#I even classify them into 'roads' and 'holes'

[littlelav107]

I don't think I've seen a more relatable post

no, i dont lose hyperfixations. theyre just moved to a different, slightly less used, shelf in my brain.

[blerb-f1]

"Lost" - Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Charles celebrates too hard and gets lost. More news at 6

Find more on my masterlist!

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“Sir?”

“Sir!”

“Wah?”

Charles awoke as he felt his shoulder getting ruffled, eyes dry and hurting. His throat was dry.

“Sir, please get up. This train is finished cleaning, you have to leave”

‘Train?’, he wondered in confusion. Hadn't he just been celebrating his win in Monaco? He took a look at the person shaking him. She was a train attendant, pretty looking he might add. Her uniform was not flattering the least. A light blue t-shirt with a dark blue vest thrown over it. Her accent was german. He attempted to get out of his seat but stumbled, bad leg control.

She supported his shoulder. 

“Where am I?”

“Far off from any kind of civilisation you'd normally travel to, based on that watch on your arm” the attended reported. “The middle of nowhere, in Germany.”

Charles held his head. “I don't remember getting on this train at all.”

She looked at him with a lifted eyebrow. “Well, you had all the necessary tickets for your journey. Must have gotten them from somewhere.”

Together they walked outside of the train. The train station was small, one white painted building. Only two tracks, lot's off trees.

“Have you got anywhere to go to?”

Charles looked at her, thinking. Fumbling around his pocket resulted in nothing, his phone and wallet were gone. Shit.

“Apparently not. Let's just get going. You can stay the night with me, I've got space.”

“Can't I just take this train back to where I'm from?” Charles asked her in desperation.

“Good Joke, truly. This train runs every two hours during the day. And then you'd have to take more trains, none of which usually run in the night as well. Also, I've had a long day of work. I'm really, really beat up.”

Charles sighed. ‘What did I just get myself into? The people saying to not mix uppers and downers were right…’

She led him to her Car, a little silver Hyundai. Throwing her backpack in and settling into the driver's seat, she sighed in relief. “Finally done.”

“Done?”

“I've got the weekend off. Your arrival kinda ruined it but we gotta take the things as they come. I'm Y/N L/N. You?”

“Charles Leclerc”

“That sounds French”

“Monegasque”

“What? I don't know that word”

“I'm from Monaco!”

She looked at him in surprise.  “Now you're pulling my leg. You got here from MONACO? You must have taken like 10+ trains!”

“Urgs, not so loud. My head hurts”

“God.” She groaned as she inserted the car key, starting the little engine. “Move your hand”

“Huh?”

“Either you move your hand or you loosen the handbrake. I can't get it with you spreading over there”

Charles quickly lifted his arms in the air. “Isn't it Electric?”

She just looked at him exasperated. “Do I look like I'm shitting money? I can't afford a car that new. Unless you'd wanna pay one Mr. Money Bag over there.”

“Oi, that's rude”

“You're from Monaco, don't y'all bath in money and champagne? Now, let's just get going.”

The car ride was silent with Charles looking out of the windows. This really was the countryside. Trees, fields, cows and horses. Lots of half-timbered houses.

After half an hour of journey, with them passing over roads he'd never even classify as those, considering the many holes and breaks they finally reached a large property. A large half timbered house with a similar looking barn and a long building houses garages presented itself to him. She parked the Hyundai in one of the Garages, the smaller one to be exact, and stepped outside.

Charles followed her as she unlocked the front door, revealing a house with small-ish rooms with low height walls painted weight. The most color each room spotted was oak- all the furniture and floor were oak. He had never been in a house like this before.

“Stair up, the left room is the bathroom. Soap's there, go shower. I'll put clean clothes and towels in front of the door for you.”

“Shower?” 

“Sorry …Charlie. You stink. Long journey and all”

“Ah, I'm so sorry! I'll go shower immediately!”

Charles stepped into the bathroom, throwing his clothes on the ground. The second they left his body he noticed the less than stellar stench of sweat, alcohol and weed stuck on them. The water hitting his skin felt heavenly, scrubbing off layers of grime and dirt he never thought could amass so quickly. The water was different, as well. It didn't smell of chlorine as much, more like iron instead. Nonetheless, only after the shower did he realize what a stinky guy he had become. The clothes laid in front of the door were oversized on him. Some red, used polo shirt and cargo pants with frayed edges awaited him. Downstairs in the Kitchen, Y/N had changed into casual wear, foot already served on the table. Charles settled into the chair, staring at the provided meal. “What, you’re not hungry?” she asked him, tauntingly. “I don’t know how to eat this” he had to state.

“Look”, she said. The table was covered in two plates, each having a solid kind of bun laid on it and a pot with sausages swimming around. She took her knife, cutting a slit into the Bun. “Take the Brötchen-”, she then grabbed a fork and fished out a sausage, putting it into the ‘Brötchen’, “then put the sausage in there. "That's it.”

“Nothing else?” Charles asked, pretty confused.

“Yeah, simple meal you know. "Nothing fancy.”

“Hm.”

They ate silently, with Charles being confused at how hard that Brötchen was. He slept in the living room that night. The house didn’t have blinds but there were no street lights to keep him awake. Instead pure silence, something he never encountered anywhere. It was almost blissful - until the sun woke him up at 6AM and the birds were singing really loudly. He heard a loud mechanical noise and a cupboard clinking, then Y/N appeared in the doorway, offering a mug. “Coffee.”

The cup of coffee was hot, very nice.

“We’ll go to the electronics store to get you a phone, so that you can get your stuff in order. I can’t get you onto a plane without documents.”

“Aight.”

“Are we there soon?”

“Sorry mate, nothing’s close by.”

Driving to the electronic store took over half an hour and as they finally arrived, no grand palace was awaiting him. It was a dinky old little store, the bottom floor housing washing machines, fridges and vacuums. The upstairs was mostly TVs and DVDs, the phones tucked into the corner. Charles approached the few iPhones they had there, playing around with them.

“Dude, pick something cheaper”

"Why?" I’d just buy something that lasts.”

Y/N looked at him in annoyance. “I don’t know when you’ll be able to pay me back. That stupid phone is like a third of my monthly income. I can’t afford that.”

“A third?”, he asked in shock.

“Yeah, train attendants don’t earn much. Tickets want to be cheap right? Also…” she added. “We gotta get you a limited plan. Since you don’t have an ID, I have to be the owner. We should get a monthly one so that i can cancel it later.”

He simply agreed, settling on one heck of a cheap phone.

“Finally.” he sighed, installing his social media apps and creating a new WhatsApp profile. Contact to the outside world could be established.

“I need to call my team.”

“Please do, i bet they’re worried sick”

Charles leaned against the door as Y/N settled inside, as he heard the familiar call beep. Then, a voice he hadn’t heard in a while returned from the speaker.

“Who’s there?”, asked his friend, Andrea Ferrari.

“It’s me, Charles!”

"Charles?!" Where the fuck have you been ? We were so worried about you!”

“So fun story, i apparently took multiple trains and am now somewhere randomly in Germany. And I lost my wallet along with my phone.”

“Somewhere in Germany and no identification… Can you rent a car?”

“No, since I obviously have no ID, right?”

"Ah, shit. How’d you get a phone?”

“A train attendant took me in and bought it, but she can’t really afford more than that.”

Andrea seemed to think for a moment. “What if we send her money and she drives you back?”

“That sounds like a moronic, stupid journey…”

Shortly afterwards, Y/N made large eyes as insane amounts of cash appeared on her bank account. She didn’t believe that Charles actually was rich, especially not that he was an F1 Driver. For Ferrari as well! The Michael Schumacher Ferrari! She was quick to convince however, as a paid vacation like that sounded like a nice idea. They headed to the car dealership which also rented cars.

“Hyundai, again?” Charles complained.

Y/N just stared at him. “I know a guy there, the only spot where they won’t scam you.”

She had picked a car that looked quite similar to hers, just a bit longer with more horsepower. “I don’t like driving big cars. Want some power for the Autobahn though.” Charles whined in Response:” Can’t I drive? Pretty please? I haven't driven a car in a while~”

“Do you currently have a physical license?”

“No”

“Then shut up. I'd lose my license if we were to get caught. My car takes me to work, no options without”

He wanted to pout in response but that had quickly become not an option. The drive was sheer madness. Y/N was running on hopes and energy drinks, pushing the little car to its limit. Charles was gripping every piece of interieur he physically could as she drove at max speed for every stretch she could. Google had estimated the journey to take 13 hours, she shaved off 2 of them. He made a note of never saying that women were the calmer drivers. Blasting loud techno music that turned into a monotonous drone combined with the engine screaming as German countryside flew past him, only interrupted by gas station breaks.

Sweet, sweet silence they proved to be. A heaven of calm, shoved tightly between what most likely was an out-of-body experience.

Then, silence, white doves and heavenly goodness stopped: the return of techno. Y/N throwing the Car around Italy’s shit roads, ignoring all laws of traffic ever created. One goal in Mind: Maranello.

With the crack of dawn and the first worker’s arriving to open the doors, they saw something they had never seen in their long career. A crazed car coming to a full stop, brakes glowing hot directly in front of them. Passenger side flung open and their golden treasure stepping out. Il Predestino had returned, he had risen from the dead. 

And was vomiting against a tree.

“Aren’t you F1 Drivers supposed to be tough or something?”

Charles tiredly leaned against said tree, face free of blood. “We’re tough but not tough like that. I can survive a long ass GP but not 11 hours of insanity”

The crazed driver laughed, her whole body shaking. She approached him, forcefully shaking his hand. “It was nice to get to know you, big boy. I want to go to sleep now, hit me up if you want to visit Germany again.” Y/N shoved a slip of paper between his tightly pressed fingers and walked off as an employee showed her the way. She was to stay somewhere close by as some NDAstuff needed to be handled now.

On the other side, more people were approaching. Charles' friends, the team and the media. Maybe Germany was actually a nice spot to vacation in. Without all the circus going on here. When was the winter break again?

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I pinky promise that i WILL continue this since i wrote it for my friend acexf1 over on YouTube. It's more set-up than anything rn. My other stuff is also getting continuations now!

[teaboot]

True facts about my home town that I think about sometimes:

Nobody knows how big it is or what the borders are. There is some general consensus on what buildings are inside the town and which buildings are outside the town, as well as which buildings are definitely a different town entirely, but there is no clear "You are now in" or "You are now leaving" type locations you can point to on a map.

Tangentially, there are people one or two towns over, less than a 45 minute drive away, who will regularly ask "where is that?" Or, "I've never heard of that place" when you mention the town by name.

There are so few people that it is technically classified as a Village.

For many years, our only gas station did not sell gas. Once it began selling gas, I remember that they had to patch up the giant hole in a nearby billboard and use it to declare, "We Have Gas!", which was hilarious.

The whole place is mostly just woods.

There is some disagreement among locals as to whether or not there are wolves in the area. That being said, I have absolutely seen wolves in the area.

There is a public transit system that passes through. That said, it only stops by three times a day, and there are no set stops, so you kind of just have to pick a spot on the side of the road and hope for the best. If you are already on board and want off, you have to ring the bell and tell the bus driver where to pull over, which they may or may not do depending on the driver, the weather, traffic conditions, and general vibes.

I had three neighbors and I didn't even see any of them until about fifteen years in. One property across the road was a farm where I never saw anyone outside, but cars and equipment would move places throughout the day.

There is a post office. The woman who operates it is generally regarded as either incompetent or genuinely malicious, as she will often send mail back where it came from  with the justification that she doesn't believe your address is real.

The nearest actual city, with schools and a library and a hospital, famously has absolute dog shit cell service to the point that it is locally famous for it.

My childhood home specifically had a reputation for being a bad traffic spot despite being along a strip of straight road with no turns, and we regularly had to patch up holes in the fence from cars going through it. Most notable was one crash that woke me up as a child on Christmas morning, which I received a lovely thank-you card for noticing after I fetched my parents to assist.

Another time when I was a kid I went outside to find a car with the rear wheels in the air, nose-first in a ditch. I was home alone, so I went inside to call 911 on the landline, where I was immediately put on hold.

Someone stole our church and kept it for several years before inexplicably bringing it back and leaving it behind town hall. Just lifted it off the foundation and trucked it away.

The whole place is just around 100 years old and if you go into the woods you can still find hundreds of humongous tree stumps with foot holds carved into them from when the first white people came in and started settling down.

Apparently an entire family was axe murdered here in like the 80's and nobody talks about it

[yuurei20]

Hi YuuRei! How are you?

In terms of the students in the main cast, the only ones I know that have a driver’s license canonically would be mostly Leona, but also Lilia, sort of. (It is expired if I recall correctly). I couldn’t help but notice that it is likely that people in Twisted Wonderland don’t really need a permit or license to operate a Magical Wheel? It certainly is interesting since it is kind of like a motorcycle. Thank you!

Hello hello! Thank you very much for this question, I never expected it to be such a rabbit hole! ^^

⚠️Tamashna Muina Spoilers below!⚠️ (and technically above 💦)

It does seems possible that Lilia's license has expired, but also possible that he never had one in the first place? He does not seem to be able to remember!

The revelation of Leona's driver's license was a fascinating one because, as you say, Deuce has been riding Magical Wheels since middle school, somewhere between the ages of 13 and 15 years old!

Epel says he had a neighbor who would take him out for rides back home, but in his dorm vignette he says he has "always wanted to ride" one, implying that the opportunity from Vil to drive one for the Film Club was possibly his first time ever driving on his own--with nothing about licenses ever mentioned!

We get a vague explanation about how magical wheels work in Book 5 from a bully who says that, while you can drive a magical wheel without magic, he just happens to have enough magic to work one.

They have technomantic batteries to power them but those seem to be meant as back-ups: they are designed to be powered at least partially by magic.

And this is very reminiscent of certain road traffic laws that exist in Japan! :>

As explained here, "vehicles" like electric bicycles must, by law, have an "assistance" function in Japan (such as pedal power) to keep them from being 100% motorized.

If your electric bicycle does not require pedaling then it is no longer considered a bicycle--it is an automobile--and you will need a license in order to ride it.

And this does not only apply to bicycles, but other electric modes of transportation such as electric scooters and skateboards!

(I know someone with an electric skateboard imported from overseas who keeps the remote control stealthily in a pocket so as not to be caught 👀 It is more than an "electric assistant", it is 100% electric, which classifies the skateboard as an automobile under the law!)

Things are changing recently, with an alteration to the law in 2023 (seen above, full article here) to allow people to ride electric kick scooters for businesses such as rental services.

Until July 2023, though, even electric scooters required a driver's license, as they are 100% motorized--and maybe the same thing is being applied to magical wheels?

Is it possible that magical wheels are legal to drive without licenses because they are not 100% electric and require magical assistance, just like assisted bicycles that require pedaling? 🧐

Except!

When Riddle balks at being asked to drive a chariot in Book 6 a STYX staff member explains that they maneuver just like blastcycles. Riddle responds with, "I should've taken taken driving lessons and gotten a technomantic vehicle license," so maybe blastcycle licenses actually are a thing? 🧐

Except "technomantic vehicle" might be implying vehicles like the chariot that are 100% technomantic power and not Magical Wheels, which integrate magic! Do they not technically count, much like partially-pedal-powered electric bicycles?

Riddle comments, "Then again, this IS private property. Maybe I don't have to worry about (a driver's license)."

Do maybe the laws vary by country? Was hooligan-Deuce illegally driving those blastcycles in middle school, or are laws more lax in the Queendom of Roses (Riddle's reaction would lead one to believe otherwise ww), or does the Queendom not consider them automobiles at all?

Is Epel able to drive that blastcycle on campus (and with Vil's encouragement) because NRC is private property? Was Deuce breaking the law when he took Epel off campus, or are blastcycles treated like electric bicycles on Sage's Island?

While magical wheel-specific licenses do technically exist, they were a product of an April Fool's campaign and are probably not supposed to be considered canon to the game ^^

Twst once had a delightful theme of introducing magical-wheel-inspired content for April Fool's!

While the theme seems to have been discontinued from 2024, the 2022 video that was created for JP-server players has been translated here!

And here is an explanation of the content from 2023!

The 2023 campaign included not only the physical magical wheel driver's license for prefects (with a purchase of a magical wheel tape dispenser), but also a magical wheel for the guest room, while the 2022 campaign included a title that you can use in the game: Magical Wheel License! ^^

The EN-server has never acknowledged April Fool's and it is unclear if items such as the title or the guest room furniture (a magical wheel in 2023 and a TV in 2024 that plays the Absolutely Beautiful performance first screened at Twst Fes) will ever reach on EN, but maybe one day!

[formulatrash]

I've taken up reading historic newspapers as a hobby and I thought you'd enjoy this story from the Coventry Evening Telegraph. "Heavy Traffic - There was heavy traffic on all roads leading to Silverstone from an early hour this morning, but the filter colour system introduced at the last meeting was again successful and there were few long delays. In order to regulate the traffic, police had installed in the control tower of the former RAF aerodrome seven radio stations linked with key points over a 25-mile radius." This is from the 20th of August, 1949! As I write to you today, there are roadworks on the road between Brackley and Silverstone, which just makes me feel that news is 100% cyclical and there will ALWAYS be traffic around Silverstone. <3

I actually have a theory about this which gets into the sort of nerdy shit I'd make a video about if I was a man with a decent camera and an office. but so Silverstone is in several English counties:

looking at Silverstone on a map, it's clearly in what you'd call a black hole for ley lines. for anyone who didn't grow up in the UK in the era before the internet gave us something to do with our time, ley lines are alleged mystical power lines that criss-cross the UK and do sort of coincide with some motorways probably because that's kinda how the landscape is.

anyway, the idea is you can draw lines between significant monuments or like, random hills people have decided might have some connection to woo and then that will represent ancient energies. for no doubt very serious reasons the epicentre of all these is a tiny village called Parsley Hay halfway between Sheffield and Stoke on Trent, which I am sure does fairly well out of the related tourist industry.

more significant, in terms of British road mapping, is the existence of Little Chef roadside uhhhh cafés? diners? idk what you classify them as. like the druids of old they are now gone but their energies remain.

Silverstone sits in an uneven triangulation of former Little Chef spots:

not only does Towcester's especially hallowed, double Little Chef site unbalance things nearly irrepairably, three of these Little Chef are in Northamptonshire (the double and Old Stratford to the east) while only Buckingham is in Buckinghamshire.

these are the sort of forces that should not be messed with. it is clear why there are always traffic jams around Silverstone and it's not just because everyone invented Milton Keynes (not pictured, off to the east) then forgot to connect it to anywhere else properly it's because the roadside balance has been greatly disturbed.

now that Little Chef is no more this cannot be corrected. no amount of M&S Simply Food can ever neutralise the vibes and so it is that Silverstone is doomed to eternal traffic by the arrogance of mankind's hubristic building.

[themisinformer]

City Unveils Plan to Fix Potholes By Ignoring Them Until They Become Tourist Attractions

FERGUS FALLS, MINNESOTA - In a groundbreaking new approach to urban infrastructure, Fergus Falls’ city hall has unveiled a bold new plan in order to address the persistent problem of potholes. Rather than filling or repairing these troublesome craters, Fergus Falls has opted to just let them naturally transform into something even more valuable: tourist attractions.

“Our potholes are more than just hazards; they’re opportunities,” explained Mayor Ben Schierer during a press conference. “We’ve been spending too much time and money on quick fixes, so why not just let these holes become of our city’s unique charm? Eventually, they’ll be as popular as the Hollywood sign, the Space Needle, or whatever else is out there!”

According to city planners, each pothole will be classified by size, shape and personality, and then added to the official “City Craters” map. Potholes will be given catchy names like “The Great Divide,” “Lake Asphalt” and “The Grand Canyouthinkyoucanmakeit.” The city is also working on a companion app, which will offer augmented reality features, allowing tourists to view potential sinkholes, snap selfies, and even trace their own vehicle damage.

City officials predict that within a year, the potholes will attract visitors from all around the world. The city plans to monetize this opportunity by installing donation boxes next to larger potholes, encouraging visitors to “toss in a penny for repairs” — or simply keep the souvenir. Additionally, local entrepreneurs are reportedly already setting up stands to sell T-Shirts, bumper stickers and even miniature replicas of the city’s most notorious potholes.

Residents however, are not as enthusiastic. “I’ve had my front axle replaced three times this year,” one local resident would complain at a city hall meeting. “I don’t want to see the ‘Great Divide’ when I’ve already driven over it!”

Mayor Schierer remains undeterred by these critiques, however. “It’s about civic pride,” he retorted. “Every city has potholes, but how many of them turn them into cultural landmarks? Our city is making histor — or, rather, it’s letting history carve itself into our roads.”

[vaguelyregrettable]

Hotel Husbands

I need a break.

Despondent and weak. We walked out of the foyer and into the fields. Well trodden, and unihabitable for any plant life. Ground zero, day after day after day.

The fear of god lives in every boot print left on these scarred lands. The memories of animals stamped out like dying embers. Clovers, dandelions, thistle, any such thing could have grown. Should have grown.

Thats when I hear them, the raucous laughter of young men. And with that, a wave of sorrow overcame me. My senses grayed, rained upon til utterly drowned. A sadness so sinister I could not pull myself from it long enough to even respond.

"You doing okay over there?"

Gods above, no. No! You fool, I am lost in this pit of sadness. Compassion absorbs my very soul. While you stumble around cocksure and ignorant, I gaze upon the burning library of Alexandria. You who has no concept of knowledge, history, of meaning itself.

But who would I be to explain the minutiae of such things to you. I would simply be another proselytizing asshole. To convince you to care would be such a grand offense.

"Hey dude, uh... you doing alright?"

The voice drew near. A worry filled it, softening the machismo a bit for an opening of emotional connection to be made.

"Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought."

Your face soured, the most honest either of us had been in a while. I studied the mans face, not quite sure if he could even be classified as such. His features so young, gentle and delicate. He was pristine, a marble statue standing in the warzone.

"Who are you?"

His blue eyes dropped to the ground. A shyness unexpected, a weakness undeserved. This thing of beauty in front of me. My heart shuddered. I was lost. You stared at me with contempt. Or perhaps jealousy. An anger, deserved.

"Call me Joshua."

"What brought you here, Joshua?"

"My father's holed up here, trying to escape my mom."

We share a chuckle, a quaint notion. At least one would hope.

"Hear he's been doing war reenactment with the others in their spare time. Aside from all the poker and drinking."

What a solitary life. For men to seek the company of themselves, rarely eachother. A consensual confinement, accepted by those who don't understand consent. A contract signed in a blood not their own.

"What brought you here, stranger?"

The only road we found led us here.

"Carried by the wind, I guess you could say."

"We don't get a whole lot of strangers around here. Pretty inhospitable place to be. No real community for miles out any way you go."

Not much of a community here either.

"This was supposed to help them, the therapists all said they'd branch out. They'd forge bonds. But my dad seems even more insular these days than ever before."

It's an epidemic, male loneliness.

It's supposed to be temporary. Til he gets his memories back. This was supposed to help all of them, remember themselves."

What's there to remember?

Your callousness and his heartfelt honesty. I felt pulled apart by the emotions of both.

"What is this place?"

Gotta be some sort of mental institution, right?

"It's a getaway. A hotel with a specific clientele."

[grief-worn]

It felt nice to have someone respect her title. Not an heirloom passed down through familial heritage, but a badge worn honorably to salute her goddess. She had earned it through displays of courage, and steadfast devotion, and it has served her far better than whatever word her parents saw fit to saddle her with at birth. So she assumed.

Not to mention, hearing her moniker uttered with such a rumbling texture … it certainly sounded heroic coming off the other's tongue. She liked it.

"Just don't look them in the eye. They've given their word not to disturb me." She sounded so confident of their safety, even though a goblin's word was about as valuable as a holey spoon. Perhaps it would mitigate Vorel's unease, even slightly.

With one arm draped across the dragon's backside, she steadily escorted her back up the path, her own footprints in the mud still visible when she had tread this way prior. Shadowed limbs splotched across the ground, the silhouettes of feeble tree stalks towering just above them. The closer they got, the more they heard. Giggles and bellowing yips from just past the gate. May Lady Shar offer them protection from the goblins' temperaments.

"Here, lets avoid the main road. The fewer eyes on you the better."

It could barely be classified as a house. Half of a roof, holes rotted in the floor, and bird feces streaking down one side of the wall. Each step had the very foundation groaning and wailing, threatening to collapse beneath their weight. It wasn't comfortable, but it was hidden. And, at the current moment, unoccupied.

"Sit down. Best not to be on your feet anymore." Vorel is coaxed against a spot in the corner, shaded from beating sun, and wedged behind a few pieces of moldy furniture. "It's not exactly the lap of luxury, but better than bleeding out in a ditch, I suppose."

"Nautaloid..?" she repeats, the word strange on her forked tongue. The world outside her desert really did just get stranger and stranger...

The healing, even if minimal, gave her a bit of relief. Her eyes closed as some of the pain subsided, sighing softly, "Thank you. That's already a lot better." At least it seemed that most of the blood on her body wasn't hers.

Hearing the other's name spoken, Vorel nearly repeats the words back, but in their draconic translation. But she stops herself. Though a name like that does make her wonder, do others here choose their own names here as well? And the way she gave her name, saying that Vorel will call her by it. How interesting, if deciding names was similar to how her people did it, she wondered if this healer had something dark she kept close to her chest.

"Shadow Heart..." she repeats, splitting up the name as she get to her feet with a groan, towering over the half-elf once again. She could faintly hear the goblinoid ruckus just over a nearby wall, her thick tail swaying behind her, "Don't think we'll be bothered?"

She was usually more talkative than this, more warm and welcoming especially to people who were kind to her, but her throat was killing her from all that lightning. In fact, she gave a harsh cough, tasting blood on her tongue, "I'd kill for some honey water.." she grumbles.

Though the offer of care does make her large ears sort of flutter in a funny way. Been a while since someone else took care of her...

[goodoldcharley]

Attention: Long post (fanfiction)

Recently @businesscalamity pointed out that there aren't enough Armand Gamache fanfictions out there. That's 100% true. I decided that something had to be done about it. And while I haven't written any ffs in years, I can now proudly say "I'm back at it". What started as an idea now already turned into something bigger than I first intended, so it will take some time, especially since English isn't my native tongue. But lovely people like @gmache and @illiana-mystery who already read my first few drafts were nothing but encouraging and supportive *thank you so much*

What to expect? A mix of show and book universe, humor, food, mentor relationship, unrequited (really?) feelings, fluff, drama, intimacy (rating M I'd say) and a desperate attempt to stay as true to the characters as possible... Oh, and there is a new rookie in town (OC, who would have guessed)...

If you read this far, congratulations!

No, honestly thank you for bearing with me

Have a short excerpt from Chapter 4 to get in the mood. Comments and reblogs are welcome... Have fun...

*throwing text in and running off*

( ‐-----------------------------------------------)

Chapter 4 (a look back)

“You should try Gabri’s pasta, it’s delicious!”, Gamache praised. He had been talking about blueberry pancakes and croissants the last 15 minutes. It seemed he had now moved on from breakfast to lunch. Her own stomach grumbled quietly in response, reminding her that a mug of hot coffee wasn’t really a sufficient meal. Maybe she’d grab something there… if they ever made it.

Tensely she sat in the backseat, right behind Gamache, desperately holding on to his seat as Jean-Guy raced over the bumpy road. A soft ping notified them that the navigation system had finally lost the last satellite. Leaning forward to check the tiny digital map, it seemed they were driving right into the middle of nowhere. Another bump made her hit her head against Gamache’s head rest.

“Careful back there in the cheap seats…”, groaning she glared at Beauvoir who completely ignored her though, keeping his eyes on the road, staring straight forward. Rubbing her temple, she shifted back, unconsciously pulling the seat belt tighter. She begged it wasn’t far anymore. Before their boss could move on to possible dinner suggestions, Beauvoir darted in:

“Speaking of being careful, shouldn’t you warn our rookie about the crazy duck lady, Patron?”

Gamache chuckled and adjusted his glasses. They kept sliding down his nose with every pot hole the car hit. And it seemed Beauvoir was determined to hit as many as human possible.

“Lady, really?” Gamache wouldn’t particularly call Ruth Zardo a lady. Forrest-witch would probably be the very first thing that came to his mind when he thought of the old poet and her pet duck Rosa.

“Well, have to watch my language, Patron, minors present”. Beauvoir pointed behind, right at her.

A deep frown appeared upon her face. Annoyed with herself she registered that a blush crept up her cheeks, too. She hated it when Beauvoir made fun of her being a rookie. However, Gamache started to laugh and turning in his seat, he wink at her playfully. His smile and laugh were always so contagious, she couldn't help but smile, too. Her blush deepened even further. If he noticed, he didn’t comment, instead, leaning closer towards her, he lowered his voice as if he was about to hand out classified information. The only thing giving him away was the boyish twinkle in his brown eyes as he whispered:

“Whatever you do, beware of the woman… the duck is harmless…”

”Alright, Sir!”, she said in all seriousness which made his grin even wider.

“We’re there, Patron”

The car climbed the final meters to the top of the hill and came to hold. Curiously, she shifted in her seat, leaning forward between the two man, taking in the scenery in front of her for the very first time.

( ‐-----------------------------------------------)

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”

[plaidamoosette]

Call Me By My Name

RK900 x Reader

Part I | Part II | Part III

A/N: I just want to apologize because I’ve been gone so long, but now I’m in a place in life where I feel like I’m creative and I really have a lot of ideas coming out, so please be patient with me. Enjoy! This one is going to be a bumpy ride, lol

Summary: You are an ecstatic new detective in the Detroit Police Department. It has been three years since the Android revolution, and now that they are a freed people, they are making decisions for themselves and their careers. One of these Androids is now your partner. The newest RK model, the RK900. He’s cold, distant, calculating... and oddly alluring. And with your first case on the line, you have to learn how to cope with a partner that holds you at arm’s length while fulfilling a desire that has been burning in your belly since you were a child. Revenge.

Word Count: 4587

–– November 4, 2041 ––

It was your first day on an actual case, and you couldn’t hide your excitement. Your leg bounced up and down rapidly, and Nines- your new android partner- looked at you quizzically. 

“Are you alright, Miss (Y/L/N)?” His voice was a little deeper than Connor’s, but you still had to do a double take. Their similarity was uncanny.

“Perfectly, why do you ask?” You never removed your eyes from the road. Even though the car was on autopilot, you always kept your hands ghosted over the wheel, in case you needed to take over. Downtown Detroit whizzed by as the car steadily traveled towards your destination.

“Your heart rate is one-hundred and twenty beats per minute, suggesting that you are either distressed or anxious.” His tone is cold and factual.

“Um- not anxious,” you bit your lip, “just… excited? This is my first investigation. Nervous, maybe.”

“I must inform you that, even though you may have hope for this case, statistically speaking, the rate of solving classified ‘cold cases’ is at about forty percent.” He was still staring intently, making sweat gather at your hairline.

“Hey, that sounds good to me, that’s almost fifty- which means it's a half and half. I can handle solving half of my cases in my lifetime,” you shrug and smile.

“Miss (Y/L/N), allow me to clarify- that is forty percent out of five-hundred thousand cases since the year nineteen eighty-one.” You could already tell he was going to be a Debby Downer.

“(Y/L).” You simply state, changing the subject.

“That is your name.” He replies, and with a glance, you could see he wasn’t understanding.

“Yes but that’s what I want you to call me. (Y/N). We’re partners, not strangers,” with a little laugh, turn off the car as you pull up to where the crime scene used to be.

“Oh,” was all he said, LED still spinning yellow. “(Y/N).” 

But as you leave the car, you sigh in disappointment. The buildings that had created the alley of the crime scene had been demolished, and now left a giant gaping hole in their places. A property management sign stood posted on each corner, telling you some new downtown restaurant was “Coming Soon!”

“It was unlikely we would find anything here, regardless if the buildings still stood.” Nines stood with his arms at his side, stiff, like he was expecting something bad to happen at any second.

“Nines, we’re going to have to work on your bedside manner,” you chuckle. He opened his mouth to say something and you hold up a hand to stop him, “I don’t mean literally, I mean we have to work on your outlook of things. There’s always a bright side.”

“Just as there is always something hiding in the shadows.” You stop and look at him for a moment, but his chilled blue eyes hid nothing behind them.

“Let’s just see what we can find in here.” Crossing the street, he reaches forward to open the door for you.

O'Reilly's Tavern was where the victim used to work. She would bus during the night shift, from 5 P.M. to 2 A.M., although sometimes she would bartend even though she was under the age of 21. You walk up to the woman at the bar, and begin your interrogation.

“Look, that was… hell, I don’t even know how long ago,” the middle-aged woman sighed, wiping a glass clean with a towel.

“Exactly 22 years and 12 days have passed since the murder of Barbara O’Connell,” Nines stated, his LED circling yellow. The woman scoffed, unamused.

“What I’m trying to say is that I already told the cops everything I knew, 22 years ago,” she sneered the last part in a sarcastic tone, “all I know was she was shot and left to bleed out on the sidewalk in the alley.”

“Where was she headed?” You had asked, a tinge of hope sparking in your heart.

“She always took the alley between Parker and Third to get to her apartment. Shitty place- the Riverfront Complex- she lived there by herself. Sometimes her boyfriend would stay but he didn’t live there. Didn’t even claim her things when she passed. Didn’t attend the funeral, asshole.”

“But you did?” You cocked your side, pulling out a notebook. An ancient method of writing notes in your day, but you like the feel of the pen scratching on the paper.

“Yes. It was about a month after she died. Cremated. They had to hold the body for investigation before she could be released for her service. Poor girl, she had so much ahead of her,” the woman shakes her head, wiping her eyes for a second. Although her husky voice was rough, there was a gentle tone to it when she spoke of the girl.

“You were close to her?” The woman nods at your question, and you pat her hand. “I’m sorry to be bringing these things up. I know you’d probably prefer to put it all behind you. I just want to put her case to rest.”

“I appreciate that. I just want the asshole who did this to get locked up. Who knows who else he’s killed and gotten away with?” Her rhetorical question went unanswered. “We were close. I practically raised her. Her Daddy bounced soon after she was born, and her Mama and I had been girlfriends since we were three. I took them both in, and when Jeana- her Mama- died from cancer when Barbs was ten, I took her on as my own daughter.”

“Was there a legal adoption in place?” Nines speaks up again, and the woman shoots him a glare. 

“I was her godmother, but I didn’t want her to lose her mother’s name, so I never legally adopted her. She was never the same after that,” she pours a drink for a customer at the end of the bar, before returning. Business was slow at 12 in the afternoon. “Although, there was something odd the week before she was killed.”

“How so?”

“That whole week she started getting really paranoid. Like she was being watched or followed. She begged her boyfriend to stay with her that whole week but he was out of town ‘on business’ as he said. He didn’t come back until three days after her death.”

“So he had a solid alibi?” You frown. Normally the partners were first on the suspect list, but if he had a solid alibi, then there was nothing further they could look into.

“Yeah, apparently he flew to Las Vegas for something. Never knew what his job was, I never even met him, but he had a lot of money. I was too afraid to pester Barbs on it.”

“What was his name?” She told you it was Nathan Jones. “Do you think you can run through the database of flights from 2019 and check for his name?”

“You… ‘read my mind’,” although you knew this was his attempt at humor, he made no motion to smile or even grin, which only made it more awkward to hear. You huff through your nose before returning to the lady.

“He always bought her nice things. He offered to get her a new apartment but she liked it at the Riverfront. Cheap, nobody asked questions, nobody was nosy,” she comes around the corner and sits next to you on a stool. “Listen, if I were you, I’d try to get in contact with him. I never met the man, so I have no idea what to expect from him. Maybe- if you can- find her father. Not that he’ll care, but maybe he might know something.”

“Thank you for all of your help,” you smile, patting her hand, before placing your business card in her open palm. “Call me if anything comes to mind, or if anyone else talks to you.”

“Just… watch out. There’s a lot of mystery around her. Once Barb turned sixteen, something changed. I never asked because a girl needs her space, you know, but I think she may have gotten involved in the wrong crowd. It’s easy to do, when you’re young and gullible.” She warned, and you nod your head.

“Thank you, Miss…?”

“Just call me Lonnie.”

You take your leave, with Nines at your side. You both stayed silent for a moment. Nines was the first to break it.

“There is a ticket in the boyfriend’s name that arrived on October 11, 2019 at 10 A.M., and departed October 21, 2019 at 2 A.M.” He recounts. “The credit card registered in his name was used to take a taxi back to his apartment at the Golden Peaks. Although, I can’t find a record of his face through the camera feed that was uploaded.”

“What do you mean?” You cock your head to the side.

“As in, at some point he should have shown his face in the airport, either during his departure or his arrival, but his face is nowhere on record. I checked all the footage in our databases and it is nowhere to be found.”

“So he somehow managed to sneak in, approve and check his ticket, and then leave without any cameras seeing him?” That was bizarre, and as you buckle up you couldn't quite wrap your head around it. "But that's also a lot of faces to filter through, it's probably easy to get lost in a crowd."

“Perhaps to the human mind, but I am equipped with advanced technology and would be able to recognize him instantly. I have a possible theory,” he never breaks eye contact with you as he mimics your gesture, lacing the seatbelt across his chest. “Perhaps he was able to fake his identity. Or, more accurately, he managed to send someone in his place. If I could interrogate him myself, I would be able to scan him to see if he lies about his whereabouts on that day."

"I think it's a little early for interrogations. How about we just go speak to him at his apartment?" You turn on the car, glancing at him.

"Perhaps you're right." He states and then begins to blink rapidly, before a new address appears on the screen of the GPS. "Shall we?"

"I don't think I'll get used to that." You mutter, before switching the controls, allowing the car to steer itself towards your destination.

                  __________________________________________

The Golden Peaks Apartments were far from how they sounded. Settled on the other end of Downtown Detroit, the apartments were barely hanging on by a thread. The outside bricks were crumbling, most of the windows were busted out, and worst or all, the place was obviously condemned.

“I recognize this place. I think I read about a huge Android slave ring that was busted here,” you note, slamming the car door shut. 

“I recall that as well. Twenty-three androids were released, although several of them were too badly damaged due to the harvesting of their Thirium.” Nines recites, as if he were reading the article right then. And he just actually might be.

“How long ago was that?” You shield your eyes from the harsh sunlight, the waning orange glow setting the world on fire all around you. A distant flap of wings caught your attention to your left.

“Two years ago. I apologize that it did not register in my system earlier. It appears we came all this way for nothing.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have actually caught a hint of disappointment in his voice.

You hold up a hand to stop him as he opens his car door. “If the building is condemned and uninhabited, we can enter the premises for our investigation. Let’s go,” glancing both ways, you jog across the street, with Nines slowly gliding behind you.

“I cannot seem to find this claim in any legal document or mandated law. I would hate for you to get in trouble-” again, you stop him with a hand.

“Listen, sometimes you just gotta kind of… look at the rules at a new angle. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m finding a new angle,” you shrug, trying to open the door and sighing when you find it’s locked.

You walk around the side of the building, looking for any other doors. There was a window that wasn’t boarded up, but it was covered in shards of broken glass.

“I’m beginning to figure out that you have a habit of ignoring advice, so instead I shall simply inform you that I don’t think this is a wise route to take. You should find another space to enter the building.”

“Nine’s, I appreciate your concern, but I just want to see if this guys apartment is empty or if it has any evidence.”

“Evidence of what, may I ask?” He calls, his voice echoing off the alley walls.

You grunt, carefully swinging one leg over the window sill, holding onto the sides of the frame, sliding across. Suddenly his hands press down on the sides of your waist, giving you enough lift that you didn’t risk cutting yourself on the glass. “I’m hoping that I can find-- oh, uh, thank you-- find out why he is still registered at this address. There’s no other record of his residence, and if he hasn’t changed his address yet then maybe we could bring him in based off of that. Lying on government documents, or something.”

“But what exactly are you looking for?” Nines easily stretches his legs up and over the ledge, gracefully crawling through the space until he was standing beside you. The air was thick and dusty.

“Look, you said that he could have possibly faked his ticket, right? Which means he’s got to have fake I.D.’s? So I’m thinking we can either possibly find some of those I.D.’s-- which I know is just hopeful thinking-- or we can find the place where he used to hide them. Who knows, maybe he still uses this place as a hideout? It’s condemned, empty, and was a major crime scene. It would be the last place a cop would look for a guy who's hiding, right? Now what was his apartment number?”

“Somehow you are only making me more concerned for your well being in this environment.” Nines sighs, scanning the area with his icy gaze, before his eyes land on you once again. “His residence was on the fifth floor, at room 527.”

“Thank you, Nines,” you place your hand on his arm for a second, before pulling out your gun, holding it in both hands, but keeping it pointed at the floor. Just a precaution.

You both remained silent, carefully creeping through the floors, scanning each one before trudging on through all of the dust and debris, slowly climbing the winding stairs. Bits of old police tape fluttered in the light breeze that came through the windows, and the air chilled all around you, causing a shiver to shake throughout your body.

Once you finally reach room 527, you take a minute to listen in. The door was cracked, and you nudged it open with your foot, swinging your gun out to point in front of you. You sweep the area but find that it has obviously been vacated for a while. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, and you ran your finger over the table surface. Although it was old, most of the things were in good condition. Un-looted.

“Odd, you’d think that after two years of vacancy, someone would have busted in here by now to take the furniture, if anything,” you think out loud, glancing out the corner of your eye as Nines glides past. His eyes were set on the floor.

“There’s dried thirium on the floor by your foot. Just droplets, like they spilled from a container.” He examines, and then squats down to lean in close. “It’s too old for me to get a sample, so I can’t tell if it holds the data of an android or if it was pure and unused.”

“But there's nothing around here that shows he could have been making Red Ice. Surely there would be wear on the table from the set up it would take.” You mutter, placing your gun back in its holster.

“Agreed. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t holding it for transfer to an actual lab. Something that couldn’t be so easily infiltrated-” he opened his mouth to say something, but his head suddenly jerks to the side. “Someone’s approaching, on the stairwell.”

“We can’t hide, the dust trails will give us away,” you whisper yell, stepping back to close the door, turning the deadbolt into its lock.

He stands perfectly still for a moment, eyes slowly checking over the room. "There are two routes of escape. Either we risk our safety on the fire escape and climb down, or I can help you climb to the air vent and hide while I face whoever is approaching. The ladder is the safest option for you."

"But what about you? I say the fire escape," and just as you make your way to the window, a cool, solid hand snatches your wrist.

"I am not one to tolerate blatant ignorance.  Your safety is my priority and you are going to do as I say for now. This way." Nines' burning gaze made your blood run cold, but his words spiked a fire inside of you. You naturally wanted to resist, but something in his stern gaze told you that now was not the time to test him. You simply nod and allow him to pull you along.

He guides you down the hall and into a bedroom, where on the roof there was a small grated vent. Large enough for you to get through, but you knew that- even if he could reach up there on his own- his shoulders wouldn’t even make it in.

“I’ll lift you up, and you’ll need to pull the grate off, hand it to me, and then put it back in place once you’re inside.” He instructs, getting down onto one knee, gesturing for you to straddle him.

Just as you wrap one leg around his neck, wedging yourself onto his shoulders so you are supported enough to reach the grate and tug it out of its place, you hear the front door jiggle. A bang follows, and then a loud slam as something rams into the door-- it didn’t break, but you knew it was only a matter of seconds.

You grab the edges of the vent and pull as hard as you can, thankful for the hours you spent training your strength. Nines’ hands push your bottom up as he shoves you further into the vent, and you accidentally kicked him on your way up. 

“Detroit Police! Come out where I can see you with your hands up!” You hear a man shout, and you both freeze. Nines looks up at you just as you twist around and reach for the grate.

“(Y/N), there are no police officers set to patrol this area, and no calls have been made for this location.” His voice was low enough for you to hear, over the sound of the creeping steps as the man draws nearer.

“Then how do you explain him?” You whisper back, and just as you pull the grate up, the bedroom door slams open.

The next series of events sort of went in slow motion. You had slid too far forward, and your body easily slipped out of the vent, slamming into the ground-- which sent a huge poof of dust all around you-- and Nines had accidentally smacked you on your way down as he put his hands in the air.

The officer had his gun out, and it was pointed at Nines. Your lungs were screaming for air, and your head throbbed from the beating it took, but you managed to dust yourself off and slowly rise to your feet.

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a Detective with DPD-- this is my partner. We were only following a lead on our investigation,” you begin, reaching for your badge slowly. 

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” the man’s voice was harsh and deep, and he kept his eyes trained on Nines, who wasn’t quite facing the officer.

“You-” he gestures towards your android partner, “what led you here?”

“I was simply following the lead of my partner. She insisted that this building would have a connection to a murder case that we are reworking.”

“Why this room, specifically? What do you know about the person who lived here?” The officer questions, slowly circling them, never taking his gun off of Nines.

“What do you know about him?” You break in, and he glares.

“Twenty-two years ago, a young woman was murdered. This was the home of her boyfriend. We were hoping to find him here to ask him a few questions,” Nines was talking slowly, and though his head was towards you, you could see that he was tracking the officer out the corner of his eyes.

“I don’t know anything about a boyfriend, but this was my sister’s apartment before she went missing two years ago, before the android ring was found.” The officer states, stopping where he could face Nines.

“Why is an officer patrolling an area that he is not assigned to?” Nines raises an eyebrow, his LED circling yellow as he processes the situation. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but you were burning to ask another question. You bite your lip to keep quiet.

“What was your sister’s name?”

“She was Nathan Jones before she became Hanna Tonjes. My twin,” it was then that he put his gun away and you got to take a good look at his face. Definitely older, but he looked almost identical to the photo that was on the license plate that Nine’s had shown you for the man once named Nathan Jones.

“We apologize for invading, we had no idea that someone could still be living here,” you speak softly, Nines reaches out a hand to help you stand as you wipe off as much dust as you can manage.

“Well, one can only hope she’ll be found. But how did a dead woman lead you to my sister, exactly?” The officer crosses his arms. His badge read Jones.

“A young woman named Barbara O’Connell was shot to death in an alley close to where she worked in the south of downtown. Her boyfriend was the only suspect, a man named Nathan Jones. Back in 2019, and the license was registered to this address.” You explain, pulling out your phone so you could show him the picture of the driver’s license that you had saved in your messages.

“That’s my face. Hanna changed her name in 2016, and by then she had been on hormones long enough that she looked, well... like the woman she is. Before she transitioned, she hadn’t gotten her license because she wanted to change her name first. She didn’t want a lot of records on her that showed the person she wasn’t born to be. That face on that I.D. is mine, just with her old name on it.” He states, looking over the photo. Now that you had the photo in front of your for comparison, you could see the extreme similarities. “She was my twin, but even still, she never had her photo taken before she transitioned.”

“So… Do you know where she was in 2019? There is a plane ticket that had this I.D. registered to it, but there was no facial recognition from any of the cameras in either airport. Did you know she flew to Las Vegas?” A million thoughts and theories ran through your mind.

“No. She was never one to travel. She never even left the state. I never heard of her having a girlfriend either. When we got older she ran into a bad crowd, got involved in drugs, but she got clean in our late twenties. We didn’t speak often, but we’ve always had this connection… it’s why I keep an eye on this place when I can. I know she’s out there, somewhere. 2019 was the year she went off the rails.”

“Was a case ever opened on her?” Officer Jones had begun to walk out the door, but he turned to look at you.

“Yes, but not many police officers wanted to take the time to look into a missing 38-year-old ex-druggie. If you’re stuck on cold cases, you'll probably find her file in your records. Hanna Tonjes.” With that, the man walks away, leaving you and Nines to stop and stare at each other.

“Well that was… interesting,” you break the silence, and Nines actually huffed out of his nose. His first laugh. You crack a smile. “I told you we would find something.”

“All we found were more questions. How do Barbara O’Connell and Hanna Tonjes-- previously Nathan Jones-- share a connection?” He thinks out loud, and you rub your head.

“I don’t know, let's just go back to the precinct and write our reports for the day. I’m ready for a nap,” you sigh, walking out the door. “And don’t go scan-”

“I have already scanned you. It appears you may have a mild concussion from your fall. I would suggest that you not take a nap until midnight tonight, to give your body enough time to heal without there being any risk to your health.” You sigh as Nines interrupts you.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

                 __________________________________________

When you arrive back at the precinct, Hank and Connor are just gathering up their things to leave. Connor looks you over, before giving you his trademark smile.

“When you said you were ready to get your hands dirty, I didn’t take you literally,” he laughs, and you couldn’t help but return it.

“It’s a long story-” just as you were about to pat his arm- like you always do- a cool familiar hand wraps around your wrist, gently but firmly tugging you in the direction of your desk.

“I’m afraid she also suffered a minor head injury and needs to file her report for the day so she may quickly return home and rest.” Nines cuts you off, and you narrow your eyes at him. 

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you tomorrow,” you wave with your free hand, and Hank stares for a minute, looking confused, before shaking his head and following his partner out the door.

You also use that free hand to smack at Nines. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my desk. I’m not that injured,” you gripe. He released his grip on your wrist, only to place his hand at the small of your back, steadily pushing you where he wanted you to go.

“While you work on the report, I’m going to run those names through the terminal.” He ignores you, planting himself in his chair, placing his hand on the terminal, allowing the skin to fade away so his android palm could sync to the screen.

Your head hurt too much to argue, and you simply placed yourself in your chair, typing away as quickly as you could so you could go home and shower off the layer of dust and grime. Maybe having a partner wasn’t the best thing in the world like you thought.

Like, subscribe, and all that Jazz! Part III soon!

[blossom-hwa]

congratulations on your 4 year anniversary! i couldn't decide on one golcha member/prompt to send, so please choose the one prompt that inspires you the most! (and if none them do, then big welp delete this ask lol) thank you so much for writing!!

daeyeol + time travel au

sungyoon + secret agent au

jangjun + imaginary friend au

youngtaek + road trip au

seungmin + bodyguard au

jaehyun + fortune teller au

jibeom + haunted house au

joochan + penpal au

donghyun + street racing au

bomin + android/robot au

Anon your brain is so big??????? How did you come up with all of this????? I love all of these aus but since it's Bomin's birthday I think I'll write the one for the birthday boy <3 thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy!!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

This turned out so much longer than I thought it'd be holy shit? Also, this drabble is set in the universe of the Lunar Chronicles, but you don’t need to know anything about it to understand this :) would highly recommend the series if you haven’t read it though!

~

Title: To Be Human

Pairing: Bomin x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Triggers: mentions of a gunshot (nothing graphic)

~

Bomin sits still as you bend over the wires sparking from his split chest, skin filaments torn and frayed, the metal underneath crushed and bent. Both of you remain silent - your focus is on not reconnecting the wrong wires, while he's probably thinking deeply about something he won't tell you. Something profound, probably, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

That's normal. Being an android, he's a lot smarter than you, after all.

But this silence... he's thinking something profound, but it's not about the answer to the universe like Daeyeol was teasing a few weeks ago. Not this time, just a few hours after a fight that nearly took the two of you out. You have an idea of his thoughts but you don't want to voice them for fear of being wrong, for fear of making the silence worse, for fear of losing Bomin completely if you say the wrong thing -

"You should take care of your own wounds first."

"Stars above!" The pliers slip between your fingers and fall to the floor with a clattering thud. "Stars, Bomin, give me some warning -"

Then his words register, and the silence falls once more.

You break it this time, picking up the pliers and returning to the wires still intermittently sparking where his heart would be. You can talk while you work - there's no time to waste, not when Bomin also has a shattered wrist that needs a lot of attention too. "I'm fine," you say, focusing on not letting the sparks touch your skin. "I only have scratches. You took the brunt of it." You look up. "You've got to stop doing that for me."

Bomin blinks once, slow, not the usual ten-times-a-minute blink that's been programmed into his system. The profound look on his face disappears, replaced for a moment by confusion. "Why?"

A gunshot cracks through the air. You watch as though in slow motion as the bullet makes its arc, speeding toward your chest -

The unmistakable sound of metal collapsing and crumpling in on itself fills your ears, and a scream builds in your throat as you watch Bomin fall to the ground and crush his wrist, chest blown open with wires sparking everywhere.

Not real. Not now, at least. You jerk yourself out of the memory and try to breathe. Breath comes in short gasps, air barely filling your lungs - you can feel the remnants of that scream ripping your throat apart as you watched him fall, sure that he was dead even though you knew he wouldn't be unless his personality chip exploded which it couldn't because you'd modified him in such a way that it would be almost impossible to hit it without knowing exactly where it was -

"Y/N?"

A hand settles on your cheek, skin filaments so real, so warm, so comforting against your face. You squeeze your eyes shut hard and then open them to see Bomin staring at you with worry, his undamaged hand touching your skin.

He's alive. Bomin is alive. You swallow hard, turning away from the gentle hand long enough to notice your own fingers are shaking. With surgical precision, you put the pliers down on the floor, like they'll blow up the way Bomin's chest did even though they're not nearly the same thing.

"When I saw you fall," you say, voice more ragged than you'd like it to be, "I thought you were dead."

Bomin blinks. "But I wasn't. The bullet didn't hit my personality chip."

"It almost hit your power source," you say, pointing into the thicket of wires and metal just visible beyond the hole in his chest. "And yes, even though it didn't hit your personality chip... if you'd lost power, it would have been disastrous. You know that."

"I wouldn't be dead, though." He blinks. "I'm not human. I'm an android."

Something in his voice sounds wrong when he says that. It brings back your musings about the profound look on his face just a few minutes ago, musings that you didn't want to say out loud for fear that you'd unintentionally push him away...

"Who said that?" you ask softly, raising one of your hands to Bomin's fingers still on your cheek. Slowly, you bring it down, holding the hand between your own.

Bomin looks down at the hand encased in yours. He doesn't speak for a very long moment. "I'm an android," he finally repeats. "I'm wires and metal. Not flesh and blood."

A lump begins to form in your throat. "And?"

"What do you mean, and?" For a moment, Bomin looks truly angry. "I'm not human!"

"Are you telling me you don't have feelings?"

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then -

"I don't know." His voice doesn't crack, but perhaps if his vocal cords weren't made of metal, it would. "I don't know, Y/N, I'm an android, I'm not supposed to feel emotions, so I can't tell if anything I'm supposedly feeling is actually real -"

"I didn't program those feelings into you," you interrupt. Stars above, how long has he been holding this in? "No one did."

"Because I'm faulty." His words are bleak, barren. "A faulty personality chip."

"No."

He looks at you.

"Not faulty. Not even broken." Your eyes don't leave his. "Just you."

Bomin doesn't say anything.

"I think that... more than flesh and blood, more than whatever scientists classify as 'life' in the barest sense... our actions are what make us human." You squeeze his hand slightly and feel relieved when he doesn't pull away. "Feel free to take this with a grain of salt. I'm no philosopher. But..." The lump in your throat is making it really hard to continue. "When you took that bullet for me today, even knowing that there was only the tiniest chance that it would truly decimate you forever..."

The hand between yours pulls away. You almost panic but then it begins to rise, slow, steady, to brush away a tear you didn't even know had fallen down your face.

"When you took that shot for me, that was human, Bomin." Your eyes burn, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "Being human... it means we care for people. Care for each other."

The lump in your throat won't go away. You have to fight to speak. "What I'm trying to say is you're human to me." Swallowing keeps getting progressively harder. "And I care about you. So please..."

Bomin's fingers are still on the side of your face, brushing the tears away.

"Don't do that again." Your voice finally cracks. "Because I couldn't stand to lose you."

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[parkers-gal]

the man with what if’s

boomerang part iv

wc: 1.4k

She was so cold; frigid and frozen as heat left her body. Maybe it was just in her nature to never wear the appropriate clothing in relation to the weather, or maybe she was so accustomed to someone always bringing a jacket for her, that she never thought twice about what she wore. Now, though, she regrets every decision she has ever made.

The walk back to her apartment is already as horrible as it could get, and she still has about eight miles to go. If only she brought a portable charger, or a sweater, or better shoes.

If they were still together, it would’ve been their two-year-anniversary. Maybe that’s why she just left their favorite restaurant. Maybe that’s why she went to visit the very same spot in which they happened to have met for the first time. Maybe that’s why she’s wearing his favorite dress of hers, clad in the best fitting heels that, when worn, still make her shorter than him. Maybe that’s why, after an hour and a half of sitting at a table, alone, in the restaurant, drinking wine as she gazed at the fellow couples and families dining, she started crying.

To anyone else, it would look like the rain just got the worst of her. But attention to detail was all she wished for, all she hoped someone would pay. Pay to notice the puffy, red eyes with lingering dark spots under them. Pay to notice how close she is to giving up, desperation for someone infinitely greater than the hole in her heart.

Love bleeding out, killing her.

All this time, all these weeks gone by and tears fallen, and she still doesn’t love him any less. She hates it, hates how she loves him and needs him, how she craves for the intimacy only he could provide. The warmth and comfort and security he brought, the ease he settled into her bones, and the peace he provided that overtook her body. She wanted it all back. Perhaps Harry was right, that they weren’t better off apart, or perhaps her heart wasn’t ready for a change that wasn’t supposed to happen.

She doesn’t know anything anymore.

She stumbles slightly as she lets the restaurant door close behind her, holding her purse above her head to at least try and remain dry. After a minute of walking like this, she drops her hands to her sides and gives up once again, letting the rain consume her dress, the dark skies the clouds brought filling her orbs and reflecting back to the souls who dared to look her in the eyes.

Her vision blurred, the fine line between happiness and pain lost on the journey to her memories of the best thing that ever happened to her. Maybe this was it.

Another tear fell. She’s so distraught she can’t even differentiate her tears from the raindrops, piercing her skin and freezing the love that once flowed through her veins. She was so distraught that she didn’t notice the car that had pulled up to the curb beside her, following her slowly on her walk back.

The window rolls down, hot waves puffing out and steaming the bitter air of the dim sky.

“Y/N?”

She froze, tears still falling, makeup washed away and smudged in the strangest way, her dress sticking to her body. Turning slowly, she saw. There in the car, her savior and her light and her beacon and her safe haven. The man with the arms that could hold her like she was the most precious being in the world, protecting her. The man with hands that could hold her own, promising and providing. The man with legs that could guide her through all of life’s difficulties and struggles and pain. The man with big, coffee-chocolate doe-eyes, widened to see the world for all its glories and beauties, herself included. The man with a heart so big only fools would let it drop, let it go and watch it shatter the way she did. The man with a burning light, love so strong even the best would be smitten.

“Tommy?”

He hits the brake, window fully rolled down as he leans his elbow on the entirety of it, one hand on the wheel as his entire figure is pointed towards the girl standing beside his car door.

“Come with me?”

She doesn’t reply to him, too starstruck, too preoccupied with her mind, her brain, her biggest enemy: herself. She stands there, rain thundering down harder, and he makes a move to open the car door, but she speaks before he acts.

“Always.”

He sighs out a breath of relief, motioning for her to quickly get into the passenger seat, the door opened for her. She plops into the seat, shivering and teeth chattering as she takes in the newly comforted warmth the car heater provides.

He glances at her, both hands on the wheel but the car still in park. “Take this off,” he motions towards her dress. “Take my jacket instead.”

“I-I,” she’s staring at the road in front of her. “I can’t.”

He stops hustling, bustling, moving. “Why not?” he whispers.

“I don’t know.”

A few silent beats pass before he talks again. “Do you… want to?” he whispers, head down as his eyes look to his lap.

“So much.”

His head shoots up again, and he starts moving. “C'mon, you’ll get sick if you keep wearing this.”

She nods silently, turning so he can unzip her, and he does just that. Smoothly, as if it’s reflex. She maneuvers herself out of the dress and pulls his hoodie over her figure, the cloth reaching just above her knees.

“I brought extra gloves,” he says, reaching into the backseat to hand her a pair of his own, her favorite pair.

“Thank you,” she whispers back, eyes still focused ahead of her.

He changes the car’s transmission, moving the shift knob and driving onward, forward, ahead.

*

“How did you know where I was?” she inquires quietly after a few silent moments, the car’s engine and the heater humming quietly, rain slick on the wheels of the Audi A8.

Tom is silent for a few moments, making a left turn. “I was in the restaurant with you,” he confesses to her.

“W-what?”

They’re so hushed and mumbled that one would think they’re spies, sharing secret information about a classified case. But they’re not. They’re just ordinary people, sharing secrets so valuable they’re worth more than their lives. The heart is too expensive to replace or repair.

“I was at our spot, too,” he whispers on, voice making a raspy appearance as he gets subtly louder. “The place where we met, I mean. I saw you there and- I don’t know.. I didn’t know you had a reservation too. I came in the back, and you were there when I got there. It’s like I couldn’t not see you.”

She breathes out, sweater paws and gloved hands rubbing her thighs, purse discarded on the floor of the car, beside her shivering toes. She looks down for the first time in twenty minutes, hair slipping and covering her face at the sudden change in position.

“I really miss you,” she whispers.

Tom pulls up to her apartment and stops the car, turning towards her seat, but she’s already stepping out of the vehicle.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispers, closing the door lightly as she walks to the front of her flat, new tears brimming the swimming pools that are her eyes. The rain is pouring exponentially now, coming down on her with no mercy and no sympathy, drenching her hair and soaking the new materials on her body.

She hears another car door close behind her, but she doesn’t turn around. Tom is running to her, across the pavement and calling her name, hand reaching for her. She turns around just in time to see him stop in front of her, huffing out as he looks down into her eyes, one hand intertwining with hers and then another.

“I-I,” he stutters, having not thought the entire plan through. But it doesn’t matter, not to him or her or even the god that never listened to his cries and begs. “I miss you too,” he breaths out, forehead pressing against hers.

She relishes in the feeling of being surrounded by him, skin and flesh bare on her very fingertips, nose intoxicated with his scent. Neither of them make any sign to move apart, and she’s internally grateful, praying to the lords that something happens, that a spark can ignite even in the flooding rain.

“I thought you were moving on from me,” he’s whispering again, so close to her that normal voices aren’t needed to hear one another.

A tear slips out of her closed eyes, and she exhales. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

[lanternfading]

12, 19, and 20 for the mun asks! 😃

12. Do you prefer writing main or minor canon characters?

It kind of varies, honestly! Would you believe that the majority of characters I've roleplayed as were mostly villains?

I first got my start writing as The Horned King - I forget when - the main antagonist of The Black Cauldron, an obscure Disney film back from 1985. Though when I came to Tumblr, I didn't really have much luck in getting much activity for him, so HoKi sort of... Flopped.

However, I did have better luck writing for King Candy, from Wreck-It Ralph!

... So that's an example of two major canon characters.

Sadly, the RP Community for Wreck-It Ralph sort of died down over time, so I started looking elsewhere to take my roleplaying adventures. The next fandom that I partook in was the Tolkien Fandom, and my choice for muses were Gothmog and Bolg!

... The thing with Gothmog and Bolg, I can't really say that they were minor characters? I mean, they might not have been the main antagonists, but they still played a pretty big part in their movies. I think Bolg is more prominent(I mean, he WAS present for two movies. AND he kicked ass). But of those two characters, I think peeps were more drawn to Gothmog.

Trivia Time! Did you know that both characters are played by the same actor? Or at least in the second movie in Bolg's case - he was played by a different actor in the third.

The two of them had an incredibly long run -- I kinda do want to say that, of all the characters I've written with, those two arguably had the longest run yet! Alas, I've fallen out of touch with a lot of the peeps I used to write with: Whether they lost muse, or real life interfered, I cannot say. So once more, I looked elsewhere.

As it just so happens, they made the announcement that there would be a Season 5 for Samurai Jack! Of all things! So I was hit with a humongous bout of nostalgia, rewatched the show, and got involved with that fandom!

Who did I take up roleplaying from there? In case you couldn't tell by my slew of icons...!

So, once again: Another major character...

The run I had for Aku wasn't exactly the longest. Hit a few bumps in the road, but I'd have to say that I've Aku-mulated many fond memories writing with the Shogun of Sorrow.

... Shortly after that, they made an announcement that they would be remaking a few games, and... Started developing muse for another character(ironically I had already made the blog for this aforementioned character because why not? But it was before I started Aku, and it didn't quite take off until the remakes of these games were released).

I'd rather not get into that as I've left that particular fandom on incredibly bitter terms... He was the main antagonist of the second game in a trilogy, and I'll leave it at that.

That's when I started getting involved in Dark Souls and Bloodborne... It's hard to describe it, but something about those games sort of... I don't know. Helped patch up a hole that built up in my heart? Though even now... I can't really say that it's something that's really healed.

I hadn't been roleplaying for a couple months. I had my eye set on this one character, but I was super conflicted on do I really want to put in the effort? Who's going to interact with this character when we never see him? And, as far as everyone else is concerned, he is quite literally a coughing window.

But I eventually caved. I made the blog. I had already started sending a whole bunch of headcanons for this character to a certain headcanon blog(you know who you are!).

So now here we are.

As you can see, considering my history of muses, Gilbert is quite different compared to what I've written in the past!

... Again, I'm not really sure if I should classify him as a major character or a minor character... As much as I hate to say it, I think he's more a minor character -- I mean, you could easily miss him if you're new to the game and don't have the foresight of going up to the window and initiating conversation.

I guess it depends on how you look at him! He might be a minor character in the perspective of a video game, but for us players, he's a major character in our hearts!

19. Who is an author that inspires you?

... J.R.R. Tolkien. :P

20. Do you need music/noise to write or do you prefer silence?

It depends on the type of mood I'm in? Sometimes I prefer silence; sometimes I prefer having something to listen to to set me in the mood.

Hello NieR Soundtrack.

[marshmallow-phd]

Catching Rain

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Minseok x Reader

Summary: You were more than satisfied with your life. You attended a nice college, had nice friends, a nice boyfriend. That’s what your life was: nice. You weren’t looking for anything more, so what were you to do when this seemingly harmless boy walked into your life and turned your nice little world into one much more dangerous?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Epilogue

**

The pencil bounced up and down on the folder lying closed on the table. Several students nearby eyed the noise created by the eraser and metal casing (you had an odd love for a good old fashioned pencil that needed sharpening) but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop, not with all this nervous energy surging through your veins. You really shouldn’t be this nervous. This was only a simple… tutoring session? No, it couldn’t really be classified in that category. He wasn’t going to teach you anything – at least, you didn’t think you would be learning anything in this project. Supervising seemed more appropriate. A direct line in case you were stuck – which, to be honest, you already were. 

When Sungkyu had told you about this extra credit, it had sounded so easy. Even the outline he’d created had been simple. But your usually creative brain had seemingly run dry of the juice that sustained it. Were you finally finding your fatal flaw? Capturing an image, finding the moment in a sea of moments, that was easy for you. Apparently your talent stopped at the ability to apply that skill to anything else. You’d arrived at the library a whole hour early in an effort to have something started by the time Minseok was sitting across from you. But you just couldn’t find the connection between art and math. You weren’t Leonardo Da Vinci. 

“This seat taken?”

Your pencil stopped mid-tap. Face remaining neutral, you looked up. On the other side of the table, Minseok stood casually and waited for an answer. The gray hoodie he’d adorned laid slackly against his torso, hugging his hips where black pants peeked out underneath. One hand held onto the standard backpack hanging off his shoulder while the other was stuffed in his jeans’ front pocket. A sweet, crooked smile stretched across his thin lips. And there your heart went, doing backflips again. With the fear of your voice cracking, you simply gestured to the chair across from you. Nodding, Minseok pulled the plastic seat out from under the table and sat down. “So, how far have you gotten?”

“Not even past the start line,” you admitted. You opened the folder you’d put together for the project to show the pathetic state of your effort. The only scribbles in the margins were from tiny, poorly drawn doodles and some last minutes thoughts from your philosophy class. If someone were to say you were an intelligent person, you would like to agree with them, but this current predicament was making you feel like a fraud. 

Taking the outline out of the folder’s pocket, Minseok scanned over the paper. “You know, art and math are more connected than you think.”

You raised an eyebrow teasingly. “Are you going to give me a lecture on how artists have used math to create measurements in their sculptures or paintings?”

“Well, not anymore.”

You laughed. “I get that there’s a connection. Math makes up everything, right? I just can’t find a real world application between photography and math.”

Minseok pursed his lips to the side, thinking. “Maybe you can use math to help you set up a shot.”

“No,” you shook your head. “Pictures are captured organically. If you think about it too much, it loses its magic.” Pushing yourself up, you leaned across the table. You turned on your camera and angled the display screen so you both could see as you flipped through the pictures from the clearing. A small, appreciative smile crept up on his lips. “Capturing your subject is all about the feeling. It isn’t as easy as doing a math problem and then angling your lens before clicking a button. There’s no heart in that. The focus should be on what’s in front of you.”

“But don’t you adjust the shutter speed and light index and other things to change up the picture to capture what you want?”

You felt like a guppy with your mouth opening and closing as you searched for a response. All your brain could come up with was, “Well… yes….”

“So, you do use numbers in your photography.”

“That’s different.”

“How so?”

Suddenly, you were Baby put in a corner. 

A non-malicious grin spread across his face. “Just because you don’t realize you’re using the numbers doesn’t mean that you’re not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. “That sounds an awful lot like a freshman philosophy lecture.”

“Could be. I did only take the one semester for a humanities credit so I could be paraphrasing. But if something stuck then perhaps that’s the one credit that wasn’t a waste of money.”

The laughter coming from you was nonstop. You couldn’t help it. Every little jab and joke he shot off made you feel like you were the only audience member in a comedy club - however, they weren’t gold. The jokes weren’t even that funny. Some of them might not even meant to be jokes. But the bubbly feeling in your stomach pushed its way up and came out before you could fully process his intention. Talking to him was… effortless. And this was barely a conversation. A single warning bell was ringing in the back of your mind. Dangerous territory was near, but you kept walking. Curiosity was a strong attractor.

“So,” Minseok clapped his hands together and folded his fingers, resting his chin on his knuckles. In that single motion, he transformed from the GTA to the optimistic sophomore in his looks. “Can I ask you a question? Besides the one I just did, anyway.” 

You nodded, “Of course.” Anything to keep you from actually having to work on this project. Which, obviously, was very counter intuitive, but you would finish it… eventually. And if you didn’t get too much done today, then that was nearly a guaranteed second session. 

“As a photographer, what would you say is the hardest thing to capture? Like, in a picture?”

You were taken aback. No one had ever asked you that before. You didn’t even think the topic had come up in any of your classes. Different subjects floated through your head as you tried to find the answer to his question. Moving objects was the go-to reply. But some - like human beings - were easy with the tiniest modifications. There was one thing, though, one particular part of nature that you loved but often gave you frustration. “Rain.”

“Rain?”

“Yeah… Catching rain. You can feel it, but you can’t always see it.” You held out your hand, palm towards the ceiling. “The drops could be pouring down from the clouds, hitting your skin, but the camera can’t capture it.”

“So, what do you do then?” He asked with an eagerness, with true attentiveness and interest in your words. It made you sit up. 

“You change your strategy. You slow things down. That’s when it comes out best.”

He nodded slowly. He took in every word you were saying and absorbed it. A warmth spread across your cheeks and you prayed it wasn’t visible to him. Out of nowhere, Minseok cleared his throat and sat back. “Maybe you could use the numbers in the equations.”

You grimaced as you came back to the reason the two of you were here. “That sounds complicated.”

“Okay, then,” he chuckled. “Why not-”

The muddled shrill of a cell phone vibrating against the table. You hadn’t even realized he’d put it there at some point during the conversation. He let out a disappointed sigh as he flipped the device over and checked the identity of the caller. An apologetic look was thrown your way as he answered. “Hello?”

The faint, intelligible voice of another guy echoed through the speaker. Minseok nodded as if the caller could see him.

“Okay. I’ll go now.”

And there was the wave of disappointment. So today was to come to an end already. And you still were no closer to a realization than before. 

Minseok pressed the red button and disconnected the call. The smile that he had on his face earlier morphed into a sadder version. “I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” you reassured him. “Hold that thought for next time.”

A spark flashed in his eyes. Was that a bit flirtatious? How bad was it that you could no longer control the fluctuation in your voice? 

“And when would next time come around?” 

“Saturday?” Eric had to spend the day finishing off the set pieces for the upcoming play. When he was working like that, he could be lost in painting for hours. Getting him on the phone or off the stage would be next to impossible. That seed of guilt was pushing on your stomach again. Hanging out with a guy that made you laugh while your boyfriend was off somewhere else wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you would ask Eric first if he was comfortable with that. If he said no you could always come up with a good excuse to back out. 

“Saturday should work.” In a quick motion, he flipped your folder around and wrote down his number. “Just let me know what time works best for you.” Jumping up from his seat, he threw his bag over his shoulder and started to walk away. But after a few steps, he turned back around. A wide, gum-revealing smile spread across his face as he waved casually. But his smile was anything but casual. In it you saw hope, a possibility of something more. 

I’m in trouble.

You knew it. You knew very well that meeting up with him was going to lead to a terrible predicament. But as he walked away, you’d resigned to follow that rabbit hole anyway. 

Needing a distraction, you hopped up and headed out your own way. There was still another matter you needed to solve and now was the perfect time. With your backpack in the passenger’s seat, you drove out of the parking lot and towards the back roads, taking the same way to the forest you had previously. The wheels of your car matched up almost perfectly with the marks from before. Locking your backpack in the trunk, you pocketed your keys and phone and started hiking. You followed the path to the clearing; your nerves bounced faster and faster the closer you got. 

Immediately, you headed straight for the tree that had been your resting place. The grass was taller in only a few short days. The blades scratched gently at your hands as you pushed the blades aside for a better view of the ground. After circling the area, you had to give up. It wasn’t there. The wolf flashed in your mind. Shaking your head, you ridiculed the idea. The wolf couldn’t have taken your notebook… could it? Certainly if he had there would be remnants of paper still around.

Blowing air through your lips, you sat down at the base of the tree. Now what were you going to do?

A rustling nearby made you jump. Out of the trees, the wolf from before - at least, you assumed it was the same wolf - cautiously came towards you. “Did you take my notebook,” you asked out loud. The wolf pulled back his ears in response. Your eyes widened. “Did you?”

The wolf barked. You had to laugh at yourself. You were having a conversation with a wolf. You felt ridiculous. Again. 

You sighed. “I guess it's just time to face the facts. It’s gone. Eric won’t be too happy with me.”

The wolf growled before coming up next to you and curling up in the grass to your right. He laid his head in your lap. Yes, this was definitely your wolf. What else were you supposed to do if not pet him?

“Eric will just be disappointed,” you said. “Not like, angry or anything. I’ll need to come up with another place to lose it, though. If he found out that I came to the forest by myself, he’d turn red. Especially after-” You froze, your hand hovering over the wolf’s ears. The news of the campers returned to the front of your mind. They were attacked by an animal - a wolf, most likely. Something still told you that it couldn’t have been the wolf currently resting on your legs. How could he be like a puppy with you and vicious towards others?

Noticing your sudden silence, the wolf lifted his head and looked up at you. 

“You didn’t hurt those people, did you?”

The wolf tilted his head to the side. You took that as a good sign. 

Reacting to a sound your own human ears didn’t pick up, the wolf’s ears flicked up as he turned towards the trees. He stood up on his paws and pulled on your sleeve with his teeth so you would do the same. One bark conveyed what he was trying to tell you. “Okay,” you nodded. “I’ll go. But you be careful, too, alright? If there’s something… mean running around here, I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

It still amazed you how this animal could somehow understand you. He reared up on his back paws and placed his front on your chest. You were now looking eye to eye with this giant dog. He gave you a sloppy kiss on your cheek before jumping down and nudging you away. He saw you all the way to the edge of the forest. Disappointment weighed you down as you plopped down in the driver’s seat. And you weren’t sure if it was because of the lost notebook or the wolf you were leaving behind. 

**

Minseok ran through the forest back to the house. This whole “mate pull” was starting to scare him a little bit. He’d been trying to find any clue to the rogue wolf that had invaded their territory but a feeling told him to go to the clearing again. You’d come back. He was both elated to see you again and petrified that you were out here with no protection. If he hadn’t come across you… he shivered at the very thought of what could have happened. When he heard something moving close by he needed to get you out of there; he didn’t care if it was the omega or a harmless rabbit. Seeing you go created a whimper in his chest, but he would see you again on Saturday. Goodbye for now wasn’t something to stress about.  

After running the perimeter for another hour, he headed back to the farmhouse. The conversation from the library followed him through the trees. He’d simply asked a question to keep the conversation going, but he was finding an allegory within your answer. 

You’d said in order to catch the rain in a picture you had to slow things down. Maybe that was the approach he had to take with you. His initial plan had perhaps been a bit too strong. If circumstances were different, it might have worked. But given the fact that he had competition for your heart, that would no longer be a good direction to go in. So he would take it slow. He would get to know you through these small meetings about the project. And he would let you get to know him. Maybe then the pull would grow on your side. Maybe then you would come to him on your own terms instead of him chasing you down. Yes, exactly like rain in a photo.

Now back home with a clear head, he slipped into the jeans he’d hidden in the bushes before walking up to the back door. The kitchen was a ruckus like always as he entered. Most of the pack was home from the university, except for Junmyeon. Kyungsoo and Chanyeol were discussing what to do about dinner while Jongdae and Baekhyun were teasing the younger wolves about… something. Minseok couldn’t really pick up on what they were going on about. No one seemed to notice the eldest’s entrance, but that was alright. Minseok simply grabbed a cup from the cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. Leaning against the counter, he sipped at the room temperature liquid with his eyes trained on the floor. 

“Minseok?”

He looked up at the brother who called his name. The kitchen had quite down a few notches. “Yeah?”

Jongdae gave him that concerned gaze that curled the corners of his lips. “Why were you out running by yourself?”

“I was just trying to see if I could find the omega.” While that was the truth, it wasn’t everything that occurred out in the woods. He was getting closer to telling everyone about finding his mate, just so he didn’t have to tiptoe around anymore. He would see how Saturday went and then he would decide. 

“But why on your own?”

“I sent him.”

Junmyeon came into the kitchen, taking the leather messenger bag that was draped over his shoulder off and placing it on the kitchen table. “It was just a recon mission.” A little smile perked up in the corner of his mouth. Around the room a few eyes rolled, but no one called out the leader’s exaggeration of the situation. “If he was able to find anything then he was supposed to note it and report back.” He looked to Minseok, who shook his head. There was nothing. 

“Still odd that you sent him by himself,” Sehun commented with narrowed eyes. 

“I thought he could use the quiet.”

“You are all too loud,” Minseok jumped in. Several voices roared in protest, not realizing that they were instead proving his point. 

“What’s for dinner?” Jongin asked, the subject immediately being changed. What a relief it was that they all had a powerful focus on their stomachs - especially when they were empty. Minseok took the opportunity to finish off the water and head upstairs to take a shower.