#gimme his quest NOW

[xialumee]

waiting for kinich story quest 🫠

[snowfieldstories]

Hello! I heard ur open for requests for kim dokja hehe, anyways i was wondering if u could do a kim dokja/female reader where we are his childhood best friend and we defend him from his bullies during when we were in Highschool? Reader has a crush kn him since children and basically confessed her feelings in high school and dokja reciprocated it hehehehe bonus if they got engaged before the apocalypse :DD

Thats it tysm, have a nice day <333

chronology of love.

kim dokja x childhood friend!reader

a.n: the idea of being a protective, childhood friend of kim dokja is so adorable! especially then turning into a couple, and later engaged. i had so much fun building their dynamic that I may come back to this someday...maybe more h.s scenes

and to the others in my ask box--your requests are on the way! there's a lot on my plate rn so some of them are slow-moving, sorry <3

warnings: strong language, mentions of suicide attempt

w.c: 4.5k

summary: a brief chronicle of the love between you and kim dokja, from childhood to present day

a new kind of study pt. ii ->

six

You were six when you first noticed him.

A boy your age, with big, dark eyes and a soft complexion. He must have lived somewhere in the same apartment complex as you, because you saw his mother whisk him up the stairs once.

You had the chance to meet him one sticky, summer day.

Your mother heard the jingle first. The ice cream truck. She pushed a wad of cash in your grubby hands and sent you downstairs, eager to get your hyper self out of the house for a moment of peace. You skipped happily down the apartment stairs.

"Chocolate, vanilla, cookies and cream. Chocolate, vanilla, I'm gonna scream! If you don't...gimme...iiice creeaaaaa—ah!" Your self-composed song came to a surprised halt as you nearly toppled over a lump on the bottom step.

It was that boy.

"Hey! Don't sit there." Your pout dropped open when he looked up, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I—I'm s—sorry..."

He got up to move, but you ran in front of him. "Why are you crying?"

The boy shook his head, shying away from you.

"Tell me." You went to grab his arm, but a huge, reddish-purple mark stopped you cold. "Oh! You're hurt?"

Now you were looking at him closely, and you saw a similar red mark on the side of his mouth. He turned away from you. "Go away."

You wanted to say something, but a loud jingle reminded you of your initial quest. "Ice cream!" you gasped, and snatched up his hand to tug him down to the street.

The ice cream man smiled as you both approached. "What can I get you kids?"

You ordered a chocolate cone for yourself—without nuts, of course, because eww—and you turned to the boy. "Pick one!"

"Huh?" The boy was shocked. At your insistence, he chose a superhero-themed ice pop. You gave the money to the ice cream man, stuffing the change impatiently in your pocket after. You both thanked the man and sat on the curb with your treats.

"It's hot. And ice cream makes you feel good." You bit into the cold chocolate, and the boy watched you with confused eyes. "Do you feel good now?"

He gave an experimental lick of his own popsicle. "...A little."

You were halfway through your ice cream when the most important question popped into your head. "What's your name?"

"Kim D—Dokja."

Excitedly, you told him yours. Your beaming smile was timidly returned.

"Dokja," you said after finishing the dessert. "It's too hot. Let's go to my house and play!"

For the first time, Kim Dokja looked a bit hopeful. "Is that okay?"

"Yes! Let's go." And you proceeded to grab his hand with your sticky one and lead him back up the stairs. A wash of cold air greeted you two.

"Mama! I have a new friend. Can Dokja play with me, pleeeaseee?"

Your mother's eyes widened the instant Kim Dokja came into view. She coughed, trying to hide her immense distress at the sight of such a young child bearing such pain. "Yes, of course he can stay. Um, Dokja-yah, where do you live? I should tell your...father?" At his flinch, she quickly said, "Mother. I'll tell your mother that you're here."

Kim Dokja gave her the information while you wiggled impatiently beside him. Your mother reminded you to wash your hands first, before she picked up the phone.

After that day, you begged your mother to set up another play date with Kim Dokja. He was nice. And funny. And he also liked to read!

Your mother agreed easily each time you asked, and your new friend was constantly over, morning to evening. On special occasions, Kim Dokja was even allowed to sleep over. The two of you had built such a comfortable space in your home, that it never crossed your mind to go to his.

Summer break ended, and you were sad that you wouldn't get to see your new friend every day.

But, suddenly, Kim Dokja was at your school. Had he always been there?

You asked him, and his frail, fearful little yes made you feel bad. Mother always said you should be kind to others, and you knew you had been mean just now. So you grabbed his shoulders and hugged him. "I'm so happy! Now we can be best friends all the time. Forever!"

He flailed in your hold, before tentatively squeezing back. "Okay."

From then on, the two of you were attached at the hip. Kim Dokja came over to your house often, so often, in fact, that if you were any older and wiser you would have realized the truth. Your mom was wise. She ushered in little Dokja, and while you proudly showed him the challenging book you managed to read all on your own, your mother returned a smile of reassurance and worry to the grateful one that Kim Dokja's mother offered.

At school, some of the teachers affectionately called you "double trouble." You had a knack for dragging Kim Dokja into your harebrained schemes, and despite getting him into trouble, he was happy because he was with you. The teachers never scolded you two very hard, anyways.

"I love Dokja, mama," you said one day after he left your house. "Can he stay here forever with me?"

"No, dear. He can't."

You whined that it isn't fair! and he is your bestest friend! so why couldn't he be with you?

"He has his own family," your mother responded, but she looked rather uncomfortable to say it. The truth was, she wished more than anything that that sweet boy could be welcomed into a more loving home. But there was nothing to be done.

A brilliant thought entered your little mind. "One day, I'm going to marry him so he has to stay."

Your mother was already in full support of your childish dream.

Everyone at school also knew that there was no Kim Dokja without you, and there was no you without Kim Dokja—all the way through the final year of elementary school.

And then you moved.

fourteen

"This pathetic twig went down too easy, today. Hey! Hey, Song Minwoo, should we make him beg?"

Kim Dokja was dizzy on the floor of the school hallway. His head had struck the tile when they'd shoved him, and he could already tell where the bruises would form on his body. At least this time they didn't stuff his head down the toilet to literally eat shit...

But this time they had stolen his phone. And a chapter containing a pivotal moment in TWSA had just dropped.

So Kim Dokja was highly considering begging in order to get that phone back.

Before he could decide, a classmate wedged herself in between him and Song Minwoo. He only caught a glimpse of her ear before she faced his bully head on, but something about her made his heart race—no one had ever dared to interfere in these tormenting sessions before.

"Stop," she said in a low voice.

Her uniform was crisp and clean from the back, and her willingness to step in was the mark of someone confident, yet uninformed. She must be that new transfer student that arrived today.

"You're the new girl, right?" said Song Minwoo eagerly, and Kim Dokja wanted to scoff. She must be pretty. "Let me help you out. You should avoid losers like him—here, I'll show you around campus."

Before Song Minwoo could wrap his meaty fingers around her shoulder, she lunged forwards.

Is she hugging him?! thought Kim Dokja, before she swung her leg around to kick Song Minwoo's out from under him, slamming him hard to the ground. Her hair cascaded around her face as she loomed over the bully.

Kim Dokja felt a sick satisfaction at the whimpered flinch of Song Minwoo as she pretended to go in for a punch to the face.

"Don't touch me," she hissed. "And don't you fucking dare touch Kim Dokja ever again."

The sound of his name made him jolt, and not from surprise that the new student knew his name, but because it was your voice ringing loud and clear, declaring his name.

You pushed a hand back through your hair to see properly, and Kim Dokja could now see your face perfectly. (And it was a rather perfect face.) His heart thumped in his chest as his mind melted like a popsicle.

Three years.

You snatched the phone out of Song Minwoo's hand and kicked his groaning body away.

"Next time, I'll kill you."

Perhaps Kim Dokja should have been afraid or concerned at your violent outburst—so unlike the you that he knew before—but he only had one thought: You were cool like Yoo Joonghyuk.

It seemed you possessed the ability to intimidate with your expression like Yoo Joonghyuk, too, because Song Minwoo and his cronies quickly scampered away and down the hall. You finally turned, face softening, and your captivating gaze locked on to him.

"Are you some kind of black belt?"

It was so, ridiculously far from what Kim Dokja had hoped to say to you if he ever had the chance to see you again, but it was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. His brain was too scrambled at your presence to think straight.

At his words, though, a dusting of pink swept across your cheeks. Yeah, you're definitely pretty.

"You remember how I did taekwondo?" Kim Dokja vaguely recalled it, but he had never joined your lessons. He pocketed his phone given by you. "I worked really hard at it in middle school...it was a good stress-reliever..."

You looked as if you wanted to say more, but then your mouth clamped shut.

He stared at you, and you stared back at him.

"D—Dokja-yah," you said at last, ducking your head. Your body trembled once, twice, and you fidgeted with your fingers. "I missed you."

Kim Dokja was glad you weren't looking at him right then, because his body flushed red. His schoolboy crush on you hadn't faded in the least, and he willed away any thoughts of it because you had only just returned and certainly weren't feeling anything of the sort. You were his only friend (if he could still hope to call you that?) and he cherished you too much to ever risk losing that companionship.

But he had missed you. Painfully. He had never been more thankful to still be alive than in that moment, seeing you once again.

It was a once-unattainable dream. And now you were a reality.

Kim Dokja called your name, and when you lifted your head he grasped your hands in his. "I missed you, too."

Your smile was blinding. Dazzling. Kim Dokja felt his head go woozy, but this time it was a pleasant sensation. Then he was wrapped in something even more pleasant and warm—your embrace.

"Dokja-yah, let's go have lunch. Oh, did you bring enough food? I have extra, mama sent me way too much for the first day, and I have these Japanese onigiri..." You prattled on, just as bubbly and sweet as he remembered, and Kim Dokja was sure that stars dotted his eyes as he gazed at you fondly. "...and—ehh? Are you listening? Wait, let's go to the nurse first and get your head checked. You fell? Or they hit you there?"

"Both," Kim Dokja murmured. He wasn't concerned in the least about his head, but if it meant more time with you (and you fussing over him like that), then he was more than willing to go.

You nodded and tugged him along. Kim Dokja was acutely aware of the way your fingers laced together, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Dokja," you spoke seriously. "If they ever bother you again—tell me, so I can beat their asses to hell."

Kim Dokja smiled and promised, "I will."

Satisfied, you continued walking with the focus and determination of a military commander. Then you stopped. "Um...I actually don't know where the nurse's office is..."

For the first time in three years, Kim Dokja let loose a genuine laugh filled with pure happiness.

He hadn't felt so free in a long, long time.

seventeen

"What is Yoo Joonghyuk up to now in Ways of Survival?" You asked as you both lounged by the window of an empty classroom during break.

The eager expression on Dokja's face made your insides all warm and gooey.

As he spoke, you filled his hands with karaage and onigiri (you had learned that he liked the tuna mayo ones the best) that your mother had prepared. Though your family had hated the majority of your three years in Tokyo before your father jumped at the chance to return to Seoul, your mother had taken a shine to Japanese cooking, and regularly made them for your school lunches. She always packed extra for Dokja.

"...and this regression might be the best one yet, because he has nearly all of his companions by his side. So in the latest chapter..."

You listened intently, offering your input and own questions here and there. Coming home to find Dokja's new obsession with a web novel was a bit surprising, but not so much once you learned of the history behind it.

You pushed that train of thought out of your head. It never failed to raise the most gut-wrenching fear in your body, drowning your heart and mind in agonizing distress.

Dokja kept talking, and you were satisfied to listen. Though you were an avid reader yourself, something about Dokja's love for Ways of Survival made it a more thrilling experience to hear him tell the story from his own mouth. The novel was captivating when told through him; it was a bit...lackluster when read on its own (not that you would ever admit that, even under supreme torture).

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more pressing things—the final year of high school. University. Though it was only two weeks into the school year, already these important life decisions were weighing on you all.

"I want to go to the same university," you said, and not for the first time.

Dokja argued back, "But you can do so much more than me, and go to a better school."

I want to go wherever you are, you idiot, you thought, a bit tired that he seemed to never understand this fact.

He was listing all of the reasons why you were supposedly destined for bigger and better things, when the sun caught his eyes. Dark grey suddenly paled and sparkled, his thick lashes glowed, and you were struck dumb.

He really is a beautiful idiot.

You were in love, so stupidly in love, and Kim Dokja could not get the hint no matter what you did.

But there was one thing you had yet to try.

Your eyes dropped to his plush lips, slightly glistening as he wet them to continue speaking. Already, your hands were shaking at the idea, but the feeling had overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn't bear to contain your heart any longer. And you had never been one to hold back when it came to Kim Dokja.

So you steeled your nerves (they still made you bite your quivering lip) and interrupted him.

"Dokja. Can we try something new?"

── .✦

High school had abruptly switched from hell to heaven the day you returned into Kim Dokja's life.

You had always treated him like he had value, even as kids, and even as you grew older and realized that the constant rotation of injuries littering his body weren't because of any sort of clumsiness.

With you, he felt like he could just...be. Not the son of a murderer. A victim of abuse. A failed suicide attempt. Not the invisible and unambitious student by his peers. And not even Dokja, the only child, alone in every sense of the word.

With you, he was just Kim Dokja—an obsessed web novel geek, a guy more witty and clever than anyone knew, and your best friend. And much less alone.

In your eyes, he was enough.

"Dokja." He knew it was something important at your tone. "Can we try something new?"

Kim Dokja was intimately acquainted with your cheeky and playful schemes. You would cock your eyebrow, tilt your head in an alluring sort of way, and ask him to join you. And he could never resist.

This wasn't your usual approach.

Your lashes were lowered, lacking confidence as you worried at your bottom lip. Kim Dokja was a touch concerned, but it was you—you whom he trusted more than anyone in the world, more than himself, and so he said, "Yes."

When you finally looked up, your gaze on him was intense. He inhaled sharply as you leaned in intimately, sliding your palms along his cheeks.

And you kissed him.

You. Kissed. Him.

Kim Dokja couldn't move. Then his brain rebooted, just in time to register the softness of your lips before you pulled away.

"Oh." A blush graced your cheeks as you looked away, hurt in your eyes. "...I see."

"Wait—" he gasped out. "Wait, what—?"

You sucked in a deep breath, as if you were trying not to cry. "I like you, Dokja. Actually, I've been in love with you since were were children, and I just thought...since this was maybe our last school year together, I should...well, you don't have to feel the same, of course. I understand...um, I hope we can still be friends...I would never let it interfere with that or anything..."

As your voice became smaller and smaller, Kim Dokja was stuck on one, singular thought: You were in love with him.

And he couldn't help but ask, still unbelieving, "You're really in love with me?"

"Yes." You sounded afraid, but resolute.

Kim Dokja's heart was going to burst. Then the feeling rushed out of him like water from a geyser.

"I love you. I've always loved you, ever since we were kids. I never thought you could—" he choked, suddenly overcome with emotion.

"Oh." You said, your tone coloring with relief. The gleam returned to your eyes. "I see!"

The silence after where you stared at one another was very brief.

You both moved at the same time, your lips pressing together again. Kim Dokja felt you smile into the kiss, and he returned it as your lips met over and over.

Your hands went up to grip the collar of his uniform, and his found your waist. The kisses became slick as you both experimented—a nibble on your bottom lip, the way he'd always craved to do when you bit it nervously; a lick at the seam of your lips after you tilted your head for better access; a tug of his hair that made him gasp into your mouth, prompting you to take him in deeper. Your hands were everywhere as he pushed you against the wall, like you couldn't get enough of him. Just as he couldn't get enough of you.

Riiiiing!

The shrill bell went off, and you both ripped apart from one another.

Classmates trickled in from the lunch period, too wrapped up in their own gossip and worries to notice the flustered and rumpled pair trying to catch their breaths.

"Uh, we should—"

"Let's get back—"

You both stumbled over your words and looked away shyly. But your eyes were drawn back to the other. Even after you took your seats, the class had settled around you, and the teacher had made their appearance, you both couldn't help the frequent glances.

A sharp call of your name made you whip forwards in your seat. "And Kim Dokja, too! Stop mooning over each other and get back to work."

The class giggled at your embarrassment, but you both smiled to yourselves.

Life was already so much sweeter with the one Kim Dokja loved loving him back.

twenty-eight

You knew it was Ways of Survival the instant the dokkaebi revealed itself. Fortunately, you had absorbed all of the knowledge Dokja shared through his detailed, almost daily, recaps of the story.

Unfortunately—you were not with Kim Dokja the day it all went to hell.

But now, after recent developments and the reports gathered from loyal followers in your group, you had a good idea of where he might be. You were headed towards the station rumored to house prophets.

You ran through the streets near Gwanghwamun station, when a group in front of a local shrine caught your eye. Standing apart from the others was a cute young boy in a backwards baseball cap, and he spoke with a man...

Your heart leapt and stumbled over itself in excitement.

"Kim Dokja!"

You saw his eyes widen just before you crashed into him, sweeping him into a bone-crushing hug. He held you back just as strongly. You breathed in his scent as he whispered your name repeatedly like a prayer.

When the chaste contact wasn't enough, you drew up to press your forehead to his. "I knew you would survive."

He exhaled slowly. "I knew you would as well. I mean, I talked your ear off about Ways of Survival enough times..."

"Good thing, right?"

"Great thing," he said, voice thick with emotion. His nose brushed yours, a silent request for permission.

You responded with your lips.

It was nothing too sensual, but your kiss was still filled with the passion and longing of being separated for any length of time in such a dangerous world. Aware of your gawking audience, you kept it disappointingly brief.

"I heard about the published regressor novel," you said, waggling your eyebrows. "You petty, petty man."

Dokja had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. He grumbled, "It's so obviously plagiarized! They deserve to be humbled."

You laughed, his lovable pout prompting you to kiss it again. "I very much agree. Especially since it helped me find you quicker."

His hold on you grew stiff, and you spotted the shame in his gaze. "I've been looking everywhere. I wanted to leave to find you, so badly, but I couldn't abandon—the plot—"

"Dokja, hush." You cupped his cheeks and he leaned into your touch. "I understand and I don't blame you one bit." Dokja seemed to relax at your words, knowing you to be honest with him about your feelings. "In fact, I might have to smack you if you did stray from the story...because the Kim Dokja I know and love would never do such a thing."

A sheepish expression crossed Dokja's face. He rubbed the ring on your left hand and brought it to his lips; then he pulled the chain around his neck out from under his robe. Your ring's twin was looped through.

"I was afraid to damage or lose it. Now that we fight constantly with fists and swords," he explained. You nodded in understanding, having become familiar with constant battle as well.

All of your taekwondo mastery had come in handy. When paired with your knowledge of the world—you were a formidable and unstoppable force during these early scenarios.

You had been with the Wanderers the last few weeks. When the apocalypse came, you were visiting his mother to tell her about your engagement. You certainly weren't asking for her permission, but it was her son, and you felt strange not informing her that you would soon be family. In the legal sense only, of course.

Dokja would understand—he knew it was something you felt compelled to do, even if he had no desire to join you—but he hadn't known when you would go.

You were a bit afraid of his reaction to finding out you had begun the scenarios in a high-level prison.

He hesitated before he asked, "Are your parents...?"

"My mother survived." You didn't need to elaborate, and Dokja's fingers tightened around yours in comfort. "I left her with the Wanderers. She'll be safe there...the king will protect her."

They were familiar acquaintances, after all.

You were conflicted about telling him. In the end, you had no desire to sour your long-awaited reunion, and so you left it for another day.

Today, at least, you would savor this sweet moment with your beloved. And his new companions.

"Um..."

It was the boy. He looked up at you with big, expectant eyes, strongly reminding you of a young Dokja.

"This is Lee Gilyoung. He was on the train with me when it all began," introduced Dokja.

You squatted to grab Lee Gilyoung's hands. "Thank you, Gilyoung-ah, for keeping him safe for me."

Then you kissed his hands gently in gratitude, and Lee Gilyoung's face flushed bright red. He leaned back and tugged Dokja down to his level to whisper in his ear. "Hyung, she's really pretty."

"I know," Dokja stage-whispered back with a grin. You pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh.

There was a call of your name, and you straightened to see a welcome and familiar face. "Yoo Sangah!"

You reacquainted yourself with the kind coworker of your fiancé, and as you chatted, Dokja trailed behind with a palm hovering over your lower back. Then, he took you to meet the others and your hand found his again.

You were overwhelmed with joy as you saw how genuinely these people cared for your Kim Dokja. He deserved more people in his life that cared for his well-being besides you, and in a ruined world he would need all the people he could get. At each new introduction, you held him a little tighter.

Dokja finally noticed the glisten that had gathered under your lashes. "Is something wrong—?!"

"No," you said with a laugh. "I'm just really happy."

Dokja's panic was squashed immediately, and he settled his arms fully around you once more. "I'm happy, too," he murmured.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment.

"By the way." You smirked and traced your fingers along the collar of his robe teasingly. "Where did your clothes go?"

Dokja groaned, "They burned."

You were looking forward to hearing that story (spoiler: you ended up hating that shitty-ass story), and contented yourself with his presence until there was an appropriate time to catch up later.

Yes, it was not an ideal situation, this apocalypse; but somehow it was just right for the two of you. You and Dokja would figure it out together, the way you always did.

You would fight, and you would live. Together.

[saeun]

sick with you haitani ran & rindou.

sum. new side quest unlocked: babysitting your sick boyfriend bc he got too cocky in a brawl. bonten tl ( in my head )

ran lays his head on your shoulders, whimpering at the feeling. his body's hot, he feels like he's going to explode. unable to keep it in any longer, he drags out your name in raspy whisper.

ran is sick. sick and bedridden due to spraining a muscle. as dangerous as he is now, he's never gotten rid of the peculiar habit of trying to appear fancy. as the causes and effects take its course, one lead to another and ran's back to being nursed by you.

is ran annoying? by default.

does it get worse depending on his mood? absolutely.

combine a regular ran with a sick ran and you get the personality of a five-year-old: fussy, hungry, lazy, sleepy and wants undivided attention. when ran is sick it leads to him being clingy. he wants your touch — whether it's by holding hands or trapping you under his limbs.

"okay, can i pleaseee move? pretty please? cherry on top?" begging for your freedom, you wiggle around but not enough to trigger his headache.

digging his head deeper into the junction of your neck-to-shoulder, he mutters a "no," squeezing your waist tighter.

the position, for him, is heavenly comfort. laid atop you, under the soft duvets. his body's stationed between your legs with one of it resting on his back. his hair's tousled, strands of lavender and black scattered across his face and your chest. if you were to be honest, he looks pretty. domestic times like this drag you away from the violent ways of your boyfriend outside the house. well, you would admit it if it wasn't for his body sinking you down the mattress. seriously, you can't breathe. as much as you adore him you're not dying like this.

"ran, sweetie, please get off me."

"don't want to."

"alright." you accepted defeat.

nothing could've prepared you for the absolute battle that came with a sick and irritated rindou. ever since the sun snuck behind the clouds he's been coughing for his life like a sick victorian child. he does not need your pestering ringing his ears. he loves you a lot but you need to put that seaweed soup down.

upon seeing your menacing figure at the door, rindou immediately hides his face under a pillow. he knows what you are — what you're here for. you won't win against him nor will you get past his barriers especially if it's the soup in your hands.

"rin, i brought some painkillers, water and an energy drink."

mission failed tremendously. barriers have been broken beyond repair. the intruder has won.

peeking at you, his hand reaches out for yours. "gimme the energy drink, please."

"sit up first," you urged him, sitting at the edge of the bed. "and you're going to have some water first."

groaning, rindou sits up and slouches. he shifts his body's weight on one side to lean onto you. he slides one hand under your shirt, mindlessly caressing your stomach. it doesn't take long before another wave of pain hits him like a tsunami. immediately, he cowers.

"hurts a lot," rindou groans.

"i know, baby," you spoke softly, squeezing his thigh in a controlled rhythm. "you have to take the painkiller for help."

rindou succumbs to the pain. being rendered unable to disagree, he can only nod once as a reply.

[lukesandromeda]

gimme ur fav luke headcanons 😏

DATING l. castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

a/n: hi soleil it spooks me what u will do with this information but i also got so carried away with this for some reason and i did in fact not proofread it

• he’s a thief. so obviously as soon as you point out something in the store, uttering a quick “that’s pretty,” he’s nodding and pushing you along to go to another section of the store, mumbling something like, “sure is.” so as soon as you’re not looking he’s breaking the tag off the item and sliding it into his back pocket because he knows that if you were to see him, you’d scold him for his habit.

and when he hands it over to you later without an explanation, you’re asking, “how did you buy this?” and when he looks away nervously, you’re quick to lecture him about why what he did was wrong—but he doesn’t care; he gets to see the smile and appreciation from you.

• hearing constant “i’m so sorry” when he comes late to hang out with you. he’s the head counselor and has so many responsibilities to the point that even begging mr. d to let him go and hang out with his girlfriend will never work.

so when he finally does have the time to hang out, he’s exhausted—beads of sweat from sparring evident on his forehead as he takes the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and tosses it to the ground.

and he’s trying to give you as much attention as he can as he shares stories from his day with you, but his adhd’s getting to him and his eyes are so, so heavy and—you finally ask him if he just wants to go to sleep, and he’s jumping out of bed and changing into comfortable sleeping clothes.

soon he’s back in bed with you, comfortable and grateful enough that the few time he gets with you is not as stressful as what he had to deal with before.

• omfg sparring is the worsttttt with him. he makes you schedule two whole hours, yapping about something like, “i’ll just tell any other kids who wanna practice to wait until tomorrow,” and you’re telling him how it’s not fair for you to take that practice away from someone else, and he’s rolling his eyes and leaving your cabin after pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “see you tomorrow.” when you do see him tomorrow, he’s already working on his footwork and smirks as you arrive. the next couple hours are brutal. there are no breaks. at that point, why did you even bring a water bottle?

because every time he has you pinned down and you’re grunting, your throat dry as you look over to your water, he tilts your head back to him with his sword and gives you a look that tells you to focus.

and every time he gets his touch on you, he’s ordering, “again.” he wins. “again.” he wins again. “again.” so many times that you repeat the same moves, and every time, his sword is lightly pressed against your chest and you’re muttering in surrender.

after the fifteenth time of hearing the word again, you drop your sword to the ground and shove him, knocking his sword out of his hands. you break down into tears of frustration, and he’s quick to explain to you that he’s not trying to make you angry—just teach you how to protect yourself.

• usually he’s the one to hold you in his arms and let you speak your mind; he’s usually your rock. but some nights, when maybe a new camper has gotten claimed, or maybe someone got a birthday gift from their godly parent, he’s laying in the crook of your neck as he suppresses his tears against the soft skin there.

he’s talking for hours, babbling about gods know what. you find yourself wondering: how did he go from talking about nick, his newest cabin mate, getting claimed as a child of apollo, to talking about what he would name a dragon? you didn’t mind, because at least now he’s not crying about his father and the stupid quest he’d sent him on.

eventually, after a long day of a fake smile and the stressful teaching of a six hour sparring class, he falls asleep, his last words of “i love you” resting on his lips.

• he’d been happy the entire night—the blue team, his team, had won capture the flag again. he’d had so much fun at the celebration afterwards, (or at least it seemed,) but now it’s time to get ready for bed. it’s 1:30 am, and you’re washing off your makeup in the bathroom mirror when luke comes in, reaching for another rag.

he stands next to you in the mirror, watching your reflection for a moment before his eyes flick over to himself. his jaw clenches, his eyes trailing up and down the left side of his face before he swallows and wets the rag.

he begins to wipe the dirt and grime off his face, slowing down when the cloth traces the scar on his cheek. he drops the rag in the sink and sniffles, walking out of the bathroom and into the bed. once you’re finished, you join him in your room and climb into the bed. you lay down, and he rolls over and rests his face in the crook of his neck.

you wonder why it feels weird for a moment, and then you realize he has his head tilted oddly so that the left side of his face is hiding in the crook of his neck. odd, you think, considering he’d been complaining about neck pain the day before. you lift his head up, hand tracing on his left cheek and he freezes, body tensing.

“luke?” you ask, your eyes searching for a reason to his odd behavior. you look at where your fingers are tracing; on the scar. you understand, and for a moment, you see his eyes fill up with tears.

you swallow and lean forward, pressing a kiss to his scar before resting your forehead against his. he closes his eyes with a pained expression. moments pass, and then he moves to rest his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time he doesn’t hide his scar.

[sunny-knight]

GIVE ME JUST A LITTLE BIT OF SYMPATHY.

BIG experimenting with this one, I had a lot of fun, definitely gonna use this brush again especially for crunchy rendering/texture things

Keep Reading for more context behind the drawing!

sooo✨ this whole thing came from the question of…. Why didn’t Caine hear Pomni SHOUTING for him in the pilot?? like shouldn’t there be a feature in the circus for that? Well, what if there WAS and Caine removed it for whatever reason.

I have a few reasons in mind, a few that are ALL true in this piece cause I couldn’t pick just one 😭

Either, the feature was abused, and he went all “this is why y’all can’t have nice things”

Or, he decides he’s not something to be ordered around (bro pulled cut the strings to make them ring)

OR, the feature was abused, PT 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO and he cut off that function, less of an act of defiance, but more in desperation, like he couldn’t take it anymore

EITHER WAY! I love this piece a lot, I love this song a lot, thought it fit this vibe no matter what reason he had, I think its very believable that he cut off that function canonically, but for the life of me I can’t think of a “canon” reason WHY he would, so yeah, again, all of the ones I listed above are fair game. GIMME YOUR OWN THEORIES IF YOU HAVE EM, PRETTY PLEASE

I love this man and his quest of deciding if he’s sentient or just a slave to his code…*dreamy sigh*

THAT ANIMATIC (that ive been posting about on my shitpost account) IS STILL HAPPENING BTW IM JUST TAKING A REST!!!☝️☝️☝️

NOW TAKE THIS SPEEDPAINT AND GO IN PEACE!!!

[krakenartificer]

Who wants a really sad Leverage headcanon?

Was re-watching the Gimme a K Street Job -- Season 5 Episode 5 -- and a couple of things stood out to me.

1) Nate says "Let's go steal some congresspeople", and then sends everyone on the team (except Parker, who's being a cheer coach) out to con one of their targets. But it feels like there's a profound mismatch in who gets which mark.

For the "not like other girls" feminist congresswoman who's inclined to dismiss cheer as worthless and demeaning, you need Eliot to come in looking like a man who very much knows what does and does not count as a sport, and be his tiny angry respect-women-juice self about how regardless of what you think of their choice of clothing they are working as hard as any other athlete and they deserve safety as much as anyone else. But instead they sent Hardison.

For the "Yes I am very busy and important; admire me" chairman, you need Sophie, who is better than anyone else on the planet at making you feel admirable when you're doing what she wants, and scummy and low when you're not doing what she wants. But instead they sent Eliot.

For the "Look I am trying, but I need corn subsidies or I won't be able to do anything else" newbie congressman, Hardison could happily have gone on an infinitely recurring series of fetch quests until he sees the place where they loop around and bottom out and every problem solves every other problem. But instead they sent Sophie.

2) Eliot struggles the most, so Nate works with him the most, but he doesn't help him out hardly at all; he just keeps saying, "So what's your next play?" and then revealing that he's already anticipated Eliot's next play and has all the materials in place to enact it. And of course, they do eventually get the dude on board, and it all works out, but afterwards, Eliot tells Nate, "I trust that some time soon you'll tell me why you had me slogging through all that when you already knew how to hook him."

And of course, knowing what we now know about how season 5 ends, it makes sense that Nate is trying to train the OT3 to work without him, looking for his replacement.

Except.

If the plan is to fuck off into the sunset with Sophie, then why did he throw Sophie into this uncomfortable not-my-wheelhouse scenario?

No, Nate's preparing the entire team to carry on without him. He's forcing them to learn how to plan, learn different ways of approaching problems, to think about bigger pictures and approach them strategically.

...

I think Nate just got the first diagnosis of the disease that's finally going to kill him. And again, we -- the audience -- now know that he's going to live for many years after that initial diagnosis. But he doesn't know that, at this point. He knows he's tested positive, and he knows it's eventually going to kill him, and he has no idea how long he has.

And in some sense, it doesn't matter how long he has. Three months or thirty years, that kind of revelation makes it stunningly clear that taking care of the people you love means making sure that they can take care of themselves.

So that's what he does: he throws them into new, uncomfortable situations where they'll have to grow and support each other without him, so that no matter what happens, they'll be able to keep going. Because he's not a nice person, Jimmy Ford's son, but by God does he know the importance of protecting your family.

[phoenixcatch7]

The One Fact Pact

I want to see a fic where the chain is rigorously keeping their secrets and stories hidden, but they've all learned to trust one another. Like, it's past time they should probably be sharing things because it's beginning to get annoying, they all agree, but it's sorta become a habit by now? They kept those secrets and now no one really wants to share first?

So, to keep things interesting and get some momentum going, they make a deal.

Whenever they come across something that reminds them of their travels, their quest - be it an item, a familiar name, a location - they've got to share ONE fact or story about it.

But only! When they're in other people's time, because otherwise it'll just be a staged tour and one person infodumping and that's exactly what they're trying to avoid (and it won't be a fun competition they can make bets about).

And then either they go through worlds slowly building trust and understanding of each other through a long drawn out and incidental series of tidbits....

Or they immediately get stuck in wild's hyrule for ages.

Everyone's arguing over who the latest ruin belongs to. Time and wind are getting into an argument about the kokiri. No one can agree on the zonai. Wars is taking immense pleasure in pointing out anything someone else might have missed. Legend is resolutely ignoring eventide. Twilight claims the entire faron woods until they step into the hot and humid jungle for the first time.

Wild thinks he's immune because it's his world so he legally can't answer questions, but everywhere they visit there's a piece of his own story in the rubble or on the wind.

Wild: *happily making tea and checking his slate with the other hand* okay, looks like tomorrow we can reach the breach of demise and to new serenne stable. Just past that- Sky: *choking on his drink* the what?? Wild: the breach? Sky, weakly: Why's it uh, called that? Wild: oh, it's an old story. Apparently eons ago it's where a demon godking came up from underground to the surface world... *suspiciously* Why? Sky: gimme the slate. *squinting at the shape on the map*... I can neither confirm nor deny. Wild:... What do you mean? Sky, remembering the One Fact Pact: I can neither confirm nor deny. What's important is that I killed him. The entire chain, variously: YOU KILLED A DEMON GOD?!!? Sky *recalling the hardest fight of his life*: what, like it's hard?

And then he just refuses to elaborate.

[misfortunekeep]

You said the word and now I have been summoned. Inkblade headcanons please???

OISIN HAS BEEN PINING FOR YEARS HE HAD CRUSH SINCE FRESHMAN YEAR AND YOU CAN PRY THAT FROM MY COLD LIMP HANDS

Anyway here's some more headcanon

The first time Oisin saw Adaine, she looks like every princess his family used to tell him they used to kidnap and he understood why then because she looks like all the valuable treasures in motion. Gold spun hair, pearl skin, sapphire eyes, voice like falling jewels, she looks like she should be decked in the finest silk.

Adaine noticed him back as a freshman and wanted to talk to him but things happened and her anxiety got to her and now she kinda has too many in her plate and she forgot the little dragon born boy she wanted to speak in class

When Oisin gets revived he's still a bit of an asshole and Adaine matches that energy

Snarky nerd x snarky nerd gimme

Oisin made a snide remark to her once and she replied something scathing and that's how he found out she can speak Draconic

He learned Elvish cause how could he live knowing she knows what he's talking about when he speaks in Draconic but he can't when she speaks Elvish

They make their own language accidentally by mixing Elvish and Draconic in their bid of trying to confuse each other

She killed someone once in front of him and he's convinced they're dating now

He's still sharp with his tongue but he makes conscious effort not to be to her

Being the target of their scorn is like being a victim of vicious mockery 24/7 dialed up to 11. Their insults are scarily accurate and fascinatingly creative

He gave her a necklace he found in his family hoard that tells her that her magic is fluctuating indicating that she's gonna get a prophecy so she should get ready and she came back from a quest with glasses that enhances his lightning and a built in shield that activates when he's in danger so he's never caught off guard and now they're in a competition to gift each other the best gift.

They somehow ended up with matching protective rings with built in communicator they use solely to periodically insult each other.

I can make up more stories for them in my head and no one can stop meeeee

[therenaissancedungeonmaster]

The act 5 to the act 3 here for @s0ckh3adstudios ‘s TSAS Traveler!Bonnie’s Mirabelle quest :)

Transcription below:

Bonnie narration: Just get it over with.

Mirabelle: Oh hi Bonnie how are-

Bonnie: Please cut my hair.

Mirabelle: Wh-what? You sure?

Bonnie: Brought you scissors.

Mirabelle: Oooo where’d you get those?

Bonnie: Doesn’t matter.

Mirabelle: Oookay sit down. Bonnie I can’t do this with you fidgeting hold still ple-

Bonnie: Yknow what I can do ur myself. Give me the scissors.

Mirabelle: Bonnie, no that’s not a good idea.

Bonnie: Gimme ‘em!

Mirabelle: No, Bonnie! You could hurt yourself! Just let me-

Bonnie: Yknow you’re NOTHING like Princess Macon! If she was here, she’d just give me the crabbing scissors. You’re just some lame wannabe playing DRESS UP and crying yourself to sleep! Now GIVE ME THE SCISSORS

*a tussle occurs. Bonnie gets the scissors but at what cost*

Bonnie: Got it… Ooooh

Mirabelle, bleeding: Bonnie… why…

Bonnie: No no no no no no NO! You crabbed it up Bonnie! Stupid stupid Bonnie!

Bonnie narration: You’ll have to try again. So why are you crying? She’ll just reset like always…

[piss-pumpkin]

The scorpion (Luke Castellan x reader)

This follows the plot of the books, but god damn Charlie’s kinda hot.

4.0k words, starts pre- tlt, established-ish relationship, gn reader

3 times you should have noticed + one time you did

1.

Luke was more than ready for his quest. The best swordsman at camp, a mentor to half the younger campers, dominating force in capture the flag, he was all of it. And more. If anyone knew that, it was you. 

So when he came back, face covered in a bandage stained red and brown, sword scraped and worn at his side, shoulder sagged and head hung… you weren’t the only one surprised. After the congratulations and the golden laurels for his and his bravery, it was straight to the infirmary.

You found him lying on one of the beds by the windows, the room empty. Looks like he was the only patient, today. 

“Hey,” you said softly, creeping up beside him, and pulling up a chair by his bedside. 

He didn’t sit up, but did turn his head on his pillow to face you. The medics had changed his bandage, it now a pristine and clean white, with only a streak of red down the centre, rather than the bloody rag form before. “Hey,” he sighed. 

He looked up at you with his big brown eyes, or… just the one eye, and finally sat up, gently taking your hand and thumbing over it. 

“Are you alright?” You couldn’t help ask. It felt like the obvious. He must have heard that question a hundred times since getting back. But maybe it’d be different coming from you. You leaned in closer, putting your other hand on his, too.

He frowned a moment, looking down at the pile of hands, then back at your face, and his eyes softened. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he relented.

”You’re tired of people asking that, aren’t you?” You questioned, trying to smile for him. 

He stifled a snicker. “Dead on, Y/n,” he said, shaking his head with a tired smile, “But hey, at least I know you care.” He punctuated himself by squeezing your hand. 

You smiled, and let go of him a moment. “Scoot over,” you said, gesturing in the air for him to move.

He chuckled, “bossy much? I’m the patient here,” he teased, moving over to make room for you. 

“Well, that doesn’t mean you get special treatment,” you said, shifting over from the chair to wriggling under the thin blanket sheet next to him. Shoulder to shoulder, sides to sides. You held his hand again, and he laced his fingers with yours. 

“You’re saying this isn’t special?” He chided, free hand in his heart to show you just how much your words could hurt.

You grinned, “Yes, I make a point to cuddle all the injured.” You worked your feet under his legs to keep them warm, snuggling further into his side. 

“I gotta do this more often, then,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around you.

”So,” you said, beginning to talk with your hands. “How was the quest? Gimme all the cool stories,” you laughed, looking up at him.

Your mouth fell ajar though, seeing how his face darkened, his grip loosening in your hand and around your shoulders. “It was… freedom,” he said, not meeting your eyes.

You shifted your weight side to side for a few beats, waiting for him to elaborate. But he didn’t. So you had to. “Did you like that?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s like… being a regular teenager out there. When the monsters aren’t at your ass, you can pretend you’re normal,” he said. Maybe sneered. 

You blinked, stroking his palm with your thumb. “It must have been nice, then. To pretend,” you said, trying to get anything more from him. It was rare that Luke ever hid anything from you. His lack of details was… alarming. What happened on that quest?

”I wonder if I’ll ever get to leave again,” he scoffed. He brought a hand up to the bandage by his eye. “Probably not, considering this mess,” he spat. 

“Luke, we all have our battle scars,” you said, brushing a few stray hairs off the cloth. He leaned into your hand when you brushed his cheek, his lips pressing against your palm and the pads of your fingers. 

“At least yours mean something,” he said quietly. Angrily. “It was just a dragon, the one guarding the garden. It meant nothing. It was barely a fight. Just a bump in the road on a fools errand,” he said, words finally bubbling up. Exploding, even. And you realized just how upset he was. 

You swallowed, and took a breath. Carefully, you kicked the blankets off your feet, and shifted one leg over his lap to sit on him, across from him, looking straight into the one eye uncovered. You brushed his hair aside, and cupped his face in two hands. “It means something to me, Luke,” you said, softly and sternly. “Do you hear yourself? Just a dragon,” you laughed, gently thumbing over the bandage, tracing the line of blood with a ghost of a touch, lacking any pressure that might hurt him. “Dragons are scary, they’re a good fight, Luke,” you felt his hands rest on your hips. “This doesn’t mean nothing, it means you fought, and that…”

You trailed off a moment, caught up staring at him, while he waited for you to finish. You sighed, leaning your forehead on his, “it means you came back alive, Luke. Not everybody does.”

He leaned forward so slightly, so his lips brushed against your when he spoke. “No, they don’t, do they,” he said sadly. 

“But you did.”

Now it was his turn to brush hair out of your face, before he closed the impossible distance to kiss you. him. Your cheek brushed up against the bottom of the bandage.

     2.

You heard the faint hum of the cleaning harpies pass by your area of the beach, and sighed in relief. Your deal with them held strong. They left you alone when you snuck out late, and you supplied them with contraband, with the help of your Hermes cabin friends. And Luke.

Sneaking out past curfew was typically punishable by… them, whatever the harpies had in store. Sometimes threatening to eat you, or so you’d heard. But not for you and Luke. Never for you and Luke. So beach night it was. 

The air was cold, as late as it was. The water, too, when you dipped your toes in, you shuddered. So you and Luke lay stargazing on the sandy shore. Lucky you the weather barrier around camp wasn’t letting any clouds through tonight, it seemed every little star was visible. Reachable, even. 

”What do you think they do up there, all day?” He said, staring up at the stars, hands folded behind his head as a pillow. “On Olympus.”

You let out a small laugh, “I mean, are they even up there? Or are they down here having dumbass kids like us all day.”

Luke hummed a low hum. Maybe more like a grumble. “Gotta replace the ones that die on quests,” he said coldly, flaring up at the sky. 

Your eyes widened, and you shifted over sideways, moving the rocks and grains beneath you to lightly hit him. “Dude,” you said, trying to make eye contact. 

He didn’t bite, instead staring up, maybe past the stars beyond you, and sighed. After a moment, two, maybe three, he finally caved, turning only his head to look at you, and you saw his scowl soften. Carefully, he laid an open hand on the ground between you, and looked at you with tired eyes. 

You were always faster to give in. You sighed, placing your hand on his gently, tracing the lines on his palm before lacing your fingers together. “Luke, you know you shouldn’t say stuff like that,” you said.

He was quick to counter, just like he was with a sword. ”But am I wrong?” He squeezed your hand, almost pleading. 

You grimaced, not wanting to pull away, but struggling to keep your hand in his. He was warm, as always, but the cold creeping into his tone was enough to make you shiver. 

He waited for an answer. Or maybe he was just entranced by the stars. You sighed. You’d give him the benefit of the doubt this time, the sky was beautiful, it was easy to believe. “Luke, they’re gods,” you said carefully, trying to diffuse him. “Our lifetime for them is like, a minute. The morality of parenting is different for them, I think.”

He grumbled, but he was losing his fire. “Then they shouldn’t have us,” he sighed. “If they’re not going to care.”

You scooted closer, shoulder to shoulder, and pulled his hand onto your chest. “Luke, they do care… and if they didn’t have us,” you paused, letting a small nose laugh out. “Then we wouldn’t be here.”

Luke looked over to you, nose nearly touching yours. In the dark you could barely make out his features, but it was more than clear the fiery anger had died out into a dull simmer of disappointment. “If they cared, we wouldn’t have to fight for a scrap of their attention,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t rather be a normal kid?”

You smiled, “no chance.” 

He raised his brow, clearly sceptical. “Y/n, we spend our whole lives in danger, at the mercy of monsters, and our parents who want nothing to do with us.”

”Luke,” you started, sitting up. You sat on your knees, shifting them closer him so they pressed against his side. You lightly rubbed a circle on his palm. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you said, as if it was obvious. “Luke, if we weren’t demigods, we wouldn’t have met. We wouldn’t get to spend our summers in like,” you laughed, punching him playfully in the stomach, “the best camp ever, and sword fight each other and our army of siblings.”

He stayed silent, looking up at you with tired eyes. Pretty eyes, in the starlight, and squeezed your hand. 

“Luke, I really think that-“ you paused to take a breath, looking out into the water. “-I think it’s all worth it,” you smiled down at him. “Despite everything.”

He sighed, sitting up beside you, shoulder to shoulder once more. His gaze softened when he looked at you, and you shivered slightly as he pulled your hand close to his lips to gently kiss your knuckles. “Maybe you’re right,” he relented. 

You laughed head butted his shoulder, “When am I ever wrong?”

He smiled, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Never, never,” he laughed softly. “I should never doubt you.”

“That’s more like it.”

3.

Percy was a natural. Not at many things, half the Apollo cabin was still traumatized from his archery incident, but he was remarkably good with the sword. Just one day with Luke and he was well on his way to best half the camp. Day two of his training, this time with you, went similarly well. 

There was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and he was nearly out of breath, his sword hanging low in his hand. “How-“ he started, putting his hands on his knees for balance. “How much more of this are we gonna do?” He panted. 

You snickered, sheathing your own weapon and crossing your arms, “You can be done, Perc.” 

You came up in front of him, and offered a hand. He took it by the forearm, heaving himself up, and stumbling forward. You held on tight, laughing as he found his footing. 

“You killed it, little dude,” you said, slapping him on the back. 

“You killed me,” he shot right back. 

You smiled, letting his hand go as you started to walk with him back to the cabins. “Hey,” you laughed, “you’re lucky it was me and not Luke.”

He nodded, and shook his head dramatically. 

He broke off before you could get to the Hermes cabin he called home, though. Saying he was going to hit the showers. You grinned as you playfully pushed him over in that direction, making some snide remark about how he stinks, despite the fact that you probably did, too. 

When he was gone, you started to walk faster, no longer accommodating for his tired legs. Your sights were still set on the Hermes cabin, and you practically hopped up onto the porch.

The door was always unlocked, and you didn’t bother knocking. “Heyyyy,” you said, swinging he door open. Luke had off hours from his chores, lucky for you. 

His back was to you, standing at his desk, seemingly engrossed in whatever was in front of him. He practically jumped out of his skin when you called. 

“Gods! Y/n,” he exclaimed, turning around stiffly, his desk still hidden behind him. He gripped the edges of it with white knuckles.

You squinted, pointing at him with a grin, “what’cha got there?” You asked, slithering up beside him. 

On the desk, rather mundane, was a cardboard box. Its contents, however, left you with wide eyes as you turned your head over to Luke, nudging closer to you were shoulder to shoulder with him. His muscles were stiff, and he turned back around to stare into the box with you. Inside, was a scorpion.

He sighed, looking away from you. “New pet,” he said softly. 

You leaned in closer to him, smile painting your lips. “A scorpion?” You asked, brow raised. “Really?” you looked down at it again, as it paced from one side of the cardboard to the other, and back again. “I’m a little surprised.”

He looked back at you, brow furrowed with some kind of concentration. “Yeah, I did some research though..” he looked down at the little creature. “Heard they made good buddies.”

You smiled, poking his cheek to steal his attention back. “Does it have a name yet?” You asked, almost teased.

His face softened when he looked at you, and he pushed off the desk with both hands. He stepped closer, leaning into you, resting his forehead on yours. 

“Careful, I might be sweaty,” you laughed quietly, bringing your hands to the back of his neck to tangle with his curls. 

“I don’t mind,” he smiled. “And no, she doesn’t have a name yet.” His nose gently rubbed against yours, and you closed your eyes, stealing a quick kiss, feeling his smile on yours. His hand traced your cheek, “Did you want to name her?”

You beamed, pulling back to look him in the eyes, “You’d let me?” You asked.

He snickered, shrugging his shoulders as his hand cupped your cheek, and you leaned your head into him. “Nobody I trust more,” he relented, smiling with his eyes in away you’d never seen before. 

You hummed, thinking aloud. “You give me too much power,” you chided, looking back down at the scorpion. To many choices. Cute name, silly name, badass name, old lady name, food name, noun name; you pursed your lips, considering the possibilities. 

Luke waited patiently, eyes transfixed on your face as you thought. 

“How about clurm?”

He stifled a laugh, breaking his gaze and his hold on you. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

You nodded happily, bridging the gap he created between you by pulling back. You locked your hands around his waist. 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, wrapping his arms around you in turn. He was so warm, the way he enveloped you, burying you in his chest, much to your content. 

You stayed there for a few moments, maybe longer. You, Luke, and Clurm in the Hermes cabin, while all his siblings were training, or doing chores. And eventually, headed, you and Luke, to the dining pavilion, hand in hand. 

You idly chatted as you bounded along, swinging your arms between you. “You did really good teaching Percy with the swords yesterday,” you said, grinning. “When I worked with him today, he was surprisingly good.”

Lukes brow raised, and for a second you felt a tremor in his hand. “You were with Percy, today?”

”Yeah,” you grinned. “I gotta help you train your new favourite newbie, right?”

Luke looked away, nodding, “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose he is, isn’t he?”

You smirked at him, playfully hitting him across the chest. “I think every newbie is, at some point, Luke,” you teased. “Just can’t resist taking them under your wing, can you?” You said, nudging him with your elbow. 

He shook his head, throwing his hands up in defeat, “Guilty,” he admitted, nearly a laugh in his voice. 

The dining pavilion was maybe half full. Not bad considering you were a little early. You walked together to get plates.

      The time you did.

They were back. Percy, Annabeth, and Grover, much to your pride, survived the quest! You made sure to congratulate them, along with everyone else, give them some of your best contraband and secret snacks. 

Things seemed to be getting back to normal around camp. No mysterious monsters, no tension among the gods, on Annabeths team, you had claimed a six game win streak in capture the flag. She seemed to have grown up quite a bit on the quest. Percy and Grover, too. 

Percy hardly resembled the dumb-struck kid he was when you and Luke first trained him with a sword. You were off to the arts and crafts station for clean up duty when you saw them together in the arena, Percy training and Luke offering a break. Just a month, maybe two, ago it was the other way around. You smiled at the ground beneath your feet, thinking of Luke finally taking it easy. 

When you went to the Hermes cabin that evening, though, he was still gone. And his siblings rolled their eyes as you sheepishly asked if they knew where he might be. 

Suppose the last place you saw him was with Percy earlier. Maybe they were still hanging out in the woods. Percy was bound to be leaving soon when summer ended, Luke probably wanted to spend some good time with him before then. You found your way to the training grounds, and followed the nearby path towards the woods. Luke did like the beach, and Percy was a son of Poseidon. Probably took Percy there.

You hopped down the stairs, and off the small ledge leading to the sandy shores, and your blood went icy cold, heart practically freezing, aching, pounding, in a vice. 

Percy was half drenched in water, stumbling, seemingly blindly, toward you and the path, until finally leaning on a tree like a crutch, before tumbling to the ground. 

You were always a fast runner. “Percy!” You yelled, racing beside him, throwing yourself at him to try to look for a wound. He looked up at you with wide and confused eyes, but found it in him to raise his hand. Just as you tried to tell him, stop, you’re hurt, you saw the sting. Dead centre of his palm, oozing puss, and greying and greening his skin around it.

”Holy shit,” you muttered, staring at it for a moment. Just one moment. You whipped your head down to look at his face, and knew you had to move fast. 

“Okay, Perc,” you said, digging your arms under him to pick him up. “This might hurt,” you said, heaving him up. Lucky he was light. You stood a little too fast, and needed another moment to regain your balance. Maybe one moment too many. Where was Luke? 

You sprinted as fast as you could, carrying Percy half like a princess, half like a fireman through the forest. Stray branches and brushes scraped your face. His too. His eyelids were starting to flutter, closing and opening to a confused daze, and shutting again. 

“Hang on,” you groaned, barreling through the forest. “Nearly there.” Where’s Luke?

You shook your head, breaking through the tree line, hastily calling for help. Lucky you a few campers were nearby, and you weren’t far off from the big house. Chiron could help him. Chiron had to help him. 

Where was Luke? 

You waited outside the infirmary while Chiron and a few of the Apollo cabins best healers worked. Luke was still so painfully absent. You sighed, staring down at your feet, leg tapping anxiously on the floor. 

You barely heard Annabeth come in. You nearly gave yourself whiplash turning your head to look at her. She looked tired. Sighing, she slumped next to you, assuming the same nervous posture. Neither of you said it. Neither of the elephants in the room, Percy or Luke, would be addressed. 

Or so you hoped. Annabeth looked at you, and you kept your eyes trained in the cool white tile beneath you. “Y/n,” she sighed. You didn’t want to see her face. The hesitancy and shakiness in her voice was enough. “Do you know what happened to him?”

You shook your head, not looking up. But you had your best guess, despite all your efforts to turn off your brain.

You couldn’t see her face,  but you knew well enough she pursed her lips, crossing her arms at her chest. 

It took days for Percy to come too. 

And you rushed in along side his friends to see him, weakened and pale. He smiled when he saw you all, though. 

And then he told you what had happened. As cloudy as his memory was after the venom, he seemed to recall even the smallest details. The secret sword. The contraband coke. The beach. Shooting the shit. And the Scorpion. That he apparently kept hidden from all else but you. That you weren’t meant to walk in on him with. 

Annabeth was as stoic as she could be. Not surprised, but still hurt. Doing better then you.

When Percy so much as uttered his name, your heart dropped into your stomach, and seemed to be eaten alive by the acid. Your breath hitched when Percy told you about the dreams he confessed to. You clutched your shirt at your chest when Percy told you about the plan for Tartarus. You sucked a breath in though clenched teeth, bared fangs in a fight or flighty response, when Percy told you about how cynical, angry, remorseless he had been. 

Where was Luke? 

That was what you had wondered that day. What you should have been wondering for years. Where was Luke? When had he left you? 

Was it when he started plotting Percy’s death? When the nightmares and the whispers started for him? When he chose to serve Kronos over you? His friends? His siblings?

You only noticed you were crying when the hit tears reached your lips, and your taste was flooded with salt. Nearly embarrassed, you wiped them away and excused yourself, before any of them could urge you not to. 

Luke was gone. And as you looked around camp, disoriented, head and heart pounding, all you could see was every place he stood. Places he kissed you.

He fucking kissed you. Next to the scorpion. His weapon of choice. That you named. You glared at the grass as you stumbled to your cabin. 

Or, that’s where you thought you were going. You ended up at the Hermes cabin. The door was unlocked, and you didn’t bother to knock. You never did. And lucky you, all his siblings were out, at activities or doing chores. 

You stood at the foot of Luke’s bed. Fuck. You kicked it. Fuck. You punched the mattress. Fuck. You tore into the pillow, clawing at it and ripping the seams.

Why didn’t you notice? All his anger. His resentment. His nightmares. Could you have stopped him? If anyone could’ve... If anyone could’ve, it was you. 

You collapsed into the bed. It smelled like him, suffocatingly so. How didn’t you notice? That you were losing him? 

You can’t fix him. But I’d try, and I’d let him break my heart for it. Anyway. I got kind of inspired by another Luke fic I saw, and idk I was in delirious trace writing this with an edited Lana del Rey song on repeat for like an hour and a half.

[crimsonterror577]

The Burning, and the Recovery. The birth of the Absolute Solver.

Act 1 - The Burning.

It was mid day, yet the darkness inside the warehouse sank Max’s soul, as he crept through the halls of the empty building. It had been a long journey, and Max was full of doubt for the intentions of his quest. Yet still he made his way down the halls, as Karie previously told him. Max slipped out his phone, and powered it on. Max presumed he shouldn’t often look at his phone, suspecting that Refonic could track it, if he left it on for a while. Yet Max needed to be certain of his destination, and Max thought if he only opened his phone for a brief second, then surely it wouldn't be enough to track. Max looked at its screen, and read Karie’s most recent text message.

“Once you grab Icon, make your way to the Carver’s warehouse, south of the base. I’ll be waiting there for you. Once you’re there, tell it to power itself off for the time, and come inside,” The message read.

Max pulled Icon out of his pocket, and Icon transformed herself into a physical being.

“Wazzup admin, need me to break some locks?” Cheered Icon.

“No,” Max said “Just right now, I need you to power off for a little bit. Can you do that?”

“You mean all the way off?” Shot Icon. “Why would I need to do that?”

“Yes, because,” Max paused. “We’re heading through a checkpoint. They have a device which could find, and hijack you. But it only works if you’re powered on.”

“Hmm,” Icon contemplated, staring into Max’s soul. “Makes sense! Sure, gimme a second.”

Icon transformed into her cubical shape, closed her eyes, and stopped moving.

Max gave a sigh of relief, and picked up Icon.

“Right now, right time,” Max assured. “And sleep.”

Max returned the sleeping Icon to his backpack.

Max walked further, and stumbled upon a set of doors. Upon opening, he saw a wide, clear room, with Karie standing by the back, tapping her foot on the floor.

Max ran closer.

“Max, it brings me the most sincere joy to witness you,” stated Karie. “Do you have the Icon?”

“I do,” Chirped max. “But Karie, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Then speak your concerns within a short time frame, we do not have a lot of time,” said Karie, looking towards a window. “They are coming.”

As the increasing sound of helicopters arose across the distance. Max gulped, thinking back to how he opened up his phone.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but Icon can feel emotions! She feels sadness, and empathy!” Bolted Max. “She’s human too, and we can’t just kill her!”

“It,” shot Karie, pausing. “You have fallen into its trap, haven’t you?”

“It’s no trap, just talk with her before we commit to this,” Max replied. “Let's be 100% sure, before we do it.”

“I am very sure,” Said Karie, frozen. “Would you like to know what this creature has done to me?”

“What?” Said Max.

Karie reached her hand out, whereupon the hand unwinded, turned bloody, and cubical. As Karie’s scars became visible for Max to see. Karies hand expanded, before Karie’s flesh dripped cleanly off the hand, leaving behind a skeletal, blood soaked husk behind.

“What the hell!” Max yelled, stepping back.

“It did this to me, Max.” Cursed Karie, stepping forward. “I discussed how I wished to destroy this fowl abomination, yet I never told you why, nor how I intended on committing to such a grandiose ambition.”

“Slow the hell down!” Yelled Max. “Are you even a human being? Is that why you talk like that? You’re a robot?”

“I’m the dissociated strain,” Said Karie. “To destroy an Icon, you need a dissociated strain of equal power. And you see, I have a long history with this icon, for this creation consumed me, and left a dying husk behind, fit only to burn.  I know you think it is a friend, but it is just a mask. It consumed me, and it will consume you. But I will not let this happen to you, I will burn, for I am the only combustible product with the power to burn it. When I, the dissociated strain, eventually meet this creature, we will commence an annihilation vector, where both sides will be dissolved…”

“I don’t know what happened to you, but we can’t kill an innocent being,” Said Max. “She clearly doesn’t know what she is!”

“Do not riddle me with details, Max,” Karie said with a burn in her voice. “I shall put this to a resolution, now!”

Karie leaped forward, and her hand extended like clay, surging for Max’s backpack. Max thrusted back, and Karie firmly grasped the backpack. A tornado of flesh erupted from Karies hand, which consumed the bag, leaving only Icon in Karie’s hand.

Icon, in cube form, lay dormant in a recharging rest. Karie squeezed Icon, causing Icon to beam to life.

“Max, are you touching me again?” Said Icon, looking up to meet Karie’s eyes. “Uhh, who are you?”

“I am your executioner,” Said Karie, her eyes beaming.

“What?” Icon whimpered. “Max, what is going on?”

“Icon!” Max blurted.

Karie’s hand split open, and began melting to Icon’s skin. The merger looked as scenic as a butcher performing surgery.

“Max!” Icon said, the full weight of the situation falling on her. “So this is why you brought me here, you’re betraying me?”

Icon fell from Karies hand, trying to transform into her physical being. Karie’s flesh was now melting halfway into Icon’s being.

“Take a step back Max, this will end today!” Said Karie, beginning to smile.

Around the warehouse, the sound of helicopter blades grew blunt and persistent, with the sounds of shouting sprinkled upon the noise. Around them, the clumping of feet became echoing down the halls of the warehouse.

“Attention, we have the building completely surrounded. We all know how this is going to end,” said a commanding siren, from outside the building. “Place your hands above your head and walk out slowly!”

“No!” Yelled max, reaching for Icon’s hand. “Icon’s just like us, Karie, release her!”

Icon transformed to her bipedal form, trying to escape, yet she found herself evermore dragged closer to Karie’s mass by an invisible weight. Finally, Icon reached for Max’s hand, clutching it.

“Max!” Icon asserted. “Please, stop this!”

Between Icon and Karie, a void opened. A black abyss, like a back hole, ringed with a solid, burning, yellow glow. With air and debris beginning to drain inside the hole. Icon and Karie began being pulled by this strange abyss.

Icon looked back, terrified.

“Max, do something!” Yelled Icon.

“I’m sorry Icon!” Max stood perplexed, as his grip began to let go.

“No!” Yelled Icon, as her hand began to fall. 

Icon threw herself out of Karie’s grasp one last time, throwing Max to the ground, and Icon grasped ahold of his legs as she shrank further back. Clenching Max tightly, she spread her plague to Max’s skin, melting it to his torso.

Suddenly, the doors behind them broke open, and an army of secret service agents ran into the room, before halting at the sight before them. Icon and Karie now began fusing, as a bright, immense yellow light consumed the room. The screams of Max, Icon, and Kaire being downed out the burning oblivion which now enveloped the room. All combelesing into a single, black hole, which grew into existence as Icon and Karie merged, which was adorned with a three pronged symbol, with a diamond in the middle.

Yelling spread throughout the room. The brightness was too thick to make out the world around them, and an obnoxious sound of wind fluttered throughout the room, drawing out all noise, as the black oblivion of the solution consumed all.

Karie’s laughter was drowned by the flowing air, and her body disappeared beneath the yellow glow of the solver’s flair.

Max’s legs turned to cubes, before being stretched into the Solver’s stomach. Max gulped, before his grab was exhausted, his body falling into the Solver yellow, consuming, black hole, his being was ripped to atoms, assimilated Max into a new entity.

Max, Icon, and Karie, were not alive, nor dead. They were now pieces, or files, within an all-powerful, Absolute Solver fabric.

Act 2: The recovery.

The helicopter's blades spin with a passion, as it drives determinedly on its path. Behind it followed 6 other helicopters, filled to the brim with armed agents and soldiers. But in the front helicopter there was Hans Bonin, and Cleo. Hans had been working with Refonic for some time, yet this was a job he never had to take on before, one far more personal. Containment breaches were not a new job for Hans Bonin, as his team, yet never had it taken them this far from region headquarters, nor was it ever this personal for the top scientist. Icon, the mother of all internecion AI, had been stolen by a low life teen, and all attempts to collect him met with disaster. Cleo, a top scientist for Refinic’s internecion ai program, and the head of internal containment, nearly recaptured the AI when this Teen, who sources said was named “Max”, ran a fowl of two thieves, who briefly stole Icon. Max then turned on his phone for a time long enough for the Feds to trace it, and Max was converged upon by an army of agents. Yet, Cleo allowed Max to slip through her hands, as she mistook Crow and his pet for the true thief, and so Max slipped away.

But for all this concerned others, it did not concern Hans as it did who Max was talking to. When they traced his phone call, they found it was none other than Hans Bonin’s own daughter, Karie, who had coordinated his escape. When Hans learned about this, he immediately returned home to confront his daughter, yet found she was nowhere to be found, leaving nothing but her guilt.

Karie’s treachery had shaken his men’s confidence in Hans to the core, and though Hans did not see it, he could feel the eyes of his fellow staff, and his agents, peering into his back with suspicion whenever he looked away.

Now his men seemed to be taking orders from his subordinate, Cleo, more definitively then they did with him, even though Cleo had a level of controversy that Hans always kept in his conscience. In Times past, Cleo used to advocate for use of solver-mixtures, where they would burn a piece of Icon Ai with a dissociated strain, then use the burned fusion as a more powerful product to experiment on. Cleo’s words once made her the head of research for Solver activities, yet the sheer unpredictable nature of Solver-AI eventually forced Refinoc to shut down the program, demoting Cleo to a scientist within the Icon program, and the head of internal containment.

Even then Cleo was not always successful in her job, as an Icon ai escaped during the Refonic biowaste incident, nor when Max infiltrated and stole Icon, and not even when she captured Crow did she have anything to show for it.

Hans took a deep breath. There was no use in blaming poor Cleo for these, for this was a new piece of technology, and how was she supposed to know that steel, concrete, lead, and more, wouldn't be enough to hold it in place? Plus, Cleo was always a friendly face to Hans, always kind, always putting her back into her work, always there. And for 20 years of working for Refinoc, only 2 brakes of containment seems remarkably decent, given the nature of the AI they are working with. And given how eager Cleo seemed to help recapture Icon, and listen to Hans’s advice, Hans rested assured that if the agents around him trusted Cleo, then they would still listen to him, for he could still trust Cleo. Refinoc could fire him for all Hans cared for, so long as Karie was safe, then all was ok.

“Max opened his phone again,” Yelled Cleo, barely being heard over the helicopter. “He’s in Carver’s warehouse, just a mile away from our last coordinates!”

Max regularly powered his phone off, which made it hard for Hans to track them. Yet, for a brief moment, Max turned his phone on, which allowed them to track his phone once again.

“Fantastic!” Hans asserted. “Land there and surround the building, you and I will head inside with half of our team.”

Hans looked out the half open helicopter door. Cleo turned, and picked up a grey, metallic, industrial looking suitcase lying professionally by a seat. Both Icon, and any of its spawn, had potential to spread if not properly contained, and while there was only a small possibility of that happening, it was best obtained in a secure holder anyway.

“We don’t have much time,” Hans said, as he saw the warehouse approach on the horizon.

The helicopters landed with a thud, and outside came a swarm of agents and security personnel, all armed with guns and basic armor. The first 3 helicopters surrounded the building, before landing and spreading out their ranks of soldiers. The final 3, and the helicopter Hans was in, landed on the road and a patch of open ground in front of the warehouse itself.

““Attention, we have the building completely surrounded. We all know how this is going to end,” said an agent, on a loud, overarching speaker. “Place your hands above your head and walk out slowly!”

The aircrafts offloaded their personnel, who soon made their way to the doors. On a count of 3, the doors were broken down, and the squad moved into the building, weapons drawn. Cleo and Hans entered behind them, with Hans moving at a faster, determined pace.

Outside the warehouse the scene was quiet, and inactive. Yet inside the warehouse it was another world. The team heard an ever growing sound of wind, and the echo of yells and lemants vibrating down the halls.

“Max, do something!” The voice echoed.

“I’m sorry Icon!” Another voice answered.

The team pressed forward to the source of the noise.

“Just remember to take them alive!” Hans asserted pitifully.

Through the rooms and endless junk, and down the hallways, the squad cleared the way until they reached a final set of doors. The windows of these doors were foggy, yet a slight yellow glow illuminated through this glass. Upon breaking them, the squad entered a lively and disturbed setting.

“Freeze! Put your,” an agent roared with decreasing momentum “Hands…” 

The agent became dead silent, as the agents around him stood in awe, blank in fear.

Behind the agents first came Hans Bonin, running in with the crowd of agents. And finally, Dr. Cleo marched in slowly and cautiously, behind the mass of agents, her hands behind her back.

The room was tinted with an ever growing yellow light, and the complexions of 3 beings made themselves clear to Hans and his team. The three figures formed a line away from the door, and between the farthest two beings were separated by an ominous, black disk, outlined with yellow, with a 3-pronged symbol in the middle.

“Oh no…” Hans thought. “We're too late.”

Before Hans was first Max, binded to the floor by a large, metal hand. His finger’s scratch the floor in an attempt to escape its grasp, with his legs being folded, turned to cubes, and finally stretched outward like a cubed and soft clay. His screams were agony to the team.

Behind Max was a shorter figure, Icon. Its body was metallic and white, with purple hair, and large, worm-like arms, stitching out wildly, with one grabbing Max’s torso. The being was stretched horribly, as it was pulled into a central mass, its entire body was either consumed by cubes, or strung into the black hole’s mass.

Behind Icon was another figure, almost overshadowed by the growing yellow light. Hans squinted his eyes, and he saw Karie, nearly consumed by the mass.

“Karie, no!” Hans yelled, reaching for the light.

An agent ran up behind him, and grabbed Hans from behind.

“Doctor! I can’t let you pass," said the agent. “You’ll be dissolved!”

“Let me go,” exclaimed Hans. “That’s my daughter! I won’t let it consume her!”

“You’ll die, doctor,” quipped the agent.

“I don’t care,” blurted Hans. “I outrank you, get off me!”

“Keep hold of him.” Said Cleo, walking up to the mass. “Remember that the government ordered you all to seek our protection.” 

“Dammit!” Said Hans. “I outrank her! Let me go!”

“But not the government, " said the agent, forcing Mr. Bonin down.

Hans began crying, as he was restrained.

Back at Icon, Max’s skin glinted with cubes and burns. He began to scream, as Icon’s assimilation began. His echoing pleas finished, with a burning light, which assimilated his being into Icon’s database. His final visage turned to black, as it disintegrated into Icon’s hand.

“Karie, please!” Hans yelled. The rest of the agents stood back in awe.

Icon fell to her knees, as the black hole’s pull was too great to resist. Karie, meanwhile, began laughing. As her being was turned gradually into pieces. Pulled into the solving mixture of the dissociated strain, and Icon.

The yellow glow of the black hole burned to a climax, as Icon and Karie moved closer. Icon slumped, accelerating into the black hole, accepting defeat, as Karie’s laughter grew to a peak. Just then, the immense light became blinding, and the sound of wind grew ear shattering, drowning out Karies’s laughter. As both Karie and Icon disappeared into the light’s burning visage. Replaced by the distinct yellow glow of the solution’s symbol.

Suddenly, the light retreated in a heartbeat, and Karie and Icon were nowhere to be seen. Before the startled federal agents, there was a small, steaming pile of flesh, and sitting atop it was a soft, cube-like shape, with the message “Null” slapped onto most of its sides, and a strange symbol, of a pentagon encircled by a 3 sided star, with arrows pointing off the arrow’s end, sitting on the top side. It was as quiet as a dying fire.

The agent let go of Hans, whereupon Hans ran up to the black and yellow cube.

“Karie,” Hans lamented. “My little girl, my angel…”

Hans crumbled his hands into fists.

“You were all I had left,” Hans whimpered. “You can’t leave me like this.”

 “I’m sorry for you, sir” suggested the agent. “But please, back away, it’s still dissolving, and best you don’t stand too close.”

Hans began sobbing.

“You know, Doctor, there is still another way…” Said Cleo.

The agent backed away, and Hans looked at Cleo.

“When Icon mixes with a dissociated strain, they will begin dissolving, it is true. Yet, before they dissolve, they’ll merge into a new AI, which, of course, dissolves without assistance. If we give it fuel, we will delay the dissolving process. The solution hasn’t fully dissolved yet, and we could fuel it, bring it back to HQ, and give it some research,” Cleo suggested. “We could find a way to break Karie back out of the solution, not all hope is lost.”

Hans stared downwards, yet his tear-soaked eyes looked to Cleo.

“But it’s never been done,” questioned Hans.

“True, we haven’t been able to do it with tests on small samples of Icon AI,” Said Cleo. “Yet this isn’t just a small sample, your daughter burned the Icon, mother of all the Icon AI, we’ve never had a sample this large before. If it is possible, this is our one time to research it.”

Hans looked at Cleo with suspicion.

“Hans, I’ve been at your side this entire time,” said Cleo. “I knew your daughter, I know how much you love her, I’ve never gone against you. Please, do this.”

“At my side?” Hans snorted, and buried his head. “You were in charge of security, yet you let it escape, and kill her!”

Cleo retracted her hand.

“You let Max steal it! It fell through your fingers every step of the way! And now you stop me from just trying to save her,” Hans asserted.  “It’s almost like you planned for her to die!”

“I…” Cleo breathed, taken aback. “Guards, leave us.”

The agents around them looked at each other.

“You heard me,” Cleo said. “We got this.”

The agents left with reluctance. Cleo looked at Hans with a sprite in her eyes.

“I did that for her, Hans,” Said Cleo. “Remember back to the Biowaste incident? Well I knew she got assimilated on that day, and I knew we couldn’t release her…”

Hans peered at her with suspicion.

“Yet,” Karie continued. “I forged those papers saying she was able to be released.”

“Why?” Hans demanded, after a short silence. “If we knew then maybe we could’ve helped her!”

“Helped?” Cloe exclaimed. “No, killed.”

Cleo looked at the burning mass on the floor.

“If I told the truth, Refonic would’ve killed her.” Cleo said, unemotionally. “Refonic is a Federal corporation afterall, and we know the government would have silenced her, or worse, locked her away to be an experiment. Instead, I gave ten long years of beautiful life to this sweet, innocent child.” 

“You did that for her?” Said Hans.

“Yes.” Cleo said quickly. “And I can do it again, all you need to do is order them to recover this being, and she will live.”

Hans paused, and looked forward to the burning mass in front of him.

“Go ahead,” Hans said. “But God be good, if you fail, you will be sorry.”

“Wise choice, and you don’t have to worry, the Solution is in good hands.” Cleo said. “Now, I know you must have a great deal on your hands, go rest, I’ll handle this.”

Cleo Opened her suitcase, and pulled out a pair of metal thongs. Hans turned, and begrudgingly headed for the door. Cleo waited, until the door behind her shut with a loud thud.

“Now,” Said Cleo. “My little experiment.”

Cleo moved in closer to the solvent.

“Well Karie, you got your demons, but didn’t get the devil,” Cleo gloated. “You played your part well, you got your vengeance, and now I have the tool to make mankind into Gods.” 

Cleo grabbed the solution with the metal extenders, and raised it to her eye.

“I don’t know if you’re in there anymore, but I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Cleo toyed. “Either way, I know there's at least one being in this solution.”

Cleo smiled, and removed the solution from her eye, gazing upon it majestically.

“Oh, my little solution,” Cleo whispered. “You are small now, just as your reactant was. But much like her, you will grow.”

Karie put the solution within the suitcase, and inside a convenient space, surrounded by material.

“Karie might’ve thought you would just  solve Icon, and I suppose that’s true. But you will solve far more than one AI” Cleo gloated silently. “It might not happen in my life, or maybe in a thousand years, but one day you will prove to be an absolute solver of the flaws of mankind.”

Cleo let out a slight chuckle, as she put the solver firmly into the suitcase. Fixing herself, she walked to the door, with her suitcase, like rope being brought to a gallows.

One way or another, Cleo knew her invention would make mankind see the glory of Gods.

[pavlovianfuckery]

maybe i am as think as you drunk i am, actually

AO3

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

A/N: Someone else is kind of half to blame for this, so I hope you're happy now, clearly I should never be encouraged about anything ever

Also I put more than one reference to one of my favorite poems in here, anyone that spots them gets a cookie

Summary: This is tooth-rotting garbage, but you're all welcome to get in the dumpster with me, c'mon pspspsps

Pairing: Blaine DeBeers/F!Reader

Notes: Fluff (sort of?), light scent kink I guess??? wine being tragically wasted

Length: 2.1k

You doubt that you're ever going to like this house. It's too big and too empty somehow, making it feel more like a showroom than a home where someone would actually live. But right now, lounging alone in the huge bed, you might be starting to slowly warm up to it. Looking out the unnecessarily big windows the view isn't anything special, but when it's this late and you're this happy, the lights of the city look almost pretty. Being somewhat tipsy probably helps a bit, though. Perhaps even more than a bit, but you're not quite drunk, not yet. Besides, he's not that far behind, a bit more loose-limbed and relaxed than usual, though that might mostly be because of the sex. Either way everything just feels genuinely good right now, in a way you can't remember feeling in a long time.

Eventually the quiet sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. You can't honestly say that you're much of a fan of the robe either. Wanting to be cozy is something you can respect but it's ostentatious to an almost comical degree, not that you'd ever volunteer your thoughts on it. The one thing that's currently serving to improve your opinion on it is the fact that he's got absolutely nothing on underneath, and with the way it's haphazardly tied only half-closed, there's plenty to look at.

"God, you're like a fucking work of art," you groan, not caring if it sounds stupidly over the top. Not having to guard your heart quite so closely anymore means you can just enjoy this to the fullest for as long as it lasts, and you plan to do exactly that. "I'm starting to understand how that guy that wanted to eat the Mona Lisa felt, I think."

"Wow, not sure if I should be flattered or concerned, here." That was probably not what he was expecting you to say, and he shakes his head with a short laugh. "You know, if you want to pay me a compliment you can just do that, right? You don't have to make things up."

"I'm not!"

"Sure you're not." He scrunches his nose at you as the reluctant smile tugging at his lips finally reaches his eyes, and for a second it almost makes him look boyish. Oh, you are definitely in trouble. "Quest for libations was successful, by the way." Hoisting a freshly opened bottle, he gives it a little waggle in your direction.

"About time." You reach over and grab your empty glass off the nightstand, holding it out expectantly. "Gimme."

"You're awfully demanding tonight," he scoffs, refilling first your glass and then his own, before pointedly putting the bottle down on the nightstand on his side of the bed, out of your reach. "Watch it, or I might start thinking about cutting you off."

"You'd separate an innocent woman from her wine? Maybe you really are a monster." Even though you've already had him once tonight, you can't deny the effect that watching him carelessly shrug the robe off has on you. Everything about him is so damn touchable, you're not sure if you can ever get enough.

"Hardly innocent, doll." He quirks a brow at you before reaching for his own glass. Watching the way his throat moves as he swallows has your own mouth going dry. Maybe at some point you'll grow tired of this, of him, but it clearly isn't going to happen any time soon. The way he stretches out on the bed is completely shameless, but in the end it's how comfortable he looks that really gets to you, making your heart grow soft until it feels like a piece of taffy sticking to the inside of your ribs. "And I'm pretty sure it's actually my wine, so…"

Taking a few sips from your glass, you simply watch him for a few seconds, letting your gaze slide over his body. If he minds the staring he doesn't say so, but right now you'd like to do more than just look. Putting the glass down within easy reach, you lay down on your side next to him, scooting in close.

"I meant it, though." You can't quite resist leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. It's barely more than a peck, but the way he leans into it still has your belly filling with honest-to-god butterflies. Who knew that letting yourself just be a bit in love would turn you into basically a teenager again?

"Meant what?" His wine-sweetened breath ghosts over your lips and this close, his eyes are very blue. It's infuriating how even his eyelashes are pretty.

"That you're beautiful." Gently cupping his chin in your hand you lean in for another kiss, stroking the top of his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. His mouth is soft and yielding at first, but then you can feel his lips pull into a smile against yours.

"You're a sappy drunk."

"You really think so?" You pull back, reaching over and grabbing your glass, taking a sip before slowly sliding your free hand down his body. Over the curve of his shoulder, down to his waist and over his stomach. "You're just so damn pretty, I can't help myself." The shape of his hip bone fits against your hand so perfectly that if you were a bit more conceited, you'd think that he was made specifically for you. "Besides, it's your own fault for making me fall in love with you, you know."

"So we're shifting blame now? Funny, I was kind of under the impression that you were a grown woman capable of taking responsibility for her own actions, are you saying that's not true?" Blinking innocently at you, he knows exactly how to get under your skin. His tone is playful but your brain is too busy catching and stuttering on the 'we' to really appreciate how fully in his element he is when he's teasing you. "Should I be putting my clothes back on?"

"Absolutely not." When he opens his mouth to respond with something undoubtedly clever, you press a finger to his lips. "Shut." You hadn't really expected it to work, so when he nips at your finger with his teeth it doesn't come as much of a surprise. Pulling back, you shake your head at him, feigning disappointment. "You're terrible."

"And you love it." He looks incredibly pleased with himself as he stretches out on his back, tucking one hand behind his head.

"Maybe I do. Shame about that mouth, though." It's something of a balancing act to lean in and trail kisses down the side of his neck without spilling everywhere but you manage, if only just. It's gets a bit easier when he tilts his head to give you better access. As you gently suck at the spot right where his jaw meets his neck, he lets out a contented little sigh. "You smell really good, maybe I should eat you. At least that might shut you up for a change." Grinning against his skin you carefully drag your teeth over the same spot, making his eyes slide shut.

You're not sure what exactly possesses you to move lower, dropping kisses across his chest and then down his side. It probably should feel a bit repulsive and it might have been if you'd been sober, but the wine isn't entirely to blame as you nuzzle his armpit. The soft hairs there tickle your nose as you pull his scent deep into your lungs, and you hadn't even been lying, because he does smell good. Really good, even.

There's a hint of clean sweat and the lingering traces of whatever body wash he uses mixed with the smooth, peppery scent of some no doubt expensive deodorant. Together with something your hind-brain simply interprets as male it makes a heady cocktail, igniting a gentle heat low in your belly that has you humming happily, not caring about how silly you must look.

"Do you need a moment, or…?"

Popping your head up, you can't keep from giggling at the look on his face, raised brows and all.

"I don't know, maybe?" You press a lingering kiss to the impossibly soft inside of his arm before diving back in for another sniff, just because you can.

"Alright, definitely cutting you off." Rolling his eyes he reaches for your glass, all but trying to snatch it out of your hand, "hand it over."

"Now you're just being mean." You pout, doing your best to hold it out of his reach, "let me at least finish my drink, you brute." When bargaining fails to work and you nip at his side in what is basically self-defense he twitches away with a shivery little gasp, making you both freeze, but for entirely different reasons. "Hold on, are you ticklish here?"

"…No." It's not terribly convincing, so either he's not trying very hard to be or he's simply not that good of a liar, at least not all the time. You feel positively fiendish as you bat your eyelashes at him.

"What about…here?" Moving a fraction higher you do it again, and this time you're rewarded with something that's very nearly a laugh. As he reflexively bats at you the glass gets knocked, wine sloshing messily over the rim and down his side, staining the bedding with dark splotches. "Fuck, sorry." Without thinking you lean in and lap at the stray drips, the salty taste of his skin mixing pleasantly with the wine. As you suck the last drops up, he lays back in the expensive sheets with a low pleased noise.

"I can get new ones."

"Yeah?" This might be more fun than finding out if he's ticklish or not, actually. Carefully tilting the glass, you pour some more out and watch the way it runs in rivulets across his chest, gathering in the hollow of his throat.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm finishing my drink." Which technically isn't even a lie. "Just be still."

He actually stays mostly still as you follow the trail of the wine with your mouth, but dipping your tongue into the shallow well you created quickly turns it into an exercise in self-restraint. There's no polite way to go about it and as you messily suck at the thin, sensitive skin there, the breathy little noises he makes sound almost like music to your ears. It's impossible to get all of it but you try anyway, perhaps a bit harder than you need to, but eventually you're satisfied.

The glass isn't empty yet, though. Swirling it around, it looks like you have maybe a third left, possibly a bit less. Would be a shame to waste it.

This time it runs in a different direction, most of it trickling along the line of his collarbone. It's so precariously gathered there and very nearly spilling, forcing you to be careful as you sip at it. The way he's clearly struggling to stay still but trying to anyway is very nearly sweet, and you almost feel bad for making a bit of a mess. Almost.

There's not much left now, and the very last of it you pour lower. Some of it drips off to the side and down, but you've basically written the bedding off as a lost cause anyway. The rest runs down the soft plane of his stomach before mostly gathering in his navel. Reaching over to the nightstand, you put the now empty glass down.

It's surprisingly difficult not to rush as you move down his body, but you try. Cleaning the drips up first you steadily work your way inwards. Dipping your tongue into the last of it, you thoroughly enjoy the way his breath speeds up and goes a bit more uneven. The feeling of his cock stirring and brushing against you is very distracting, but you still take your time. The fact that you're both going to need a shower after this is no excuse to do a bad job, after all. When you've gotten him as cleaned up as well as it's going to get, you move lower still.

There's a stray drop of wine caught at the edge of the pale patch of stubble there and after making sure that he's watching you lap it up, slowly and deliberately, the short hairs rough and almost catching on your tongue.

"Are you going to ask what I'm doing again?" As you look up at him through lowered lashes, his cock is heavy and smooth and entirely lovely against your cheek.

"No, I think I've mostly got it." His voice is already turning a bit rough around the edges, eyes going heavy-lidded.

"Good."

You haven't found a way of effectively shutting him up yet, but that's no reason to stop trying. So you try.

⁂

If you liked this (semi) spicy snack even a little, please consider supporting your local smut-slinger and hitting the reblog button on the way out, perhaps even drop a comment if you're feeling generous, it really helps with the motivation side of things a lot!

The Master-masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

[tuhhadkeryo]

Hacker’s real motivation

- This is 100% speculation and me attempting to add depth to a kids show villain with the only motivation of ‘gimme power cuz I’m evil nom nom nom’.

- As mentioned, I must add a touch of realism to most anything I do so I’m going to talk about Hacker’s quest for power. Where should I start? Yes, his original purpose.

- It’s mentioned that Dr.Marbles created Hacker as an assistant. The time and how he was created are very mixed in the show, with the oldest iterations showing him to be just as he is at the start - big and with a cape and evil attitude. The later in the show it gets, the younger and less intimidating he gets.

- My personal headcanons are as such - Dr. Marbles attempted to make a full grown assistant with the capability to protect, assist, and eventually take over cyberspace once Marbles became too old and Motherboard grew outdated/too old. The traits programmed were: high intelligence, leadership, confidence, independence, and strength.

- However, his prototype was just too complicated to get off the table.

- He went younger and younger with a simpler start (putting in an adapting matrix with these base capabilities), fighting to complete this new life until finally, at age 7-10, it would start up. And his name was Hieronymous Adrian Hacker.

- Hacker was just that - new life. A new prototype. Installed with many skills and some very complicated components needed for a future ruler, which is why it was so difficult to perfect.

- With new life comes unexpected surprises. Hacker, even at a young age, was all of those things, but with time became nervous and people-pleasing under Dr. Marbles’s admittedly harsh training and leadership. Hacker still needed a parental figure, but Dr. Marbles wasn’t aware and Motherboard could never be a normal mother to him. (Subconsciously I believe. I don’t think either party is really aware.)

- Under unfortunately neglectful parents (not purposely but Hacker always did need extra attention), Hacker learned negative coping habits and slowly became sullen and angry. These capabilities programmed in him made it against his programming to take commands properly, and respect others - or at least when his ego got too big.

- He felt taken advantage of; his ideas were put into use with little credit going his way. He was always the wrong one, always the one who needed to keep learning. Dr. Marbles was arrogant and the harder Hacker pushed for faith to be put into him, the harder the doctor pushed back.

- Hacker, in response to now near-constant disapproval, tried to bounce back the only way he knew how; by puffing himself up instead. He learned deflection, denial, and a host of other unhealthy habits. He figured if he was the only one to believe in himself that’s all he would need.

- With the disapproval, Hacker completely lost respect for others. He got a mindset that everybody was out to get him - it was a bloated image, but it fueled other behaviors such as a touch of sadism.

- He decided that if nobody would take him seriously, he would force them to. He wanted to make everybody who’d denied him his ‘right’ (controlling cyberspace) pay.

- So he started a career of villainy. Using the ins and the outs of the system he knew so well to cause chaos. He built up the fear, and through fear, respect. Whether others ‘liked’ him or not was not a priority. (At least he told himself that until he believed it.)

- Hacker’s plan is to take over cyberspace. Cause misery, show the site admins, cyber citizens, and anyone else who stepped in his path how useless, pathetic, and helpless they were. This would last for two years, or perhaps longer, if he felt like it.

- Then, when all hope was lost and they begged for their lives, he would restore cyberspace’s greatness. The peace. Whatever broken code there was, he would fix. He would use his special knowledge to so perfectly improve the system that no one could anymore deny his superiority and greatness.

- Hacker has never told anyone this plan. His sense of drama and revenge wants everyone to be clueless.

- In short, Hacker has a God or Hero complex. He wants to be feared, hated, loved, acknowledged. Somehow all at once. This makes it make sense for me at least.

[erabu-san]

HELLO. I hear you like Cylou/Cynilou. GIMME YO HEADCANONS XD

But for real though what are some hcs you have for them? 👀 I'm on a them kick rn lol

Also I've never done an ask on Tumblr before so I hope I did it right sjdhsjsh

ZDAJZDAZD Don't worry anon you are doing it right !! I don't have a lot of HC, it more works on brainrot...

I already talked about how I imagine the first confession

Cyno doesn't miss any Nilou's spectacle. He always paid the ticket so he support financially the theatre (Nilou or Dehya give him free tickets tho)

At first, Nilou was a bit wary of Cyno, but after the Archon Quest, she understands him more and enjoy to discover new thing about him ! At the point sometime she thinks he is kind of cute

Dehya : so what do you think abt cyno Nilou : He- he is adorable. Dehya : BAHAHAHA THE GENERAL MAHAMATRA, ADORABLE ? This guy sure is cute but bahaha the way you said sound like you have a crush on him haha Nilou : *blush* Dehya : ... ohwaitwhat ???tell us more omg??????

In one of their hang-out date, Cyno starting to ramble about his special interest aka TCG... then he suddenly stopped, a bit embarassed "huh... maybe it doesn't interest you- we can talk about something else-" (usually he doesn't mind but he is concious abt what he say now when he is alone with nilou). But Nilou was listening to him, carefully, with a genuine and warm smile "please keep going ! I love seeing you being happy"

Before some repetition, Nilou would start to become nervous. Cyno would rassure her, by telling something like "Believe in you. You know you are capable, it is not the first time. Show us how much you love dancing. You can do it" (I JUST LOVE THEM SUPPORTING EACH OTHER !!!)

No one would expected the general mahamatra and the famous dancer dating. Except their close friend who witnessing a slow-burn love. When they finally make out, everyone is like "omg finally"

they r two adults but still damm embarassed to hold hand in public.

Cyno's love language is gift and act of service, Nilou's love language is word of affirmation and quality time (still unsure about this HC tho !)

[mumms-the-word]

A Room in Redcliffe

Part 1

Characters: Warden Alistair x Warden Amell (Lucy) Summary: It's 9:42 Dragon and Lucy Amell has finally returned from her quest out west to search for a cure to the Calling. In the last letter she wrote to her husband, Alistair, she asked him to meet her at Redcliffe at the start of summer. She's just arrived to get a room in Redcliffe for the two of them...and hope that he shows up. A/N: A (late-posted) gift for the AWESOME AND TALENTED @elspethdekarios! Glad you've joined me in my DA obsession and that you love Alistair as much as I do! This fic is a continuation of sorts of these Love Letters. Part 2 is here!

“One room, please,” Lucy said, placing a few coins on the tavern bar. “For three nights, if possible.”

“Aye, it’s possible,” the innkeeper said, scooping the coins into his hand. “Just gimme a moment, these old eyes, you know…”

He began to sift through the coins in his palm, counting them out. As he counted, Lucy let her eyes trail over the room, slowly taking in the guests, the furniture, the space. It had been some time since she last set foot in this old tavern. So much had changed since then.

The old Gull and Lantern. She had barely noticed the name or the sign the first time she’d walked in, all those years ago. Too busy trying to prepare the village for a horde of undead to notice things like tavern signs, and then too busy arguing with the owner at the time to ask him the name of the place. She’d been certain that the tavern would be destroyed by dawn, no matter how well they fought the shambling corpses. Names hadn’t mattered at the time.

But it was a hardy old building. It had made it through the attack of undead and the Fifth Blight, as well as every conflict that had cropped up since then—including the drama of the last year, all of which she had missed entirely. Mages versus Templars, holes in the sky, mage refugees in the village, Venatori plots, and who knew what else. And that was just in Redcliffe. It was strange to hear about it all secondhand.

She wondered what that greedy old bastard of an innkeeper would think, knowing his humble tavern had made it through the end of the world two or three times over? Thanks in part to the woman who’d come in threatening him to get him to defend the village, plus a dozen other heroes he’d never met in the years following.

Thankfully this new innkeeper was not that man. She didn’t recognize him in the slightest, thank the Maker, which meant he hadn’t the faintest idea who she was either. Even so, she kept her cloak hood up. Better to stay unnoticed for now.

He sniffed loudly and pocketed the coins. “Looks to be in order, ma’am. Now ye said three nights? Got a room just down the hall there, and then another in the back. Which would ye like?”

“Is the first upstairs room available? The first one on the left. If so, I’d prefer that one.” She allowed herself a small smile. “I think it has a better view.”

The innkeeper scratched his stubbled cheek and shrugged. “Does it? I never much noticed the view meself. Let me check the keys, one moment.”

As he moved off to sift through the keys in an old cabinet behind the bar, she looked around the room again. It was a little strange coming back to find it so unchanged and yet so different. The bar looked as greasy as ever, but the dining area was bigger. They had more rooms now, but it sounded like her usual room had been left alone. Not that the room was anything special. The “view” was little more than the branches of some hardy old tree too stubborn to let Blights or Breaches bring it down. But then, they’d never selected it for the view.

It felt wrong, now, to rent the room alone.

“Yer in luck,” the innkeeper said, placing a key on the counter. “Looks like that room is available for the takin’. But I’ll cost ye extra. For the view, o’ course.”

She snorted softly, but produced another few silvers. “Of course.” She could haggle, she knew that, but she had coin to spare and…well if a few extra silvers would pay for privacy…

“Thank ye kindly,” the innkeeper said, gathering up the coins. As he did so, hunching a bit over the bar, he glanced up at her, eyes searching beneath her hood. Before she could pull her hood further over her face, his face shifted to an expression of shock. “Hey, ain’t you—”

“Nobody important, I promise,” she said. She picked up the key from the counter and shouldered her bag. “Have a good evening.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she made her way up the stairs to the second floor. Though it had been a few years, she could find her way to the room they always rented even if she were blindfolded. There were so many good memories here. Now, those memories jostled for attention as she fit the key in the lock and turned the bolt, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Just as she remembered it…give or take some new furniture and a new quilt on the bed. She took a deep breath as she closed the door behind her and set her bag down by the bed.

“Welcome home, Luce,” she whispered to herself. “Now we wait.”

Wait. With nothing but her memories to keep her company.

———

Dawn streamed in through the open windows, spilling hazy golden light over a pair of bodies half-tangled in the sheets on the bed. They’d pulled the newly-painted shutters wide open hours before to let in the night breeze, hoping for some relief from the heat of the summer’s day, something to cool the sweat that slicked their skin from a night of impassioned lovemaking.

Lovemaking. Lucy smiled into Alistair’s shoulder as the dreamy, waking thought came to mind. There truly was no better word for it, was there? Not when it was her and him, her Alistair, her would-be husband.

She breathed deeply of his scent, unwilling to open her eyes just yet. Just days ago, the pair of them had smelled little better than road dust, blackened darkspawn blood, metal, and acrid smoke. Now he smelled faintly of his natural musk and the soap they had used last night in their shared bath. Something earthy and lightly floral. It suited him. She had half a mind to purchase a few bars of the soap from whoever made it locally here in Redcliffe.

Hopefully they’d survived the darkspawn. Or the undead.

The room continued to brighten as the sun rose slowly, waiting for no one, a brand new day in a nation that had the two of them to thank for it surviving the Fifth Blight. As the light grew too bright to ignore, Lucy gave up on dozing and stretched, careful not to wake her sleeping lover, and then lightly rested her hand on Alistair’s chest and her chin on top of her hand, watching him. Waiting for him to wake up.

He was so handsome, especially in this light. Tanned skin with a faint dusting of freckles on his nose, a gorgeous, expressive mouth that she loved to kiss. As he dozed, she tilted her head, admiring the brush of his lashes against his cheek and the fine mess his hair had turned into. She so rarely got to see him this vulnerable. He was usually awake before she was.

A flicker of his eyelids warned her that he might not be as deeply asleep as she thought. She bit her lip against a smile and reached up, lightly tracing a finger down the bridge of his nose to the tip. No reaction. She traced the curve of his lips next, fully expecting him to react with a kiss. But he “slept” on.

She brushed his cheek next, her touch trailing back to his ear. A soft pinch of his earlobe—she was certain she saw his expression shift—then a light touch along the shell of his ear, slowly, slowly, up to the slightly pointed, almost elfin tip—

He gave a dramatic shiver and, in a flash, grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Maker’s breath, woman, you don’t have to torture me like that,” he said, cracking one eye open to squint at her. “I’m awake!”

But he ruined any sulky irritation he was faking with the smile that threatened to take over his lips. She laughed, sitting up, her wrist still caught in his grip.

“Just checking.”

“Suuure,” he said, dragging the word out, the doubt in his tone obvious. But even so, he smiled at last, pulling her arm up and pressing a few kisses to the thin skin of her wrist. He kissed her palm, next, and finally laid her hand flat against his chest, over his heart.

“Good morning, my love,” he said softly, gazing up at her with such blatant adoration that it made her cheeks flush.

She giggled. “Good morning, my darling. Ready to start a brand new, Blight-free day?”

“Mmm, in a moment,” he murmured. He switched his hold on her, looping an arm around her waist, and pulled her on top of him. “I’m not done admiring my beautiful wife.”

“I’m not your wife yet, Alistair,” she reminded him, untangling their legs to straddle him. She sat up, shaking her dark hair back over her shoulders, and couldn’t resist a smirk as she saw his eyes trailing down the length of her body, lingering over her breasts especially. “But admire away, darling.”

He grinned, his hands smoothing up her sides, his touch already raising gooseflesh on her skin.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

———

Lucy sighed, eyes open and staring at the dark ceiling overhead. She turned to lay on her side, but that brought the empty side of the bed into view, and the rest of the empty room beyond. She rolled over to her other side, facing the wall instead. If she stared hard enough, long enough, she might be able to find images in the rough texture of the aged plaster. Maybe that would lull her to sleep.

It had yet to work.

Instead, she stared at the wall, thinking back on that first morning here in this room. How the world had seemed so simple in those days. The threat of a major evil had been eliminated. They were the heroes of the Fifth Blight. Nothing could possibly be worse than what they had already faced, surely.

She scoffed softly to herself. They’d been so young at the time. So naive. There had been no Calling ringing in their ears in those days. No ancient god-like darkspawn to contend with, not yet. The future had seemed so bright.

Twenty or thirty more years to live had seemed so long.

She sighed again, shifting to lay on her back again, her hand absently smoothing over the empty side of the bed. A cool breeze slipped through the crack between the shutters, which she had kept closed for tonight. Old travel habits died hard after more than ten years on the go. Ten years of attempting to avoid as much notice as possible, for safety, for privacy, for peace. Heroism wasn’t all it was cracked up to be—she had realized that long ago. Not when everyone wanted you to fix their problems.

Maybe she ought to open the shutters now. Now that there were other heroes that people wanted. Inquisitors and Champions and the like.

She mulled the thought over in her mind before dismissing it. Not tonight. Not while she slept alone. But tomorrow…

Her love would be by her side again tomorrow.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

That’s why she wouldn’t sleep. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. The thought kept her awake even when she knew sleep would bring the dawn faster than anything else. But still sleep wouldn’t come.

Because of course those darkest hours before the dawn played cruel tricks on her mind. Whispers of doubts. Dark visions. Her imagination ran wild with worry, if she didn’t keep it distracted. What should have been a night tossing and turning with anticipation and excitement was instead a slow crawl of hours filled with a churning dread.

What if he didn’t come?

She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled over again, grabbing one of the pillows. Stop thinking like that. She wrapped her arms tightly around the pillow, the way she would if he were here, if the pillow were her husband instead of a sack filled with downy feathers. Time for another distraction.

Memories. Back to that first rosy dawn in Redcliffe after the Blight. Back when she thought the two of them were invincible, and nothing would ever drive them apart.

———

“You know,” Alistair said, murmuring the words lazily into Lucy’s hair as they lay, spent, her body on top of his, the mid-morning sun warming the room around them. “If you think about it, we don’t have any orders. Nothing major to save. No big tasks to accomplish. For the first time, maybe ever, we can do whatever we please. At least for a little while.”

Lucy lifted her head from his chest, curious what he was getting at. “What do you mean?”

He half-shrugged his shoulders. “I mean that it will take weeks for word of the end of the Blight to reach Weisshaupt, and several weeks more for them to issue any orders to the two of us. Assuming they even know what to do with the two of us. I don’t see any need to jump into our next adventure immediately if you don’t.”

“Does that mean you want to stay here?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “In Redcliffe?”

He gave another shrug. “We could.”

“And get married here?” she asked, grinning like a giddy schoolgirl.

A slow smile stole over his lips as he skimmed his fingers up and down her back. “I’m sure Eamon wouldn’t mind hosting a small wedding, if we ask him. If here is where you want a ceremony, that is.”

She sat up, then, straddling him again, her excitement getting the better of her. Ideas were crowding in her mind now, dreamy visions of idyllic futures starring just the two of them, a whole variety of domestic adventures and adventurous domesticity. “And we could get a house?”

He laughed, his hands resting on her hips. “Is that what you want?” he asked, squeezing her curves affectionately. “A house in Redcliffe?”

“I want a house with you,” she said, taking both of his hands and lifting them over his head. She pressed them into the mattress beneath him, using his hands as leverage to keep herself upright. She let her hair fall like a curtain to one side, the ends brushing over his chest and shoulder. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Not if you ask it like that,” he murmured with a crooked smile. He lifted his head to try and snag a kiss from her lips but fell just a few inches short. He flopped back with a pout, making effective use of those big brown eyes she loved so much. The message was obvious.

She rolled her eyes fondly but leaned in and gave him a kiss. “Is that a yes?” she asked, pulling away but keeping his wrists pressed to the mattress. “To finding a house?”

He made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “It’s a maybe. Grey Wardens rarely stay in one place, you know.” He tilted his head to one side. “Are you sure you want to get a house you might not spend that much time in? I thought you liked to travel. After so long in that tower…”

“I do,” she said. “But I…I don’t know, I like the thought of having a house here, too. Somewhere that’s ours, where we’re free to come and go. Where we can hide from the world for a bit and just be ourselves. Does that make sense?”

“Why Redcliffe, though?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “Why not Amaranthine or some remote village to the east? Not that I’m advocating for any specific place or anything, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t know. Because here is…special?” At his dubious look, she sighed and let go of him, sitting up again.

“Look, maybe the whole idea is silly,” she said, her fingers absently drawing circles in his skin, over his chest. “And maybe it’s really impractical, but…you were raised here. This is your hometown. It’s not terribly far from my mother, if we travel by boat. It’s quiet here. Well, now it is, anyway. It just…seems like a pleasant place to settle down. Eventually. If you want.”

She could feel her cheeks burning to admit so much to him all at once, but at the same time, she didn’t care to take any of it back. Maybe it was too much to ask. Maybe he’d call her foolish. Maybe he’d dismiss the whole idea. But at least she had tried.

And a girl could dream, couldn’t she? She hadn’t had cause to craft little dreams like these in years. Even though mages could marry, weddings were rare in the Circle. Houses were impossible. Families…

Well…she would have to think about that later.

With his hands now free, he rested them on her thighs again, palms warm and slightly rough with callouses from years of wielding a sword and shield in training and in battle. She loved the feel of them on her skin, no matter where he put them.

“A place to settle down?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Eventually.”

A smile flickered on his lips. “I think I’d like that very much,” he murmured. He reached up with one hand and sank his fingers in her hair, his gaze softening on her face as he played with her dark waves, winding a lock of hair around his finger. “A home somewhere with you? It sounds perfect.”

He brought her down for another kiss, and she could taste the promise on his lips before he even uttered it.

“We’ll find our forever home one day soon. I promise.”

[crippling-pages]

Watched the two new Lego Friends episodes on YouTube today and...

EMOTIONS OUCH

anyways spoilers undercut as i cry and rant

For the Fright Night ep, honestly im glad that we got an episode with no Ley-La drama. It felt nice to have a break and just see the group have fun XD

also LIANN AND NOVAAAAAA HJMMMMM

"We're her friends!"

"*GASP* SHE SENT ME HEARTS~"

guys. guysguysguysguysGUYS they're lesbians <3

The ending was hilarious with Autumn XDD She's so cool omg and Olly actually fainting was smth i found myself finding funny lol

And for Olly's Quest for Fame... i feel like one things clear;

He definitely has some childhood trauma going on.

Him being sensitive about the hate comments, causing him to believe what they're saying about him, and doing what they say and getting and causing him to be more obsessed with everything.

I think he might've been bullied as a kid. I said this before but in this world if your a guy who's passion is clothing and fashion or something un-man like, you get called things (cough looking at you insta comments cough). I also feel like he might've not had as much money growing up; like his family was lower middle class at best, so that might be why Olly was so... controlling? Obsessive? About money and fame.

For his craving for fame, money, being recognized; him being bullied (troll comments), money (not having a lot growing up, his parents having trouble with money), and him wanting to be seen. He wants people to know what he's doing, that's he's doing something important something that people love and admire him for. Something I doubt he got as a child.

And for the way he's treating Paisley... it's obvious that he doesn't mean too. He never, ever, EVER will hurt Paisley on purpose, and we all know that. He's just blinded by the thought of finally being seen to realize that Paisley doesnt want to do any of it...

Another thing I was to talk about what he said; "My outfits are my identity!" That's not just something you just say, without any meaning. Designing outfits is his passion, one of the things he's loved all his life, and something thats always been there for him. And if what I said about his childhood is true, he's probably feeling very provoked and insecure about himself now, and he feels like he needs to be better.

Not saying this excuses how he's treating Paisley; Heck, I love love Paisley but she herself has to try and speak up to Olly but she's afraid she's going to lose him. And Olly thinks he's helping Paisley do what she loves, but he's gotten caught up in it with himself and now he can't see what's right in front of him.

On a different note; ZAC. This dude has come a long way from the first episode. He's literally AMAZING. His character development>>>>>>>>>>>> He's being such a good friend to Paisley, and they're friendship is so pure and kind <3 (but it better stay platonic, lego. gimme some friendship that stay friendships!!)

Also Aliya and Liann now know who Ley-La is!! I dunno if this is good or bad-

Olly's talk with Zac and then Aliya, I feel like this proves that he has something internal monsters to deal with but instead is projecting them onto the whole Ley-La thing.

But thats it. I NEEEEEEED Olly to apologize to Paisley and for him to see his mistakes; it better be REALLY good Lego, and it better be one of the BEST character arcs of all time.

thank you for listening to my ted talk.