#have this mess of writing lmao

[morgana-ren]

i love angst, and i love your writing, but please, PLEASE, i beg you, could you write some hope of tav ever returning now that the imbecile, has realised the error of his ways 🥺😭 (either way, thank you so much, for all your astarion writtings, it has made me feel things, the angst is real and my masochistic heart loves it🥲)

First part of the story HERE

Common complaint I got on that one! So I fixed it just for y'all. This ending is much less sad and much more sappy, so here is the comfort you need after all that angst!

"Darling, will you smile for me? Just once more. Please--"

He feels her cheeks in his palms, the soft skin against his battle-hardened callouses. Desperation cradles his unbeating heart, and for a moment, the emotion is far too much. A searing flame after centuries of frost. A bonfire in a blizzard. It hurts-- it burns--

"My love, I just need you to--"

"Anything my lord, anything at all for you. Simply command me and I will do anything you ask."

"No, I can't-- I-- I won't do it. I won't. I won't!"

"My lord?"

Her head cocks, turning slowly to look upon him, but her eyes-- they are empty; beetle-black and hollow. Her smile is uncanny as a painted doll, her movements disjointed and inhuman. Her teeth are stained crimson with blood, dripping, dripping, ever dripping down, never swallowed, only pooling.

She is light as a feather as she slips away from him, her skin marbling into a sickly gray before ash spreads across her body as a disease, smearing her form into nothingness. Only her face is left untouched, pretty as porcelain, unflinching and unfalling save a small crack that splinters down from her forehead down to her eyes, revealing inky black abyss beneath.

"My lord-- Oh, my tender, vicious lord. I can feel your anguish-- your hunger. Devour me to be whole once more--"

Her blood smells of rot and she--

She is too far gone to save. Too far gone to ever be saved.

"I won't!"

Whirlwind. Pain. Confusion and dread and seeping anguish. A maelstrom of rage and all-consuming despair swelling from within his soul—

—his soul?

The world around him falls away, a wicked tornado thrashing him about, his mind howling in the eternal winds--

And suddenly he is in a chair.

Not a throne. A chair— and a rather uncomfortable one at that.

"What in the hells—"

His vision spins, nausea curling his gut into a wicked tide of sickness barely restrained by his teeth. He tastes stale blood crawling up his throat, threatening to overturn onto the faded rug beneath him.

"Did you see what you wished for, little spawn?"

The voice takes him by surprise. It is not hers, but another, less familiar voice. The wailing animal in his head retreats to a dull roar as his memory creeps back. A brightly colored tent assaults his vision, piecemeal rugs and odd, foreign trinkets abound on makeshift shelves, and before him sits a strange old woman, hood pulled heavy over her straggling gray hair.

"I-- What was that?"

He sees her cracked, aging lips upturn, gnarled hands placed protectively over a strange orb on the table touching his knees. "I have shown you your future, vampling. Was it to your liking?" Panic rises within his stomach again, and though he does not breathe, he clutches his chest. The smell of incense clogs his nostrils and again, the wave of sick threatens to spill forth. Wretched taste of metallic, aged blood sits heavy on his tongue, all sensation too much-- all of it too much.

"No-- No, that cannot be it!"

"This is your path, Pale Elf. The road you walk. The power you seek is well within your grasp, but as I told you before, it will cost you everything."

He vehemently shakes his head, denying it. Denying it before her and all the Gods.

"You told me upon entry that no price was too great for your reward. Do you still agree with this sentiment?"

"No! Not-- not her. Not her. Not that! I couldn't--"

"You can and you shall, sure as the moon follows the sun. You will have everything you ever wanted, but cost of this ritual is plain before you. You cared not for the many souls left to your mercy that are crushed beneath your tyrannical fist in your ascension, but what of the sole one that resides in your heart?"

Her. The light of his life. The air he breathes. The sun on his frigid flesh, the warmth that melts his icy heart.

"No," He hisses, trying to stand, but ultimately unable to muster the strength. "I won't! There-- There must be another way. Show me!"

"There is no other way," She says, solemnly. "It is inevitable."

He swallows down the information like a boulder lodged in his gullet. Her words echo endlessly in his mind, bouncing off the walls and lodging shards of ice directly in his soul.

"What if I-- What if I don't ascend? Tell me, what if I don't?"

She smiles again, teeth flashing through her thin lips. "That is another path, little elf." "I need to know. I-- I need certainty. I won't do this to her, but I--" He pauses, grappling with everything in his mind, desperately flitting about to absorb it all. "If I am going to forgo this, I need to be certain. I need to know that I can protect her, that she will be safe--"

But the woman simply shakes her head.

"Everyone must choose. For some, the path is dark, but for you, you see more than most will ever have the comfort of knowing. I can offer you nothing more. Should you initiate the Rite, you know this will come to pass. I can tell you nothing more if you choose to not. The future is yet unwritten, and the quill resides in your hands." "Then why can I not have both!" He slams a fist on the table, clawing at the soft wood. For the first time in ages, tears prick at his pale lashes and frustration wells a knot in his throat. "Why--" "Because one path is wholly your own, while the other is a tangled web, such is the nature of deals with the Hells. You will get everything you ever wanted and lose everything that made it worth having."

His head slumps, defeated and miserable. Silvery tears slide down the curves of his cheeks, even as he attempts to bite them back. He thought he would find comfort in knowing the future, but all it has given him is utter horror.

"Despair not," She continues. "Yes, you will wither under the sun, an eternally cursed dweller of the night, but all is not lost, is it? The one you love, will she stray from your side?" "I wanted her to have better than that," He sniffles, needling his lip with a fang. "I cannot brave the sun, but her-- She deserves better than that-- better than me."

"And what of what she feels?"

His brows furrow, and he peers up at the woman from tear-beaded lashes.

"You are a night walker; it is in your nature to be selfish. But love is not selfish, little vampling. You must fight your nature, your inherent self-loathing, or your love will always find the fire. What of what she desires?"

"She loves me," He says with absolute certainty. "And I--" "Do you love her?"

"Yes," He hisses, almost insulted that she would ask. "More than anything. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Then the rest matters naught. If you love her, you will allow her the agency to choose-- something you deny her as an ascendent. You must grow past your own follies. To love is to be vulnerable, and you must allow both yourself and her this freedom."

They are hard words to swallow, and yet, he feels the truth resound in them. She would not leave his side, even as he tried to force her to understand. Even as an instrument of his manipulation and schemes came to light, she stood steadfast with him, hand entwined in his, ready to face the fire together.

"I-- I need to know she will be safe."

Again, the woman shakes her head. "You cannot. You must fight fate if you wish to overturn it. You face dire odds, though throwing the dice in your favor now will doom you later should this outcome be the confirmation of your fears."

He sighs, face crinkling as he sniffs once more, summoning the willpower to swallow down the agony of his choice. He finds the strength in his legs to push himself upward from the chair, weak and shaking as a newborn fawn as he does so. "I will do whatever I need to. Anything."

"Then you may yet see this through."

He can hear the fanfare of the circus outside, the bawdy bards strumming away on their lutes and banging on drums, the elated screams of the children and their parents. Facing the light now seems impossible, but he must find his way home to her-- he has to be with her now now now--

"The coin first, boy."

He snaps out of his delirium only long enough to fish his hands into one of his pockets, bringing out a coin. Aged and neglected, the sinister engraving of a skull peers up at him from his palm, ruby eyes gleaming in the light as he tosses it into the woman's knobbily-jointed hands.

"Best of luck to you, night-child," She tucks it away. "We may yet meet again." "No offense, but I hope not."

"Me too, Little Star."

He pays little mind to the bustling streets and bursting taverns of Baldur's Gate, his feet carrying him back to camp as swiftly as his body will allow. It takes him until sundown even as he damn near jobs, ripping through the tree line and into the ruins with the intensity of a man starved.

"Astarion!" Karlach greets him, trying to wave him over. "I've got a bet with Gale about--" "Where is she?" Astarion immediately cuts her off, looking around frantically.

"Who?" Karlach raises a brow.

"Who else?" Wyll crosses his arms, looking intrigued at Astarion's intensity.

"Oh! In her tent, I think. Why? Gotcha a special something' in town for her, eh?" Karlach tries to rib at him, but he pushes past her without a second glance.

"Bet it's a fancy new dress he needs to tear off of her immediately," Karlach rolls her eyes before returning to her business.

He bursts into her tent to find her hunched over a book, tongue poking from between her teeth, as she scans over the page. This only lasts a few seconds before he scrambles onto the bed, squeezing her as tightly as he can manage, burying his nose into her hair, tears brimming in his eyes once more.

"Woah, hey!" She laughs, carefully setting her book aside, trying to discern what in the hells he is mumbling endlessly into her neck.

Need you-- need you-- love you-- can't lose you-- don't ever--

She hushes him, realizing something has gone terribly, terribly wrong, kissing his head and tugging him close. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She tries to cup his cheeks and bring his face up but he adamantly refuses, hard-swallowing the urge to bawl into her shoulder with every ounce of willpower he has. All he can manage is to cling to her, half sobbing, visions of that terrible future swimming in his head. He cannot let it come to pass, he will not--

And she holds him, cradling him in her arms, hushing him gently. Her face creases with worry, running her hands through his silvery hair as he pulls him into her lap.

"Little Star, what's wrong? You seem so upset. What can I do to make you happy, my love?"

"Is it done?" Ulma leans down as she enters the tent, carefully dodging the intricate tassels of the blanket strewn over the entryway.

"It is," The strange old woman replies, still rubbing the coin with her worn thumb.

"And?"

"I showed him nothing but truth," She says quietly. "I did not manipulate his vision. Only channeled it."

"That tells me nothing. I need to know if our children are safe."

"I cannot tell you this, Ulma. You know of the ways of our tribe; our relationship with these magics." Ulma's lips purse, her exasperation evident in her humorless expression. "I need to know--"

"His reaction was genuine. That was not my doing. He knows the price of power. I cannot tell you if he will pay it regardless," The old woman's head lifts, a slight mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But I can tell you what I think."

"And what do you think?"

"I have seen his soul-- the heart of it. I believe you will see our children yet. He will spare our heart to spare his own in kind. It beats in that woman," Her eyes twinkle in the low candlelight, a genuine smile widening across her cheeks. "I believe he can find redemption yet."

[gossippool]

i was gonna make a personal poolverine headcanons list because other people were doing it too but i realised my fics already have most of them so. here are some of my headcanons in fic snippet form. some contradict with others and some i don't even think are necessarily true but it's fun to experiment

people have said this before but logan fights wade because he sees himself in him (or because he realises that he actually doesn't and he hates that)

wade knows about and feels the (emotional and psychological) effects of all his other variant selves (and everything else if he tries)

logan's heightened senses gives him synesthesia

logan doesn't actually like violence/fighting/blood during sex or like ever. it's just an unhealthy addiction that started from him killing all those people that he snuffed with alcohol but revived with wade, and a way to take his anger out on (someone like) himself

with regard to wade's chronic pain slight p pressure on his skin hurts more and in a worse way than sharp pains like getting stabbed

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[luvr-of-loser-gurlz]

Diversity loss! The most annoying man ever is in love with the most gorgeous man you have ever seen and can and WILL reclaim the f-slur!

[rafyki]

Goth! Nico/ Surfer! Percy AU Part 4!

Just a little thingy about Nico talking about what happened with Jason and Leo - I added some more valgrace for you @neo-kid-funk! I hope you enjoy it! 💕💕

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

~~~~~~

“Oh my god, he was flirting with you”.

Nico rolled his eyes at his friend. Leo hadn’t been there he couldn’t know that - it had been weird, sure, but that didn’t mean it must have been flirting, right?

The only thing Nico was sure of was that whatever that conversation he had had with Percy that afternoon had been, even just thinking about it was making butterflies fly like crazy in his stomach.

“For the umpteenth time, Leo, he was not flirting with me”.

Leo got up from where he was lying on the floor with his head on Jason’s lap just to fix Nico with the most judgemental look ever.

“Let me teach you how to surf”, he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “That definitely sounds like flirting to me”.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re such an expert in flirting, aren’t you?”

It was Leo’s turn to roll his eyes at him. 

“I know we all love talking about me, but somehow I’m not the main topic right now”, he said. “Also, I am the one with a boyfriend here, Goth-boy, so…”.

Nico scowled at him. God, he hated his friends.

It wasn’t not like he hadn’t expected the teasing that would come from telling them everything, but somehow Leo always managed to go beyond his expectations for how annoying he could be. 

Nico hated how he couldn’t help but think that what he was saying made sense, couldn’t help the hot burning of hope growing inside him; he hated it, he could not allow himself to hope for real just to end up disappointed in the end.

Maybe Percy was just the kind of person who went around asking people if he could teach them how to surf? Maybe it was his way of showing off? It wasn’t like Nico knew him well enough to know this.

I know he loves the Little Mermaid though, his brain very usefully reminded him. I know he looked so embarrassed when I told him I don’t want to learn how to surf.

And I know he smiled at me when I told him I would look at him.

The last thought made his face burn. He didn’t even know how he had managed to recount the whole conversation to his friends without dying of embarrassment. 

The more he thought about it the more the whole conversation with Percy sounded weirder and weirder if he removed the chance that it was indeed flirting. His heart jumped in his chest at the thought.

“Come on, Leo”, Jason stepped in. He wrapped his arms around Leo’s middle and pulled him to lay against his chest, resting his head on top of his. 

Nico wasn’t jealous of them in any way, but he still felt his insides twisting around in a knot at the sight. He wondered how it would feel to have Percy’s arms around himself like that, if they too would fit together so well. 

Don’t be ridiculous, Nico. You barely know the guy.

“Nico”, Jason said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We’re not saying he was one hundred percent flirting with you - but really, he does sound interested in you at least in some measure”.

Nico hated how reasonable he made it sound. It was easier to get lost in the banter with Leo, but Jason was so pragmatic it was impossible to respond back to him.

“Also, you said he smiled at you when you told him-”

“Please don’t say it out loud”, Nico pleaded, cringing at himself. He still thought that burying himself under the ground somewhere could be his best option out of this,

Jason smiled at him, Leo laughed.

 “Well”, Leo said. “One thing’s for sure - at least you were definitely flirting with him”.

“I’m going to kill you, Valdez”.

“You can’t! That would make Jason sad”, Leo replied. “Also, you know you love me, Goth-boy”.

Nico hated that he was right after all. 

Jason was looking at them with a fond look in his eyes.

“I wasn’t flirting”, Nico mumbled in the end. “I just- I just happened to say that. I wasn’t really thinking”.

Percy made his mind go blank, free from any thought that wasn’t about how handsome he was, how Nico wanted him to keep smiling at him, and how much he wanted to get to know him. Really, all Nico had been thinking about was that he didn’t want Percy to leave, that he wanted that moment to last for as long as possible. 

He let himself fall on the floor, lying down with his arms open. Biting on his lip rings had become a nervous habit, and he found himself doing it again as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Even if you weren’t thinking, it was still a pretty flirty thing to say”, Leo said. “And you said he looked pleased at that - so really, it’s a win-win situation”.

“Leo is right”, Jason added. “As awkward as it might have been, it sounds like all in all it was good. You talked to him for a while, you flirted, he seemed interested in you - so, what is it that’s making you being negative about it?”

Nico hid his face in the palms of his hands. He wanted to scream. 

“I don’t know”, he pushed out through his dry throat. 

Maybe it seemed too good to be true? Maybe he was afraid that even if Percy really was interested in him now he wouldn’t be anymore once he would get to really know him? Maybe he was just too embarrassed. Or maybe he simply wasn’t used to things going his way. He really didn’t know. 

He suddenly felt two warm presences around him. He moved his hands away to see Jason sitting close to him with a hand on his shoulder, and Leo laying down next to him with his head resting on Nico’s side.

“You have this horrible habit of self sabotaging yourself, man”, Leo said.

Jason nodded. “You’re allowed to have good things, Nico”.

Oh Nico hated his friends. 

“Shut up”, he said, hiding behind his hands again.

“Just talk to him again next time”, Jason said.

“Flirt with him again”, Leo added.

“See what happens”. 

“And anyway you’re both so bad at flirting you must be made for each other”.

Nico blindly reached out to hit Leo on the head, and smiled when he got an offended ‘ouch’ in response.

Maybe he did love his friends after all.

[aloonaram]

Here’s an edited wip of my Birdflash oneshot.

Fair warning, this will probably change in the final product as I try to figure out at what point in the timeline I want this fic to take place.

“You look like shit, Dickie.”

“Gee, thanks, Walls. You’re such a loving boyfriend,” Dick retorted. He tried for a smile, but Wally watched sadly as it twitched and fell before it could become what it once was–what Dick’s smile used to be.

Dick opened his door wider in invitation and Wally rushed in and examined the place. Gotham wasn’t ever known for its beauty, but even with that in mind, Dick’s apartment looked pretty rough. Empty containers of takeout and miscellaneous trash littered the floor and countertops. His couch was sprinkled with brown spots that he almost assumed were polka dots before he realized they were most definitely patches of dried blood. Clothes were strewn across every surface, their musk permeating his senses. Dick brushed past his side and made his way to the kitchen, opening his rickety fridge to expose the meager amount of food he had. Wally would bet his life savings that each of the five items had gone bad too, based on the state of the place.

Dick turned to toss Wally a water, “So…what, uh, brings you here?” Dick’s awkward tone hangs heavy between the two. Now that Wally could get a good look, his lover was in rough shape. Even worse than his apartment; which was a feat, his mind whispered. His hair laid limp and greasy along his neck and his bags seemed to have bags of their own. A couple of dark bruises peeked through the collar of his shirt, some leading down to his left arm if the strange way he seemed to carry it was anything to go by. Dick clutched his own water bottle, doing his best to look anywhere but at him.

“You haven’t been responding to my messages,” Wally started, “I texted the other Robin, uh Tim, I think? But he never got back to me either, so I got worried, you know? Figured I’d take matters into my own hands. I don’t have super speed for nothing.” He waved his hands around, doing his best to lighten the mood. “It’s been a long time since we’ve gotten to talk, let alone seen each other in person, but, you know, if this isn’t the best time, I can totally leave. I know this is kinda spur of the moment.” Wally wished he could slap himself the moment his lips stopped moving. Some of the younger heroes had started calling him a professional yapper and he wished it didn’t fit so damn well.

Wally watched as Dick took a breath and rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. He winced. Yeah, this probably wasn’t the best time to show up out of the blue.

“No, I…You don’t need to leave, “ Dick sighed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been responding, Walls. Everything’s just been… a lot, to put it simply. I’ve been so busy trying to balance my day job, Bludhaven, and…and being Batman. I just haven’t had much time to myself lately, if you can’t tell by the state of my apartment.” Dick laughed pitifully and winced when it shook his aching arm.

He couldn’t help moving forward into the kitchen and enveloping Dick in a hug, something he definitely should’ve done the moment he’d arrived. His partner sighed shakily and moved to wrap his arms around Wally’s middle. He felt Dick’s face pressed against his chest and hooked his chin to the top of his greasy head. Dick had always been one for physical comfort, a miracle considering who he’d grown up with and the environment he’d been forced into at the ripe age of nine. Wally would be lying if he didn’t say Dick’s need for physical affection didn’t bring him relief and make him feel needed. Sometimes, he felt powerless amidst his lover's strife–Batman’s rule against metas in Gotham limiting his ability to help. Providing Dick a simple hug; feeling the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen and his breath hit Wally’s neck as he sighed in relief, was Wally’s respite from his perpetual guilt.

Wally knew about Batman’s…death. He’d been there when Dick hosted Bruce’s funeral, letting Dick squeeze the life from his hand as he listened to the speech from Alfred. With Bruce gone, the natural order of Dick’s family had seemed to fall apart. Dick had taken the mantle of Batman, a title Wally knew he had never wanted–never felt right for him. He’d be lying if he said he fully understood the magnitude of such a change–that he knew how large the chasms carved by trauma had grown to separate Dick and his siblings. And yet despite that, he knew one thing for a fact. Dick, his lover and the man he’s known for well over a decade now was not the type of person to let others shoulder pain on their own. He took and took and took until he knew only he carried the weight of the sky on his shoulders, letting his muscles feel relief only when his family no longer felt pain. And he’d continue to carry that weight with a smile as long as he knew his family would smile back, unaware of the sky creeping in on Dick’s tense shoulders.

Wally squeezed his arms tighter around Dick’s back, supporting him as his breaths became ragged in their silent embrace. As Wally did so, a sick thought entered his mind, fueled by the anger and pain he felt for his partner; a small part of him–microscopic even–was glad Bruce wasn’t here. Not because he reveled in the effects his passing had on Dick, nor because he wanted Dick to be forced into the role of Batman, but because despite his struggles, Bruce had never been good for Dick. Yes, he played the parental figure Dick needed when he was younger and yes, he provided the necessities for Dick to survive, but he never provided what Wally knew Dick needed most.

“Do you wanna move to the couch, babe?” Wally whispered, cheek pressed against Dick’s head. He feels Dick nod silently and Wally zipped them to the couch in less than half a second. Wally sat and patted the spot next to him, watching as Dick laid his head on his lap, pressing his cheek to Wally’s stomach while letting his legs hang off the side of the couch.

Never one comfortable with silence, Wally broke it first. “If you don’t wanna talk, I won’t push. We can chill, watch the Office, eat popcorn–whatever you want. I just worry…you know? Not being able to be here to help and hearing on the news, Batman and Robin this and Joker and Two-Face that…I just wish I could do more for you.”

Wally looks down to meet Dick’s pained stare and internally winces as Dick opens and closes his mouth, struggling to respond.

“Me and the bats have it handled over here, okay?” Dick starts quietly, aimlessly running his hand over Wally’s knuckles. “You don’t need to worry about me, honey. I know you have more than enough to deal with back at Central and I don’t want to stress you out with problems I have handled.”

Wally lets his free hand run through Dick’s hair, quickly relishing in the way Dick warms to his touch. “I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t be stressed, you know me too well for that, but I’m here to support you, Dick. To be your listener when you’re stressed.” He paused for only a moment before speaking again, “I know you, Dick. I’ve known you for almost every era of your life as you have, mine. I knew you when you were my scrawny, baby leader-”

“Hey-” Dick tried to interject, but Wally kept going.

“I knew you when you wore that god awful blue and yellow disco Nightwing suit-”

“It really wasn’t that bad-”

“And I know what it looks like when you don’t have things handled. You don’t need to soften the blow for me Dickie and you don’t need to play the perfect soldier.” Wally paused. Let it be known even the Flash is out of breath from time to time. “You were always there for me during rough times, so please let me be there for you.”

[gd-dollopole]

I cannot stop thinking about the comparison between BBC Merlin and Smallville.

As the directors of BBC Merlin have said, an inspiration has been taken from the ten long seasons of Smallville, an US TV show I always loved, and literally grew up with, and since a few months back, I also made a re-watch of Smallville, I can’t stop thinking about the potential BBC Merlin could have had, if it actually followed some bits of the storyline of Smallville.

We can already see some of the similarities between the shows:

Merlin wears a red neckerchief with a blue tunic and viceversa, like Clark Kent, and whenever he’s hopeless or sad or angry, he wears worn out grey colours, and as an avid fan of Smallville, I can assure you that Clark Kent wears the same things;

Clark Kent has to hide his powers in a world that would hurt him, kill him, or experiment on him, if he let on his deepest secret, and for that, he not only loses the people he cares about the most, much like Merlin does, which are his father, his friends, his lovers, and almost even his mother, but forbids himself to fall in love, and therefore pursue any kind of relationship;

he’s witty, yes, like Merlin, but also shy and brave and lonely.

But the difference between Smallville and Merlin is that in Smallville, there is the closure I would have liked to see in Merlin:

Clark kent does hide his secrets, and he is good at it, until everyone else finds out about him, all on their own.

We’re talking about everyone (maybe because Clark/Merlin are not as sly as they think):

Lex and Lionel and Luthessa Luthor, Lana Leng, Chloe Sullivan, Pete Ross, Oliver Queen and so many others, either because they already had their suspicions or because someone else showed them.

And this brings the right amount of angst in the show, mixed with the betrayal and the lies and the secrets and the love triangles and the tropes that come out of them.

But where is Arthur in this picture?

Oh, this is the good bit.

For very obvious reasons, apart from the fact that he doesn’t talk as much as her, Arthur is definitely Lois Lane.

FROM THIS MOMENT ON, SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THOSE WHO HAVEN’T WATCHED SMALLVILLE:

Lois Lane makes her appearance as a main character in the later seasons, after Clark understands that he has officially lost Lana, and starts working at the Daily Planet, in the same office as Lois.

But, unlike Arthur, Lois loves Superman (or The Blur, as he’s called for the entire ten seasons of Smallville, because he’s always caught on camera, but just as a blur). She talks to him in secret, and Clark masks his voice through the phone, he helps her and she helps him, he saves her innumerable times (does this remind you of anything?), and each time Lois compliments The Blur, Clark gets angry, because it’s his alter ego who gets the praise for a job well done, and not him, the clumsy idiot of the Daily Planet, much like everyone else in Merlin’s life has always got the credit for saving Arthur’s life, instead of him.

But what they should have given us in Merlin is what they gave us in Smallville, and it would have honestly made for the biggest magic reveal:

once Clark needs to fend off another enemy of the year, and thinks he’s going to officially die, he goes to say goodbye to his friends and his most loved ones, Lois included (“I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die”).

Although, unlike in Merlin, where Arthur is a sweet himbo, who doesn’t inspect, and who doesn’t suspect anything, Lois had her suspicions, given that she and Clark had not only started falling in love, but now worked together too, and since she cared a whole lot about him, she follows Clark.

In the Smallville TV show, Lois hides behind a building from where, minutes later, Clark falls from. Lois believes he’s dead (Clark is immortal, and this begs the questions again: does he remind you of anyone?), and notices that he’s been stabbed in the chest with a blue crystal (context: the blue kryptonite removes Clark’s powers, and renders him human, and therefore mortal, unless the kryptonite, much like the green one, gets away from him). Following her guts, and sad and desperate that the man she loves the most might die, and believing in her suspicions and instinct, Lois pulls the crystal from Clark’s body, but the moment she hears some clutter, probably thinking they’re the enemies, she runs away, and goes back hiding.

And there, she sees him.

Clark grunts, gets up, completely safe ad healthy, sees that the crystal may have fallen by itself, or simply disappeared (and actually asks himself how that could have happened) and runs away:

by using his super fast power.

And Lois sees him.

Now, what could have been perfect was, if Arthur did the same.

After an attack gone wrong in the woods and losing sight of Merlin, he goes searching for the idiot, yelling something very along the lines of, “Where’s that useless buffoon?”, when he’s actually worried sick, and finds Merlin stabbed in the middle of a clearing.

Now, Arthur despises magic. He loathes it, he doesn’t trust it, yet, bless him, he still tries to understand it. This could have happened after Uther’s death, the moment Arthur’s reign begins.

He watches Merlin.

Arthur’s alone and shocked and scared and sick, so he drops to his knees next to him. He does not cry, he does not scream, he does not faint, that’s not really him at the end of the day, right? (Lois is the same. She grew up in a strict household with a strict solider father, and has lost her mother, and she had to be the parent to her older sister… Very, very much like Arthur). Or that’s what he thinks, and out of pure desperation, and something that sounds a bit like love, just like Lois Lane, since Merlin flinches, when he should be dead, for goodness’ sake, and out of instics and probably destiny, Arthur pulls whatever has stabbed Merlin out of his abdomen.

But as soon as he does, and as soon as he hears the knights coming close to him, and not to alarm anyone, and because he does not want them to see him in this sort of shocked state, Arthur hides behind a tree.

And there, he watches as Merlin, half dead and half alive, calls for Kilgharrah.

And Arthur has the same reaction of the finale.

He does not act on what he just discoveres.

At first, he’s sceptical, once Merlin comes back like he always does (and now he knows why and how), so he avoids him, he makes awful jokes, or hints about magic and about how powerful and dangerous it can be.

But once he’s sort of gone over this phase, noticing that Merlin hasn’t done anything with his big powers, like showing him off or anything of the likes (because Arthur has always known, magic or not, that Merlin would have never hurt him or Camelot), Arthur becomes… Curious.

And here comes the part that aligns with Smallville (we can also add the sexuality/gender identity/coming out metaphor):

much like in Smallville, and with magic and superpowers, and like in real life, someone does not force this information out of people, but Arthur, like Lois, is dying of curiosity, and just wants Merlin/Clark to trust him/her and tell him/her his secret, because he/she already knows of it.

So Arthur starts doing what Lois did.

The day after everything is well, and Lois now certainly knows about Clark’s superpowers, and the fact that he is The Blur, she goes to work, until Clark arrives too, and tells her that he must be quick for something, and needs some documents for a research. Lois stalls, and pretends she’s being SUDDENLY clumsy and a bit of an idiot (this would go perfectly well with Arthur, because he is an idiot, and he is also smitten with Merlin), and let her pen fall under the desk, to see what Clark would do.

And he uses his powers.

So imagine a wild Arthur in his natural habitat (his chambers), bored like no one else, and on the verge of imploding, because his manservant and best friend and love of his life he’s being stubborn and an oaf and an idiot and a toad.

He lets the apples or the sword or the belt fall under the table, pretends he’s keen to an act of kindness, and picks up the items himself, instead of letting Merlin do it, while he instructs said servant to do something else in the meantime.

Shocked at first, but following through with the orders, Merlin does as he’s being told, after throwing several sceptical looks at his prat of a king, and as soon as Arthur gets up from his crouched down position on the floor, the bed is already done, and the clothes are already folded, and Arthur goes mad, because, oh, he was right, and what else can Merlin do?

The curiosity gets him as much as his developing feelings for the cretin, with apparently super magical powers, who could also break a neck with a flick of his eyes, if he wanted to, and Arthur starts pretending to be even more of an idiot to see more magic, without Merlin knowing that he’s actually showing Arthur his abilities.

And the best part of it all?

The magic reveal.

I love Smallville, because the way Clark confesses his secret to Lois isn’t anything grand or majestic.

Yes, Clark does take Lois flying; yes, he also shags the living brains out of her, IN THEIR FARMS IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE (I must do this again but, does this remind you of ANYONE/ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR?), but he’s just built and hot and intelligent, but also very, very shy and a bit silly.

That’s why I love Clark the most as the best version of Superman, and Merlin as the best version of the famous wizard.

So Clark calls Lois to meet him in one of the Daily Planets departments, where documents and papers are stashed and kept there, on the last floor of the building, and where no one ever goes, and he fidgets a bit with his fingers, and he stammers a lot, and Lois is about to lose it, because still, after all these years, and our love? And how can Clark not tell me? Does he not trust me? Does he not want me like I want him? And all these emotions are well encompassed on her face, because Clark fails to tell her, and he says that he’s sorry, he can’t lose her, he can’t take that risk, he has lost so many loved ones already, and what does Lois do?

She understands, because she loves Clark, and she does not want to force him.

She gulps her tears, she miles brokenly, she nods, she tells Clark that it’s fine, but when she’s about to turn on the elevator, Clark realises that the love of his life is about to slip away from his fingers, and just blurts his secret out like a bloody moron.

Much like Merlin would do.

“I’m The Blur.”, he says, and Lois smiles, she turns around, and she runs to him, and literally jumps him, until they both fall back together, and laugh and stutter out their words and yes… They end up snogging.

Now, I want you to imagine a wild Arthur standing on one of the towers or balconies in the Camelot castle, while Merlin is being the usual insecure, oblivious man Arthur’s known for over ten years, and he turns around at the confession, and he runs to Merlin, and he pulls him to him, and while in this version, Arthur gives Merlin a concussion, as he hits the stone floor (because they are romantic, but also more stupid than Lois and Clark, since they’re, you know, a bloody gay disaster), he snogs the shit out of him too, and they start working together, and getting rid of the enemies together, and form a bond that is even deeper than the one they had before already, and Arthur meets Hunith’s mother as someone else entirely, while the chaos ensue, and so do the messy feelings:

like it happened in Smallville, but did not, because Lord forbid the gays, happened in BBC Merlin.

The knights of The Round table are the other DC superheros, and Guinevere could either be a superhero of her own or the wise and smart counsellor, who would be the journalist in Smallville, and Morgana is still Arthur’ sister, good or evil, it does not matter (she could either be after Merlin or after him, the options are innumerable).

Morgana is basically the obnoxious sister Lois’ has always had, who even gets a fake crush on Clark/Merlin to manipulate the two (these TV shows are too similar, I swear).

But I’m not done.

Oh, no, I’m not.

Because imagine all of this, imagine Smallville, but as a literal crossover with Merlin:

a fanfic where Merlin is the apparent imbecile employee at the Daily Planet, who actually has so many super powers, and he’s invincible, and his boss is Arthur Prat Pendragon, who is sceptical of superheroes, and his father Uther haunts them down, and is the owner of said Daily Planet, and loathes Merlin, because he talks about superheroes in his newspapers, and about his dad, because sodding fucking hell, he could control dragons.

Imagine the mess as these two fall in love, even if Merlin thinks he hates the rich, twat boss, whose order he has to follow, while Arthur treats him like a servant, rather than a journalist; Gwen could be either Chloe or Lana Leng, the best friend or the past lover, and Lancelot becomes Guinevere’s Jimmy or Oliver Queen, and Pete Ross is Will for Merlin, and Uther, is still the mad man they have to defy.

Merlin could have had so much potential, and a plethora of ways to have the magic reveal happen, and yet it was not used, and yes, if you didn’t notice, I’m still so mad over it.

I cannot fathom the amount of happiness I would have felt if they actually merged two of my favourite TV shows ever together, a good crossover between Smallville and the Arthuriana, in this case, BBC Merlin in particular.

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)

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

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

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

     The town was bustling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

   That was, until, Error spotted it.

   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 

   It was an amphitheatre. 

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

   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  

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

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

   Oh…

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

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

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

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

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

   The Mage Trials. 

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

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

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

   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 

   This was how he’d prove himself. 

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

.

   Finally. 

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

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

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

   That didn’t matter, though. 

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

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

   “Next!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Another easy one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Name?”

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

   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 

   “Age?”

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

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

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

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

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

   “Disqualified.”

   That.

   Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Mm. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   He needed this. He needed this. 

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

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

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

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

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

   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 

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

   Error hesitantly nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   He knew he could manage. 

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

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

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

.

.

.

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

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

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

   Good.

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

   There. 

   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 

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

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

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

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

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

   He’d have to make 16, then. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Up.

   Up.

   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 

   Error watched it rise above him. 

   Only. 

   “Shit.” 

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

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

   Not the case.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   It wasn’t that, though. 

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

   About Error, he had no doubt. 

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

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

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

   Error felt like the world had stopped. 

   It hadn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

   And all at once it stopped. 

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

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

   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Could he?

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

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

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

   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 

.

.

.

   Error found himself in an odd position. 

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

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

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

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

   Error nodded again. 

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

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

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

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

   Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “I accept!” 

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

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

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

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

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

[shima-draws]

NOT THE KIERAN VILLAIN ARC I’M SO UPSETTI SPAGHETTI

[blaithnne]

Re reading my Plenism notes and remembering that I am in fact a literary genius

[diathadevil]

Do you ever think about how Fakir, after him and Ahiru finally broke everything that kept the town of Goldkröne in the ghostly hands of its writer, after they finally have some air of peace over the town finally being able to live in its intended early 2000s environment, that Fakir still feels at times like it's not real and that for a while he fears that if he closes his eyes it'll be back in Drosselmeyer's control. Like it just doesn't feel real to him during that first year of calm, until he feels the dull pain on his recovering hand injury and Ahiru who follows him without a pendant anywhere to be found.

He doesn't feel it's real, the calm finality of this town, but he makes sure to feel the scar on his hand. And he makes sure to hold the little duck and realize that she is who she has always been. Him and the town are finally living peacefully.

[freckledsokka]

wip wednesday

a wee snippet of the self-indulgent tense-fuckery zukka fic i'm working on that no one asked for! most of this fic is sokka (ghost sokka? spirit sokka? who knows) waxing poetic about zuko grieving him, but i wrote this scene with korra for a touch of levity (while still being a little angsty).

note: this is NOT a reader fic. do not let the use of "you" fool you. this is fully from sokka's pov as if he's narrating this to zuko.

"You remind me of him," you tell the Avatar, something wistful tugging at the corner of your mouth, reaching to the creases of your eyes. Korra looks almost bashful, or maybe just flattered. "I get that a lot," she says quietly, as if it's a sore subject but she doesn't want to offend you by mentioning it. You smile at her, warm and reassuring. "I don't mean Aang." "Oh." She sounds surprised, which quickly gives way to embarrassed when you offer her an encouraging smirk to help the thought along. "Oh," she says again, nearly in a different octave. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I should have realized that's — of course, that's who you meant." She laughs nervously, waving her hand vaguely at herself. "Southern Water Tribe, duh." "It's not just that," you tell her, and her nervous energy seems to settle a little at the calm, smooth tone of your voice. "You have the same tenacity, the same spirit. He would be proud to see the Avatar you've become."

Korra is quiet for a moment, either out of respect or simply a loss for words. Then she smiles, a little sheepishly but no less grateful to be honored in such a way. "Tenzin told me he — the Chief? — was with you and my father the night the Red Lotus tried to kidnap me." She looks away, guilt seeping into the set of her shoulders, the way she wraps her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry, I — Did he —?" She glances back, eyes bright, pleading for some kind of forgiveness she doesn't need to be given. "Was it my fault?"

"Korra," you say slowly, frowning, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "What did Tenzin tell you? The Red Lotus had nothing to do with Sokka's passing."

Her eyes go wide. "Really? But he made it sound like — I mean, my dad became Head Chieftain not long after that, I thought —"

You can't help the chuckle low in the back of your throat, a rumble of distant thunder, warm as a summer storm. "No, Korra. Sokka never was particularly suited to be Chief. He felt it was time to pass it on, is all. That, and he felt he could do more good behind the scenes, or through his work in Republic City. But, more often than not, he was with me. Those years were some of our best." 

Korra lets out a trill of nerves, huffing in relief. "Thank the Spirits." A beat, the haunted look of someone who is technically thousands of years old yielding to the vulnerability of someone barely out of her teens carrying the weight of the Spirit and human worlds on her shoulders, knowing she is the reason your — our — friend is gone. This is the cycle we were all prepared for, and yet — "Is that why I barely remember him? Didn't he ever visit Katara at the compound? Why didn't he ever say hello?"

"I wish I could tell you, Korra, but he never gave me his reasons." A wry smile. "I'm sorry if I kept him from you."

Korra twists her mouth, setting her jaw defiantly. "Lord Zuko, if I may —" She isn't really asking permission and you know this, but you nod anyway. "That's bullshit, and you know it. He was your husband. Don't tell me you didn't know just because he didn't tell you."

Your mouth twitches knowingly, even as your expression remains impressively neutral. "I had my suspicions, of course."

"Which were?" Korra presses.

If she weren't the Avatar, I suspect you would've said something along the lines of None of your damn business or Nothing to concern yourself about. Being the Avatar still has its perks in dragging honesty out of you, it seems. Still, you manage to make it a whole production, sighing like it physically pains you to admit it. 

"He wanted to wait until you'd mastered all four elements before he would teach you" — an exaggerated eyeroll, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose — "the 'fifth element.'"

Korra's brow furrows. She blinks like she's waiting for a punchline. "The — what? There is no fifth element, unless you count energy, but —"

"I know," you agree, exhausted. "I know."

"Then what?" Korra demands, sounding as flabbergasted as she looks.

You take a deep breath, wearily replying, "Swordbending."

Korra is frozen for a moment, maybe in shock, maybe in disbelief. Then she bursts out laughing, bright and cool as snow crunching underfoot, until it dawns on her that maybe you weren't actually joking. "Wait, really?" she asks incredulously. "He actually wanted to — to teach me? Why didn't he just team up with Katara? Spirits, it would've been so much fun to have a swordmaster around."

"You told me you have to learn the elements in order, Zuko," you say in a poor imitation of my voice. It's been so long, you've almost forgotten it. "He didn't want to influence your bending, or distract you from your role as Avatar, or so I assume."

Korra huffs. "Sounds an awful lot like he did tell you things, then," she mutters indignantly.

You shrug. "Not in so many words. He said a lot without ever saying it." That wistful slant of your mouth softens into something closer to melancholy. "When you're with someone as long as I was with Sokka, you learn to read between the lines. We had our own language, in a way."

"But if you suspected, why didn't you say anything? Why not encourage him?"

There's a sadness in your smile, an ache in your eyes. "Because, young Avatar," you say gently, "you always think you'll have more time."

[laugtherhyena]

Oh right uhh, Kokoro lives in -2+2 (And Emma, and also Hibiki)

[dutybcrne]

Thinking abt Kae’s Fatui verse,,,,

[gardenerian]

to the thawing wind | 8k | M rating

written for the tropes challenge hosted by @its-a-queer-thing | tropes: dystopian/post-apocalypse, misunderstanding, hurt/comfort

Living and working in the icy chill of an endless winter, Ian and his family are assigned to work the farms to bolster food supply. They live quietly enough, following the rules, until Mickey and Mandy Milkovich (with all their secrets) are moved in across the road. 

read here on ao3

[rowanisawriter]

i have another thanzag AU idea