares and that means something.

Wanda places a gentle hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. "It's ok to let your guard down a little." I chuckle under my breath at her words. "I don't think I'm wired that way, Wanda." I reply. "I know." She laughs softly. "But maybe you can try. Kate isn't here to hurt Y/n. She's just, being a friend. Maybe that's exactly what Y/n needs right now." I nod, though my instincts still bristle at the idea of lowering my walls completely. "You're right. But I'm not going to stop being protective. Not after we failed her so badly." My gaze hardens just a fraction. "I can't."

Wanda's expression softens further, understanding in her eyes. "No one's asking you to stop protecting her Nat. Just, give this a chance. What ever it might be." She pleads. I look at Y/n again. She's relaxed in a way I haven't seen her in months. The tightness in her shoulders is gone, replaced by something lighter, freer. And I realise that I'm not the only one trying to protect her. Maybe, in her own way, Kate is too.

"I'll give it a chance." I mutter quietly. "But I'll be watching." Wanda smiles knowingly. "I wouldn't expect anything less." She says as both our gazes fall to our daughter. Just then, Kate says something that makes Y/n burst out laughing, the sound so full of life that it catches me off guard. My heart clenches that it's taken this long. That Wanda and I created an environment where she felt like she no longer belonged in this family.

I know it's going to take time for her to even consider forgiving us. But I know that it's important that she has other people around her that she can talk to and have fun with. If it's just Wanda and me she'll become completely closed off. Maybe being around Kate is exactly what she needs. It doesn't mean I'll let my guard down completely. Not yet. I will always protect her. That's what mother's do. Even if I haven't proven my right to that title in a long time.

_________

As Wanda and I step back into our home, the familiar chaos of our boys welcomes us like a warm embrace. The scent of something sweet wafts through the air, mixing with the sharp, clean smell of wood polish from our recent cleaning efforts. I can hear the muffled sounds of laughter and playful shouting emanating from the living room, and it brings a smile to my face despite the heaviness still clinging to my heart.

Tommy and Billy have been asking about their sister non-stop over the last few days, and every time, I see the worry deepen in their little faces. They've felt the weight of Y/n's absences as much as we have, maybe more.

"Hey, you two!" I call out, my voice breaking through the din. Almost immediately, Tommy and Billy come barrelling into the hallway, their faces lighting up like it's Christmas morning. They launch themselves at us, wrapping their arms around my waist and Wanda's legs in a tangle of limbs and giggles. It's a comforting noise, one that momentarily pulls me away from the weight of the world outside these walls.

"Mom! Mom! How's Y/n? Is she okay?" Tommy's voice rises with excitement, his wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of hope and anxiety. I exchange a glance with Wanda, who stands beside me, her own expression tinged with a protective softness. It's a moment like this that reminds me just how much the boys adore their sister.

"She's still unwell, sweetheart," I say gently, kneeling down to meet Tommy's gaze at eye level. "But she's doing better than she was. She'll be home soon." I try to sound optimistic, but the knot in my stomach betrays me. I know how much they want to see Y/n, and how hard it's been for them to understand why she isn't here with us.

"Soon? Like tomorrow?" Billy asks, bouncing on his toes, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. There's a slight hopefulness in his voice, and it makes my heart ache, knowing they're so eager for good news. Wanda steps in beside me, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. "She's going to need a few more days in the hospital, honey. She's got to rest and get better first." I watch the way Wanda's eyes soften when she speaks to the boys, how she has an innate ability to make even the hardest truths sound a little lighter.

"But her birthday is coming up!" Tommy exclaims suddenly, his expression shifting from concern to realization. "We have to make it special for her! Can we plan a perfect birthday for her in her hospital room?" His enthusiasm is infectious, and a flicker of warmth spreads in my chest at his determination. Billy nods vigorously, his face lighting up with ideas. "Yeah! We can decorate it and bring her cake! She'll love that!" The energy in the room shifts, and I can see both boys imagining the decorations they might hang, the cake they might bake, and the joy they hope to bring their sister.

"That's a great idea," I agree, feeling a swell of pride as I watch them brainstorm. "But we need to wait until she's feeling a bit better, okay? We don't want to overwhelm her." Tommy frowns slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. "When can we see her?" His voice is earnest, full of longing. I can hear the worry tucked beneath his words, and it tugs at my heart. "Yeah, we want to see Y/n!" Billy adds, his expression mirroring his brother's eagerness.

Wanda glances at me, and I can feel the weight of our responsibilities bearing down. "We'll take you to see her in the morning," I promise, seeing their faces light up with hope. "But remember, she might be tired and need to rest, so we have to be gentle with her."

"Yay!" Tommy cheers, his voice ringing through the hallway, and Billy joins in, practically bouncing on his heels with excitement. Their joy is palpable, a reminder of the happiness that can still exist even amidst uncertainty and pain.

Just then, Steve steps out from the kitchen, having been quietly observing the boys from a distance. His presence brings a calmness to the chaos, and I find comfort in knowing he's here. "Hey, how are you two doing?" he asks, his eyes twinkling as he takes in the scene of our little family reunion.

"Mama and mom just told us that Y/n is coming home soon!" Tommy exclaims, practically vibrating with excitement, his hands flailing as he gestures animatedly.

"Yeah, and we're planning the best birthday for her ever!" Billy adds, his voice bubbling over with enthusiasm, his cheeks flushed with energy.

"Sounds like you're all set for a celebration," Steve says with a smile, nodding approvingly. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms as he watches the boys with fondness. "I'll leave you to it. Just let me know if you need anything." He shoots us a knowing look, one that acknowledges the weight of what we're dealing with, before stepping back into the kitchen.

As Wanda and I stand there, our boys filled with excitable plans, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and dread. Gratitude for the moments of joy, the laughter that fills our home, and the love that binds us together. Sadness that our family isn't complete and dread for the challenges still ahead. We're still on shaky ground, still trying to piece together the remnants of our family after everything that's happened.

But for now, I push those worries aside. I take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting scent of our home, and look around at the smiling faces of my children. "Okay, let's start planning for this birthday celebration!" I suggest, my heart lifting at the idea of planning something special for Y/n.

"We need balloons. And streamers!" Tommy states excitedly, his eyes bright with ideas. "And cake!" Billy insists, his mouth already watering at the thought. "What kind should we get her?"

As we brainstorm, I can't help but smile. We'll take this one step at a time. Tomorrow, we'll bring the boys to see Y/n, and hopefully, we'll be one step closer to bringing her home where she belongs. Hopefully, she'll see that we plan to be the best parents to her and in time she'll forgive us. I feel a flicker of hope, ignited by the boys' excitement and determination to make their sister smile, to show her that she is loved and missed.

"Let's get started," I say, my voice full of warmth as I gather them into a huddle, my heart swelling with pride. Together, we can do this. Together, we can find a way to help Y/n heal, and maybe even begin to mend the cracks that have formed in our family.

Taglist: @reggierizzoli @ordelixx @mousetheorist @oh-thats-cute @bstvst @waiqui @fxckmiup @kosmichs1 @theprincipality

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Would love for you to work your magic on this prompt 💜 @shhhsecretsideblog

Heavily pregnant and overdue, she’s been waiting in line for over an hour to meet her favorite author. Unfortunately, the baby’s decided to arrive now. If she could just make it a little longer, she could ask her all of her burning questions about her novel and tell her how appreciative she is of her work!

(birth denial, inconvenient birth, public labor)

What an amazing prompt, your ideas never fail to inspire me!! Thanks my lovely for the ask, really hope you like it 💜

[fpreg, 2500 words]

Dedicated Book Worm

The contractions had started on the bus ride into town, but she ignored them. A few twinges was nothing to worry about, certainly not today; today Ricki was going to the release and book signing of her favourite author’s latest novel. Her stomach was bubbling with excitement and nerves. She'd been a fan of this writer for years now but had never had the opportunity to get anything signed before, let alone meet the writer in person.

Unsurprisingly it was a very popular event at the bookstore and the queue was already pouring out the doors and lacing down the street. She was glad to have gotten here so early, with only a few dozen people in front of her. The downside of arriving so early meant having to wait in line, which wasn’t so great when you were over 40 weeks pregnant.

Ricki rubbed the taut skin of her stretched belly and exhaled a long quiet breath. The cramping had started to ramp up on the bus journey and she tried to dismiss them, but after standing outside for the best part of an hour she was slowly realising these pains were the real deal - consistent and definitely getting stronger. She debated texting her partner, to tell her she was having contractions, but then she’d have to leave this event. Looking longingly through the glass window of the bookstore and seeing the rows of chairs all set up for the author’s reading of the new book, Ricki nodded to herself, determined. She would stay. She had time to get her copy of the new book, listen to her favourite author, and get it signed before she’d have to tell her girlfriend about the baby’s expected arrival. Labour took ages, and this baby certainly hadn’t been in any hurry to be born.

The line was slow-moving when they started letting people in, everyone inching forward every few minutes. As her large belly regularly tightened, Ricki found herself holding it and swaying slightly as she waited eagerly in the queue, thinking about what she might say when she met the famous writer. Her stomach flipped with nerves but then spasmed aggressively, resulting in a soft moan slipping out her mouth as she exhaled. The person in front gave her a worried look after clocking the large and low baby bump hanging off Ricki’s hips. “This little one is just as excited as I am to get a copy of the new book.” Ricki tried to joke and reassure the concerned looks she was getting. But her mind couldn’t help noticing just how frequently her belly was cramping.

All this standing around had put a serious strain on her back, but there was something else, something new; a weighted pressure sitting deeper in her pelvis. Maybe the baby had finally got in the right position. It would be about bloody time, but they wouldn’t be ruining this afternoon for her, Ricki thought to herself.

Eventually she got to the front of the line and presented her ticket for the event. Ricki would be glad to sit down, her back was killing her and the constant cramping of her heavy belly was draining all her energy. “Wow, you look ready to pop.” The bookshop employee said, scanning her ticket and letting the heavily pregnant woman into the cordoned off area. Ricki managed a half-hearted smile, trying to keep her face from showing any signs of discomfort.

Despite the need to sit down, the weight and pressure between her hips was squashing her bladder and Ricki made a beeline to the toilets before the reading started. Thankfully the single unisex toilet was vacant and she disappeared inside. She used the privacy to let out the pained groans she’d been holding in for the last hour, as her belly contracted yet again. “Mnnnnghhhh…. Oh why now…” Ricki moaned, palming the walls of the bathroom and shifting her hips around in large circles. “You can wait a little bit longer. You were quite comfy in there last week on your due date.”

When the contraction faded she used the facilities, noticing quite a bit more liquid leaking into her pad, and hoped that wasn’t the start of her waters breaking. Standing up from the toilet seat Ricki felt the weight quite literally drop back down in her pelvis, the head of the baby wedged harshly against her dilating cervix. “Ooof!—” she clasped her bump, taking a moment to get used to the heavy feeling and the pressure that it brought.

The hustle and bustle of the bookstore was getting louder, the sounds of excited people entering the event seeping through the bathroom door. “Come on bubs, let’s go hear all about the new book.” Ricki said to her bump before leaving the bathroom and going back into the store.

Unfortunately for Ricki the contractions were still coming and getting closer and closer, now almost impossible to stay standing. After waiting in another line to collect her copy of the latest book she had to grasp onto the counter and swallow down the grunt she so desperately wanted to make.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” The girl behind the desk asked, panicked.

“Mmm-hmm.” Ricki gritted and nodded her head, pulling her lips into a forced smile. “Just a c-cramp.”

She needed to sit down, and fast. The labouring woman took the first empty chair she could find in the back row and sighed a heavy breath of relief. She would be okay. She just needed to rest, yes, that was it. Her excitement was heightening everything, that’s all. Holding her copy of the new book in one hand, she rubbed her swollen stomach with the other and prayed the pains would slow down enough to enjoy this event.

Typically there was a delay in the start time, the author had only just arrived and it would be a bit longer before the event could begin. Ricki was sweating by this point, squirming in her seat and trying to keep an even and subtle breathing rhythm. The pressure in her pelvis had suddenly built to astronomical heights and she found herself rocking and quietly humming on the chair. Her hands gripped the edges of the seat, knuckles turning white, as the waves got stronger and stronger. She tried not to clasp her bump so as not to attract unwanted attention, but god did it hurt. The contracting muscles contorting the shape of her pregnant belly was almost visible through her clothing.

She was wearing a pair of wide legged dungarees patterned with sunflowers, a thin black cotton t shirt underneath. Even through the denim like fabric Ricki could see as well as feel the way the whole sphere of her belly hardened, squishing into a solid and narrow torpedo shape over her thighs. “Ooohhhhhhh….” She used the book to fan her damp and sweaty face, no doubt looking flushed in the bookstore, which was already getting steadily warmer as more and more people filled in.

Eventually the host took to the stage and introduced the special guest and Ricki’s eyes widened with glee at seeing her long time favourite author in person, standing only a few metres away. Her belly seized again in that moment, bringing forth a wave of pressure deep between her hips, and she couldn’t stop the groan from escaping her lips. Thankfully her labouring sounds were swallowed by the loud round of applause. Without thought, and focussed entirely on the beloved person at the front of the crowd, Ricki’s legs widened automatically on her chair. Unconsciously finding any way to relieve the building pressure.

Then, the room was silent, the writer stood centre stage with an open copy of her latest book. Ricki was going to hear a new extract, read aloud by the glorious female writer herself, and she waited like everyone else with bated breath.

As the reading began the heavily pregnant woman tried to focus, tried to give this once in a lifetime fangirl moment her undivided attention, but the pressure was getting unbearable. Every few seconds Ricki’s mind was pulled back to the baby in her womb, the feeling of the hard skull sinking deeper into her birth canal, her baby determined to be born today. She panted, as quietly as she could. The thought of attracting unwanted attention right now was mortifying, if anyone discovered she was in labour— No, she was not going to let anyone see her struggle, or give any reason to stop this talk and pull focus from the rightful star.

She lasted about 15 minutes into the reading before it happened, something instinctual and primal tripped a warning siren in her mind. The pressure, it had built too much and now… oh god, now she needed to push. She really needed to push.

It was automatic, she had no control. Ricki’s body slumped slightly in her chair and gripping her book tightly with both hands her uterus contracted and squeezed and…pushed the baby further down. Oh fuck. Her legs were wide on the chair, encroaching into the space of her neighbours. But she couldn’t close them. It felt like she was sitting on the baby’s head. Trapped in another bout of pushing Ricki sucked in a lung full of air and bore down once more. Silently as she could.

The labouring mother lost all track of what the author was saying or reading. Occasionally she’d hear the audience laugh or “awww”, and she was missing everything. All that she could focus on was not giving birth right here in the bookstore. She could make it. She had to. Her girlfriend wasn’t here, and her book hadn’t been signed. She had to make it just a little bit longer.

With every ounce of determination she could muster, Ricky shifted herself upright and painfully pulled her legs together. God it felt like she was sitting on a bowling ball. A whimper slipped from her throat and her eyes screwed shut. The person beside her gave Ricki a concerned look. The labouring woman gritted her teeth and forced a friendly grin.

The reading eventually came to a conclusion, Ricki having succumbed to another half a dozen pushes in that time, but any progress was halted by her posture on the chair and the unforgiving fabric of her dungarees. The owners of the bookstore advised everyone to start making an orderly queue to get their books signed, gesturing to a table and lines of rope set up nearby. Ricki was so close, so close to meeting her idol. Unfortunately the baby was keen to join in.

As she stood the boulder in her pelvis pressed fiercely against the walls of her birth canal and Ricki had to grasp the chair in front of her and instinctively bear down. Oh fuck… she wasn’t going to make it. Her primal grunt wasn’t noticed through the sounds of chairs scratching the floor and numerous conversations erupting around the room. The baby was so low, dangerously low. Feeling like it was sitting just behind her lips, bulging obscenely into her wide-leg trousers.

The crowd around her moved as one, all the guests making their way to the line for autographs. She should have said something, should have excused herself, the baby was quite literally trying to come out right here in the bookstore. Instead, Ricki got caught in the sea of people and somehow ended up in line and surrounded by excited people waiting for autographs.

Just a little bit longer bubs… please. She pleaded with the swell of her belly cradled in her palms. Sweat was dripping down her neck beneath her long hair, her black t-shirt sodden with the exhaustion of her labour. How Ricki managed to stay standing she did not know. Oddly the pain in her hips was easier to manage when upright but gravity was making the pressure unbearable. Whenever a contraction hit she was forced to give in, to bear down with the squeezing muscles, knees bendy subtly and her mouth clamping shut.

They were productive pushes… she was sure of that fact. The baby’s head was slowly but surely spreading her open, her gait unnaturally wide as the baby inched further into the world while she stood and waited in line. Oh god, just— just wait.

This queue moved faster than the one before and Ricki was shuffled forward every few seconds. The author was there, within metres, hair perfectly curled and wearing a flawless outfit. The mum-to-be looked around nervously, realising how stuck in the crowd she had gotten - the only clear way out was forward. Two people, there were just two people in front of her. She had to meet her idol, she couldn’t walk away now, not when she was this close.

Maybe she could time her pushes, was there enough time between them to say Hi, big fan, please sign my book before she had to push again? One person in front now. So close.

Another contraction, oh fuck, and Ricki widened her legs slightly, bending knees ever so subtly and bearing down. The crown in her underwear was getting bigger. It burnt, bringing tears to her eyes. The head was coming out!

“It’s an emotional time isn’t it? Meeting someone you’ve admired for so long.” The person next to her said, bouncing on their toes and excitedly watching the writer sign another book. Ricki couldn’t reply, couldn’t even nod, as her body fully committed to pushing out her baby and bringing it almost to a full crown.

Next. Ricki was next in line. Fuck, what was she gonna do? Before she could form any cohesive thought someone was ushering her forwards towards the desk, towards the friendly smiling face of her idol. The woman’s hand stretched out, ready to take Ricki’s copy of the book to sign.

“Who shall I make it out to?” The author asked kindly, despite having said it numerous times over.

“R-Ricki… w-with an ‘i’…. Oooohhhh….” She stuttered, trying to hold back the groan. Her hands were clasped beneath her contracting belly, every muscle tense and trembling as she fought to hold herself together.

“Are you alright my dear?” The writer asked, staring too long at Ricki’s swollen stomach and the way her fingers were gripped at the fabric of her clothing, knuckles thin and white.

“….no…..” Ricki admitted. “Ooooohhhhh….” The next wave of pressure suddenly hit her like a steam train and any previous plans shot straight out the window. She had to push…. She had to bear down right now…. this second. The burning, the stretching, it was all too much, she had to get this baby out—

“Mmmnnghhhhh!!!!!!!” Grabbing the edge of the desk Ricki bent her knees and dipped her hips as she pushed ferociously, bringing the baby beyond a crown, shoving it past her lips and almost birthing the head in one go.

“Oh my goodness, you poor dear. Someone call an ambulance! This woman is giving birth.” The author said, jumping to her feet and rushing around the desk. “What are you doing here in your condition?” The kind words were accompanied by the writer rubbing her back and holding her hand.

“I just— I just really wanted to meet y-you.”

[malakaie]

had some feelings to write out – for/about @tommyend, no pressure at all to respond

I started watching wrestling – specifically, AEW – in late October 2023. It’s been just over a year since I started watching, and I didn’t expect it to consume as much of my brain-space as it has. When I started watching, I didn’t really know who anyone was. I had heard a few names – Randy Orton, CM Punk, Jade Cargill, Roman Reigns – but had no real concept of the landscape I was entering or what it would mean to get invested.

Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming, and there was more I didn’t understand than I did. In those first few weeks, I received one very helpful piece of advice: don’t try to understand everything. Find a wrestler or two whose vibe you like and stick with them – the rest will click into place eventually, or it won’t, and either way is fine.

And so I did. I think it was around the lead-up to Full Gear 2023 that I started really paying attention. There was something about what House of Black was doing that was different from anything else I was seeing. I could understand just enough to recognise talented athletes when I saw them, but I wasn’t quite plugged in enough to the overall wrestling “ecosystem” that that was enough on its own to get my attention. Now that I understand more of what I’m looking at, it’s easier to understand what I’m meant to be impressed by – it’s easier now to have that moment of, holy shit, how did they do that?

But I didn’t understand yet. I’d been watching wrestling for about a month and was still finding my footing. What I saw, and latched onto, in House of Black was a group of four impressive performers that I could tell were in love with the art of what they were doing. Everything was done with intent – the way they entered the ring, the different but cohesive styles with which each member of the House wrestled, the gear they wore, the ever-evolving paint on Malakai’s face, the evolution and growth of Julia’s character.

It was both the moment that I finally, properly understood that professional wrestling was also theatre—and, I think, the moment that I was magnetised. It felt like a faction that was made for me: a band of storytellers who wanted to take my hand and show me what wrestling could be and was and is, and had the creativity and cohesiveness and physical talent to pull it off.

I could breathe a sigh of relief. I wasn’t lost anymore, desperately trying to catch up to understanding something that everyone around me already seemed to know. I had a guide of some sort, and one that resonated: I’ve been reading since I was 3, writing stories since I was 11, have always been a little “strange,” drawn to creative types and niche hobbies and other people that don’t have many friends. And here was someone who not only felt like me, sounded like me, but was wanted and loved and succeeding. A stranger to me, in the way that performers and public figures always are, but I felt like it was going to be okay. If Malakai could make it—though I didn’t and don’t know him personally, I had no way of knowing if he was ever afraid, or if he doubted himself—then maybe I could, too.

The more I watched and the more I learned, the more true that became. I’ve been depressed and anxious most of my adult life. I have scoliosis that is likely to get worse as I get older, and causes me pain multiple times a week, if not every day. Hearing someone whose work I admired be open about his mental health—especially when sports industries have typically not been kind to people, perhaps especially men, who are vulnerable in that way—and be honest when he’s in pain shook something loose in me that I hadn’t quite realised was stuck and frozen in shame. It’s okay that I’m afraid. It’s okay that I have days where my brain is trying to consume itself. It’s okay that I’m in pain. Did I get out of bed today? Have I been outside? Have I eaten? Have I done something to be kind to myself—or, failing that, kind to someone else? Have I done something creative today?

I started my “gender journey,” for lack of a better phrase, in 2018. There was a lot, a lot, of messing around with pronouns, labels. I didn’t know what I was, only that “just a girl” didn’t feel quite right anymore. And then I felt like I was lying, because, well—I was fine being a girl when I was ten, and thirteen, and sixteen, so why was it suddenly different at 25? Sometimes I still feel like I’m lying. The generation above me often still holds an image of trans people that requires them to have always been miserable, always been “pretending.” A few months ago my mother suggested it was fine if my idea of being feminine had expanded, but she didn’t really believe I was trans, because I’d never been unhappy as a girl child, and besides that I looked like a “clone” of the small handful of other transmasc and nonbinary people she’s met. I must be a pod person. (Newsflash, mom: This is just what queer people look like, a lot of the time. I cut and dyed my hair and got one singular tattoo. How terrible.)

She didn’t ask me how I feel when people call me she, or her—it makes me feel horribly small and unreal, by now—and in fairness to her, I didn’t quite defend myself either. I cringed and shrunk and asked for time to think about it, when what I wanted to say is yes, I know I haven’t had the history you expect to see from me, but this is who I am, and I’m not telling you that I was never a girl. I’m telling you that girl isn’t the place where I stop.

But I was scared, and I felt cornered, and I didn’t say any of that.

What I did have, though, was an artist and a performer and a storyteller who did things with his expression, his clothing, how he presented himself to the world that was like a lightbulb going on. The confidence of a man who told stories with the way that he looked, and who used feminine symbols to do it. He wasn’t any less masculine—but it was an embracing of both that cemented who he was, and I thought: holy shit. I can do that. Our identities are not the same, and I’m not too keen on speculating about the identities of public figures that I don’t know in any event—but it’s reassuring, motivating even, to be able to regularly see someone comfortably expressing his gender (because, yes, cis presentation is gender expression too) in a way that makes sense to him and incorporates the feminine and resonates through his art without doubt or reservation or compromise. This is who we are. Take it or leave it.

I don’t know what’s coming next for any of us. AEW looks like such a different place—in a good way—from when I started watching, and the world is looking pretty scary these days, but I’m still here. The art that got me interested in wrestling in the first place is still here, and I have my theories—unsubstantiated, so far—about where Malakai and House of Black are taking their story, but regardless of theories I’ve been so fortunate to watch them continue to grow and evolve over the past year. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know the love for the story and the art is real.

I don’t know you personally, Malakai, and I don’t want to claim to, no matter how many scraps I’ve gathered together from interviews and how much of the backlog of matches I’ve done my best to watch so I can understand where you’ve come from and where you’re going next. But your work and your love for your craft has moved me, and I’m glad I stayed alive when it was hard so I could be around to see it when it mattered.

[cometconmain]

Also even if he hadn't explicitly stated these things:

Besides: Most fascists with half a brain cell (unlike Trump) don't say what they're after until they have enough control to enact it. That's what makes them so fucking dangerous. They'll say literally anything else and work you up to agreeing with them by finding things you are more likely to accept and then slowly turning up the intensity, allowing you to acclimatise each time to the new 'normal' they're conditioning you to blindly accept. Insert frogs in boiling water analogy here.

If you haven't learned that by now (either from Jewish people themselves who I'm pretty sure were the first to identify and teach about this considering how specifically and horrifically it happened to them so they know this societal phenomenon inside and out) then what the fuck have you been doing every time someone taught you about the Holocaust? About passive participation? About the frogs in boiling water I mentioned? About the steady radicalisation of otherwise 'normal' people who were so certain they could never become the monster, they accelerated into it because they were too busy beating their own drum insisting they never could to realise they literally were having happy lunch time with their work friends, and then going back to their jobs at fucking Auschwitz??

Everyone is capable of fascism. You have to always try to develop a better ability to identify the signs in yourself and others, and work to combat it.

On my part, I actually hadn't stopped to think about the true meaning of why so many Americans voted for Trump. I knew he'd get in simply based on idiots refusing to vote blue or at all. I wasn't expecting such a huge acceptance where he didn't even need the electoral vote and hadn't put two and two together until now. It does make sense though, thinking about it, with how much both right and left wing people have been hurtling toward and nurturing fascist beliefs for years now. That's so fucked up. And now I'm worried about my country because we're getting symptoms of it here too. We're just not as far along yet I think. Doesn't mean we won't get there though. I already have my neighbour refusing to see the antisemitic attacks and rhetoric in general ramping up here I once would have felt sure were really fucking blatantly obvious even without being taught subtler things we otherwise miss/don't know about as goyim(? Let me know if that's not the right word).

Goyim love to say things like, “How did people let the Holocaust happen?” And there are a lot of possible answers to that question. Some believe that the average citizen of the Nazi Empire simply didn’t know about the camps. Others say that the average citizen opposed the regime, but they were deterred by their government or the fear of being killed. And some believe that it was some kind of perfect storm or one-time-glitch, that those people from that place just happened to be uniquely predisposed to evil, and that it can never happen again.

This is almost always accompanied by some variation on the phrase, “If I had been there, I wouldn’t have.”

Not even a hundred years later, Jews across the world are being targeted for destruction by both White Supremacists and Jihadist Islamists. Both weaponize the same ideologies and tactics that the Nazis used, and both happily embrace the Nazi legacy. Both are emboldened, not disgusted, by the nearly unprecedented increase in antisemitic hate crimes. They are openly calling for our death in our streets and our subways and our political offices.

And yes, in some countries, they are met with opposition by the average citizen. In some countries, decent and caring and inclusive people stand up for us. And in some countries, they win. But not all the time. When they lose, you have to reconcile with the truth:

The Holocaust didn’t happen because the average person in Eastern Europe failed to stop the Nazis. The Holocaust happened because the average person in Eastern Europe was a Nazi. And if the average person is a Nazi in any other nation, at any other time, it will happen again.

[vibin-in-the-void]

having imposter syndrome on tumblr is like not wanting to be recognised in a masquerade ball, you forget no one else want's to be recognised either

[scruncheduppaper]

i love stanford pines can we please get an amen in the chat

[di-42]

Adding what have recently become my go-to comfort fics:

The Bookseller And The Garden, rated T, 13k

Fluff, fluff, fluff! Canon divergent fiction where Crowley is a demon stationed on earth, Aziraphale is an angel stationed on earth, but they have never met until present day. There's no end of the world in sight, only an angel and a demon falling in love and not knowing how to break it to the other that they're not human. I laughed all the way through.

The Anon Before Christmas, rated E, 66k

Ah. Where to begin. Every now and then, you read a fiction that just makes you feel at home. Makes you feel like you’re in safe hands. Like you’re in for a real treat. This absolute gem has very quickly become my favourite human AU. For several reasons.  The characterisation of the two main characters is absolutely spot on. I could hear Crowley talking in DT’s Crowley voice and see him moving in DT’s Crowley way, and I could hear Aziraphale talking in MS’s Aziraphale voice and see him moving in MS’s Aziraphale way. The pace of the development of their relationship from enemies to lovers is just perfect. It’s told from Crowley’s POV and you can see how his perspective changes as the story progresses, but the writer is so good that Aziraphale’s change of perspective shows perfectly through Crowley’s POV too. The array of side characters is so good that it actually pains me to call them side characters. I wrote in one of my comments to the fiction that I will forever adore this story’s Bee, and I meant it, but Newt and Ana are equally fantastic (and I loved the other cameos too!). Also, and this is especially important to me, this story is as much a love story between Crowley and Aziraphale as it is a story of true friendship among all the characters. They look after each other, they have each other’s back, they support each other. I am so lucky and privileged to be able to see myself represented in that aspect of the story. Last but not least, this fiction doesn't overstay its welcome one bit. You are happy about how everyone ended up, but still could read more. It’s like you are part of the gang and want to know what your friends are up to. Everything in this story was perfect. I realise I haven’t mentioned what the plot is about, but hopefully by now you might want to find out for yourself!

Wrong Turn, rated T, 37k

Honestly, I don't know why this fiction touched me so much. I just couldn't stop thinking about it for days after I finished it. It's a post season 1 fiction where Crowley suddenly finds himself in a parallel universe at the time the apocalypse is just about to happen. The Crowley and Aziraphale in that universe have a different history to our Crowley and Aziraphale. All our Crowley wants to do is to go back to his universe and his very own angel, but how? As you follow the main plot and focus on Crowley's thoughts and actions, you'll start slowly feeling the other story get hold of you, and it won't let go until the very end and beyond.

Happiness, More Or Less, rated M, 21k

If you read only one story out of this list, make it this one. This human AU moved me so very much I cried. Crowley moves into his new flat in Soho, only to discover the flat in haunted by the ghost of the owner of the bookshop downstairs. I won't tell anything else about the plot other than it does have a very sweet happy ending, and it gets there via a rollercoaster of emotions. This is really one of those fictions that leave me in awe of the fandom's talent and creativity. Read it, read it, read it!

Wavelengths & Frequencies, WIP, rated E, chapters 14/?

If you feel like you're going through one of those phases where you need to curl up on a sofa with a cup of hot chocolate and something good to read, something safe and reassuring, then this fantastic fiction is for you. It's a human AU enemies-to-lovers fiction where Aziraphale and Crowley can't stand each other, but work for the same media corporation as radio DJs and have to attend charity events together. The characterisation is spot on and the humour great. And what an incredible soundtrack! I honestly can't tell you how happy each notification of a new chapter of this story makes me!

Plus my own one shots:

Angel! Angel! They're At It Again! Rated M, 5k

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage.

A fluffy story about how we get to a certain cottage.

In Vino Ludus, rated E, 3k

It's the year 2030. Crowley comes to the bookshop drunk, and Aziraphale can finally put all those years of eye-rolling practice to good use.

An as of yet canon divergent fluffy night in the life of an angel and a demon.

Do you have any go to Good Omens comfort fics?

i got u ❤️

stockholm’s other syndrome (T, 5k): aziraphale lets himself get ‘kidnapped’ by a demon. very cute and romcommy

sit tight take hold (E, 150k): formula 1 au that got me totally into f1 while i am not even a car person. the type of au that becomes its own thing and you love escaping to it again

where a canvas blooms (T, 3k): cuddle arrangement au with SUCH gorgeous art too it’ll make you feel so warm inside

manual handling (E, 8k): massage fic. ummm can an e rated fic be a comfort fic? sure why not. definite rereading material so

let me care for you (M, 1.7k) literal comfort — crowley gets cared for

big name feelings (E, 103k): fandom au and SO well done including the art. i followed this while it posted and it was so exciting

the gift (T, 3k): short & sweet they talk about the elephant in the room

my mind holds the key (T, 3k): aziraphale wants to know who the ‘best friend’ was that crowley supposedly lost. superbly written

one night in bangor (E, 17k): a classic and great on every reread. there’s a heaven-hell mixer and omg…. the careful, exciting, fluttering flirtation

slow show (E, 95k): i know i know it’s such an obvious one to rec bc it’s so famous but genuinely one of thee best fics and a lovely reread each time. actors au

empirical study on the principles of snake care (T, 2k): sorry to be that guy but sometimes i reread my own fics and i laugh with the little jokes bc i’ve forgotten them. aziraphale tries out some snake care tips on crowley

as always: begging people to add (self) recs to this post because i’d love to know what people’s comfort fics are. please share the joy

[daily-hanamura]

[hopeinthebox]

tagged by the gorgeous and fabulous @cordiallyfuturedwight and @aprylynn for february's roundup:

tagging the usual music favs: @jiminsproof @thvinyl @jimin-gaon @visionsofgideontheninth @spicyclematis @kimchokejin @jihopesjoint @monismochi plus @kimtaegis for the amy macdonald of it all 💜 and also you, dear reader. MWAH

[ancha-aus]

Yaaaaas :D

Okay but my question is who came up with the game? Because if it was killer it would be SO FUNNY.

Killer: you can feel emotions right? vibe check people? Ngihtmare: correct. killer: can you sense when people lie? Nightmare: ... I get a feeling about it. Killer: we need to practise that! I am a great liar!! I will help. Two truths and a lie and you need to pick out the lie! nightmare: seems reasonable. Killer nods: it would work best if you could practise with someone else and didn't just learn my like give aways but really on your own magic kinda deal nightmare remembering how ccino managed to lie to nim's face multiple times and never got caught: i know someone.

which is also when killer gets to interact with ccino more. sure killer though he was hot before but now also very smart and silver tongue? sign killer the fuck up- oh wait. he can't because nightmare said "No." very early to anything concerning ccino :'(

At least killer leanrs a few things about ccino like this. (he also likes to guess which is the lie when it is ccino's turn.)

Oaky but the PLOTTWIST! Error: that is my brother. nightmare does a quick turn: since when do you have abrother?! I mena... aside from dust... error: euh... along time? I euh... it is a long story. geno is crying as he just holds his little brother.

omg stop error planning their first official date in the warroom is such a vibe!! (killer gave error a little warhelmet to lead the opperation with.) and they are planning it all out and helping with making sure he doesn't go too far with his funds and ccino giving killer the stare like 'if anything happens to either of them.' which killer gets and don't worry he is on it!

(the distraction was just dust and nightmare wokring with the horses and nightmare practising his riding skills. it was nice and very relaxed.)

nightmare knows himself and knows how he reacts and so he makes sure he isn't near- damnit that is the child fitting the describtions.

nightmare is so scared he will mess this up but he does really well and everything ends up working out just fine :D

(also. dont you mean third child? seeing as ccino pretty much also raised dream until he was 13? ccino is not ready for another child. (if ccino and killer ever expect a child ccino will be anxious even if they planned it. he took care of so many children already.))

I love the whole dream and blue side quest story. them just going out and about on adventures. but also making sure to check on the kids in the apprentice program and to make sure everyone BEHAVES! Nightmare doens't think dream needs to repay him for anything. dream already apologised. Dream disagrees but also loves helping nightmare so doesn't really see it as a chore/punishment.

and as you said. where dream goes so does blue. How it took those two so long to realise they are already married is beyond me (and everyone)

Ngihtmare always knew he was on a time limit wiht the mask. he could only hide himself for so long. it is probably why he even reveals his face to reaper so wuickly. he knows he is on a time crunch and the reaction of EVERYONE is just going to be worse the longer he waits.

and it works out! he did the groundwork. he proved himself a reasonable king. and when people see his real self? they are willing to accept it. because there is proof everywhere that nightmare knows what he is doing. (or that he knows to hire people who know)

also i am sorry but THE TRUST!! which is so big for nightmare because he was always so afraid and paranoid. he is willingly stepping into a possibly very dangerous situation because he trusts his knights to protect him!! My heart. my soul. tha tis just so amazing and such a great character development.

everyone watching error and nightmare stnading within inches of each other: omg they should just KISS already!

the boys have already been courting for a year at this point. (ngihtmare has the opposite problem of dream which is real funny)

the knigths may work for nightmare but they still got times off the clock :3

okay but the whole dust thing?! Fucking killed me?! it is perfect!!

Dust having such a loving family. and his parents desperate to finding a way to help him. his brother just carrying him around like a sack of potatoes!! Stop that is great!!

(also phantom just full of stubborn energy "My brother is fine! He is just lazy!" but it isn't just stubborn. it is denial because phantom and his parents would be so so so afraid to loose dust)

which is why his parents had already spoken to a mage. hell maybe the mage warned them that this could have serious consequences and even end up making dust very difficult and hard. (to which his parents replied. at least he would HAVE a life. We will help and support him through it all)

and to be fair. they do! They try so hard! but dust can't control the magic. he never had to control any type of magic. he never even HAD magic to control. and now he has magic strong enough to start up hurricanes?! He has no idea how to control it and-

and of course he ends up zapping his brother. he didn't mean to! He swears he didn't mean to!

and phantom of course forgives him and reassures him like 'it is oaky! I know you didn't mean to. you were just anxious and scared. i know. it is okay. we are fine.'

but dust can't help but stare. because that took out half of his HP. his storm is only getting stronger. it is only getting more out of control... he needs to do soemthing...

and for dust the answer is obvious. after all. he was always living on borrowed time. he knwos that. but he refuses to be a dnager to his family. and while his family just wanted him happy and healthy...dust didn't see himself deserving that.

so he left. and he ended up somewhere where he couldn't hurt people. and dust managed to make it work and he send funds to his family. (never an address to send responses to. never personal letters. what could he say? that he misses them? that he is sorry? that he can't risk them? no. it would just make them sad.. this way they maybe believe he just moved on and then so will they... Dust doens't want to give them a chance to talk him out of this... (or worse. a letter that it is good dust left because things are better now) no response address is better.)

and then everything in the story happens. hell maybe this is even before dust becomes official with geno and reaper. just dust and nightmare. going by horse there.

and dust being so unsure in his to approach. because that is his younger brother. (not little. never little. phantom was always bigger and stronger than him)

and phantom just looking up shocked at the rain. (trying to push his own hopes down or being disappointed again. phantom used to run outside with every rainfall or storm. praying his brother had finally come home. even if he doens't run outside anymore he always looked wishful at each rainfall. looks through windows hopeful. searching...) and then he hears horses nearby and he turns...only... only to see...

dust looks awkward. he always was awkward and shy. and dust just slowly and quietly saying hi and that he missed him. asking him how he is doing. and phantom is already rushing to his side. he needs to make sure this is real and not another wishful dream.

and it is real. oh it is so real. he can hold his brother. and his brother is okay! (phantom had dreams about dust returning... he had nightmares about them finally finding dust only for it to already be too late and dust to become dust before he saw them. before dust could learnt hat phantom missed him)

his parents seeing him. they knew he send money but... but dust. oh dust. they hold him and welcome him home nad gush about how much he grew and how strong and healthy he looks and oh what a beautiful horse is she yours? oh hello young man! We are so sorry who are you?

(and maybe nightmare feels insecure. maybe he just needs the reassurance. as he mutters that he is nightmare and dust is one of his four new brothers...) dust is a bit embarrassed but his parents (and phantom too) are so proud. because you learned so much and let yourself love others! You let yourself trust yourself to be near others and how could they not be proud of you?

which is when after checking with nightmare dust tells them that this is actually the king... that it is why he needs to return. he has a job there. a home. he is sorry he never came back earlier but... he doesn't have an excuse but being scared and would tell them as much.

god it would jsut be gut punch after gut punch!

also. love the idea that dust has like a fake bigger soul around his normal tiny soul. and like the room between these two (soo in the big soul and around the tiny soul) is where the storm spell is located. deeply rooted into the tiny soul to give it support.

dust would HATE how his soul looks. it is so fucking weird. (which he finally trusts geno and repaer enough to do like soulplay and stuff. geno finally sees where the magic is coming from... and understands why dust was so secretive and unsure about it. it isn't a weapon. it isn't dangerous. it is a whole support build of magic. powered by the weather itself. it is complex and geno just thinks it is beautiful)

okay i love the fresh and parasite bit! Especially because this would be the pushing point that makes the parasite learn to stop the magical consumption.

and fresh just falling over face first. unsure what happened but then still rushing to error. he is gong to hold his brother and apologise for to him. say he loves him so much and that he swears he will explain everything. he is so so so sorry ruru.

error holding his brother. even if it hurts he refuses to let go.

god it isn't even them hagning out. it is just becuase error wanted them there for this meeting. to see fresh. that is why dust is here and geno is kinda hurt that dust doens't even look at him but so happy that error has these people to support him here.

but on the sillier note. Dust's magical swag and rizz saves the day XD

yes to everything you said about ccino and error! You get it! You get the vibe!!

Okay i am also done :3

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.” 

[laniidae-passerine]

decided that in my own personal canon, Santiago’s maker looked similar to Louis, simply because Ben Daniels stated that Santiago was very likely in love with his maker. and wouldn’t it be some kind of torture to fall in love with the man who murdered your first vampiric love? to then watch him fall in love with another, who bears an eerie resemblance to that first love? to be witness to something tender and affectionate blooming, every moment a memory of how none of those you’ve adored have ever wanted you back? it would be agony. it would be torture. god, you would just hate them to pieces, loathing even as you loved them. and you wouldn’t know peace - not until the whole pack of them learnt the horror of love, just as you have.

[bulldagger-bait]

When it comes to hygiene tasks and self care with disability and chronic illness, its pretty much a constant case of: don't let perfect be the enemy of the good.

Basically: it's better to do something, than to do nothing at all.

TLDR: Just because you can't do something "properly" doesn't mean you shouldn't do it at all. Do it half-way. Do it shitty. Do it barely. Do it on a technicality. But do what you can. Just try, because doing something will help you.

If you don't have the energy to scrub your body with a sponge, just rub soap over your skin with your hands.

If you don't have the energy to wash your whole body with soap, just hit the places where sweat accumulates, or where you're smelliest.

If you don't have the energy to wash with soap AT ALL, just sitting in water is better than nothing. It will wash away dirt and oils.

If you can't bathe or shower at all, a warm wash cloth is your new best friend. If that's too much, then try bath wipes. They're a bit bigger than regular wet wipes, and a bit more heavy duty. They're designed to help keep bed ridden patients clean in hospitals.

If you don't have the energy to dry yourself after a bath or a shower, just put on a bathrobe and get into bed. If you don't have the energy to get dressed afterwards, just don't. It can wait until you can.

If you don't have energy to brush your teeth for two minutes, honestly, just a cursory scrub is better than not doing anything.

If you can't brush your teeth twice a day, brush in the evenings. It will help take away the build up of food from the day.

If you don't have the energy to brush AT ALL, honestly, just take a cloth and wipe the plaque off your teeth. Rinse with mouth wash after if you'd like. Something is always better than nothing.

If you can't floss twice a day. Try once. If that's too much, try a few times a week. If that's too much, try setting aside a day once a week as a goal. If you can't keep a schedule, do it when you're able to. Hell, I keep some floss next to my bed so that if I forget and don't have the energy to go get it, I can just reach over.

If you can't iron your clothes, don't bother. Wrinkles are fine. Wear jumpers over wrinkly t-shirts. No one will know, and honestly, most people won't even care. If it's really wrinkly and it's A Big Deal And It Needs To Be Ironed, here's my life hack. Step 1: take a spray bottle, and spritz the item of clothing (while you're wearing it is easiest) until it's lightly damp. Step 2: use a hair-dryer on the clothes until they're dry. It gets rid of creases like nobody's business, it's easier than lugging out the iron and ironing board, and you get to have nice toasty warm clothes afterwards.

If you can't fold your clothes, try just hanging them up. It's less commitment. It's quicker to do. Granted, you need to have the space in order to do this, but it is also good at helping you downsize, and lets you visualise exactly what you have.

If you can't put your clothes away, invest in a couple of laundry baskets, and then just keep your clean clothes in the baskets. You can then separate washed clothes into underwear, pants, and shirts baskets. You can just leave them like that. I'm giving you permission to never fold your laundry again if you can't. Just leave it unfolded. Who's going to care? Something is better than nothing. If you can, try to put those baskets into your closet so that you can keep the clutter out of sight, and give yourself a more restful environment.

If you can't separate your clothing out into different categories and wash them "properly" (whites, warm tones, cool tones, darks, delicates / switching between hot & cold washes / paying attention to laundry instructions on the label) then just don't worry about it. If you cold wash your clothes, colours won't bleed. Maybe gradually over the course of dozens of washes there'll be some changes in hue, but it's really not as high stakes as the One Red Sock In The Whites Turns Them Pink trope makes it out to be.

I've pretty much come to the point in my life where if a piece of clothing can't survive the washer and dryer, then it's just not meant to be. I colour separate my clothes, and if I have the energy/remember I'll take my bras and jumpers out of the washing machine to drip dry. But otherwise, I leave it to the universe.

If you can't separate out your recycling, then don't. If you have a large amount of rubbish you need to get rid of but the idea of separating it out properly is stopping you from doing so, then just don't worry about it. I know it's not ideal, but if you have garbage in your room/house and you need to get rid of it, please just get rid of it. Don't let the problem get bigger and harder to deal with. Don't let "doing something properly" get in the way of keeping your living spaces clean. Please. Give yourself understanding.

If you can't wash your dishes, get paper plates. Obviously, it's not ideal, but it is better that you eat food than skipping meals. It is better that you have a clean kitchen, rather than having dishes piling up and making it harder to look after yourself.

If you can't prepare meals for yourself keep making the tasks easier and easier. If you can't do recipes, then simplify. Use pasta sauce from the jar instead of making it. Eat canned soup. Buy food you can just stick in the oven. If you eat fish fingers and microwave veggies every night, it's better than not eating anything at all. It's better than having to fork out money on take-out. If you need ready-made meals, then get them. If you're literally just eating a raw cauliflower for dinner; 1) I see you, 2) me too, sis, 3) something is better than nothing.

These are the basic things you need to do every day to function as a person. They are your activities of daily living. Brushing your teeth. Bathing or showering. Using the bathroom. Getting dressed. Eating. Drinking. Sleeping. Keeping your environment clean. You don't need to do these things perfectly, but they need to happen in order for you to have a decent quality of life.

And it breaks my heart, because I know that so many disabled people can't do these things every day. I'm not saying this to guilt or judge, I'm saying that these are basic needs; you deserve these things. These things bring dignity. If a disabled person is unable to do these things, it diminishes their quality of life. It robs them of dignity.

If you need help to do these things, Its okay to ask for help. It's okay to need help. But if you can't get that help and you have to do these things by yourself -- or you just plain want to be independent and do it without help-- then don't hold yourself to standards you can't meet.

Don't let perfect be the enemy of the good. Doing something is always better than doing nothing. Even if it's not perfect. Even if it's not done well. Do what you can.

[phagodyke]

dating an art student was so crazy I'm just thinking abt that one birthday I had where my ex got me stickers from the etsy of the person they were cheating on me with....

[spicyicymeloncat]

Yknow something that gets me abt certain fanon depictions of kai is that he’s portrayed with no sense of self preservation, as if he’s self sacrificing and burned out, and I think I dislike it bc it feels like the opposite of his character most of the time.

Yeah some of the actions he takes are harmful to himself in some way, but it’s never intended to, they were ways of coping and making himself feel better.

Like the green ninja plot, he is insecure in his place, so he strives for the highest title to make him feel better.

The red shogun isn’t him beating himself up and not caring about his own well being. He was winning fights, fully engaging in the job, taking his frustration out on others and drinking away his issues, and yeah there’s self loathing in that, but there’s also him trying to make himself feel better, to redirect hurt away from himself.

Him prematurely concluding his parents were the bad guys in s7, is (imo) his way of rationalising his mixed feelings, in order to keep himself okay.

He’s not a reckless war machine who throws himself into battle with no hesitation, he tries to keep himself safe.

Kai is self-prioritised and yknow I think people in general really demonise that kinda of trait both in fiction and irl and that’s actually kind of harmful. The self sacrificial trait is so grossly over romanticised and idk it’s a breathe of fresh air when you see a character who doesn’t start out that way or end that way. Like nothing wrong with that trait being written, it’s just like sometimes it feels like people are only allowed to prioritise themselves if they previously have no sense of self care, bc then it’s seen as a healthy improvement. But in any other case, it means you’re selfish and that’s a bad thing apparently.

Like no. Being selfish and loving yourself and thinking you are hot shit and the smartest person alive and prioritising things that make you happy. None of that makes you evil or morally wrong. If in attempts to meet your needs you try to hurt someone else, or end up hurting yourself, then the action you took was bad but the intent isn’t! Fuck the media that finds people loving themselves as immorally wrong! Fuck it! It is not sexy to hate yourself actually.

I want more fanon Kais indulge in activities that make him happy, Kais that make bad decisions in trying to protect himself and Kais that have good coping mechanisms because he’s still trying to protect himself he’s just found better ways of doing it.

Bc it’s canon and it feels like it gets erased a bit because people somehow don’t find self love appealing unless the character was self hating first.

[doveotion]

Being self aware is literally hell I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy