#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!

[cal-writes]

hot damn everyone liked the superhero au bit huh, have some more

-

Law wouldn't consider himself a hero. Officially the government has him classified as a vigilante because he isn't registered or affiliated with any sanctioned hero groups. That's fine by him. He never set out to be a hero, he has other things to focus on.

He is occasionally overcome with altruism however. So when he walks down a street and the two highrise apartment buildings begin to toppel into each other he bothers to create his room and stop them in their tracks.

The world around him floods blue, feels the phantom pressure of their weight as he extends his powers. The cars on the road come to screetching halts, blocking the street. People in the cars up front emerge, running down the way Law came in anticipation of the fight.

The buildings creak, the walls of their ground floors crumbled. The rubble shakes and move down the street as if possessed, straight towards the obvious culprit. A tall man, huge shoulders and purple hair and the only one who isn't running away from the precarious state of the buildings framing the street. He turns towards Law, wearing sunglasses and an ugly sneer.

"Who are you?" The guy asks, lifting his chin.

Name: Trafalgar Law, alias The Surgeon Age: unknown (29) Powers: Room He can summon a bubble - the titular Room - in which he has limited control over the conditions inside, such as air pressure and temperature, as well as every object inside its radius. His signature move "Shambles" switches two objects with each other. (Unbeknownst to the public, Law can also affect living creatures. He's invested in keeping it that way). The bigger his Room the bigger his arsenal but so is the effort required to keep it up.

Law lifts his chin in kind and walks onto the street. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Around them the screaming has quieted down and people are rapidly exiting the building through what remains ground floor and the fire escapes. The structural damage of which hinder the process significantly.

The man laughs and as he does, bits of concret tumbling around him. "You a hero?" He asks as the rubble rises to float around him. Some sort of telekisis then, Law notes. Though it must be limited to a specific type of matter. Glass shards and bits of rebar remain where they are unless the are stuck in the stone.

Law puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs, looking around lazily. The thing that had caused the buildings to fall where the huge holes in its structure, compromising their integity. Both buildings were primarily apartments with the odd office in between. As if they had been specifically chosen for the maximum amount of casualties.

"You a villain?" Law replies and the man throws his head back to laugh.

"You tell me." He says. The floating rocks become a vortex, flying in spirals around him and Law widens his stance. The first rock that flies towards him goes wide even without having to dodge but the second is getting closer. If he weren't currently occupied holding two buildings in place this would be easy. But as he is very much occupied doing that, all he can do is dodge and hope that the people inside hurry the fuck up.

A volley of rubble comes his way with enough speed that he will eat one of them if he doesn't stop them otherwise so he thrusts out his hand, increasing the air pressure until it stops dead. Around him the buildings creak dangerously, the screaming increases as they wobble. He curses under his breath, moving his hands in a wide arch to grab onto the buildings again. If he could just move them it would be trivial, alas he is stuck with what he has.

The brief lurch has slowed the evacuation. Thanks to his Room Law knows exactly how many people are still inside and none of them are moving anywhere much to his dismay. Except for one. He grits his teeth. One person that had been climbing down the fire escape from their balcony has lost their footing, barely holding onto the rail and Law knows it's a matter of seconds before their plummet.

The asshole responsible is pulling more projectiles towards him, gleefully smirking and Law wants to smash his face in. He vows to do it later.

A sharp yell and the persons grib slips tumbling freely towards the street below and moves. His arm shoots up, focusing his control over the area around the person to slow their fall without letting the buildings move. He sees the twister of concret roar back up around his opponent and knows it's about to be ugly.

(Options: 1. Drop the person - no, 2. drop the buildings further - not recommended as it will likely cause more injuries and/or people falling that he will have to rescue, 3. dodge the giant bit of rubble heading his way - sudden movement will jeopardize his control and possilby cause both options 1 and 2 to occur, 4. stand there and take the hit - risky if something vital is hit but if he has trajectory correct it will merely hit his shoulder)

Law stands his ground, braces for impact as he lowers the falling civilian slowly to the ground. His body tenses.

He notices the pollen first before he becomes aware of the shadow piercing his Room. A flash moves in his periphial vision, followed by a horrible metallic sound. The civillain touches the ground and scrambles down the street with a frantic thanks, unharmed.

"Need a hand?" Demon asks him, a sword in each hand, deflecting the projectiles headed his way.

Name: Roronoa Zoro, alias East Demon Age: unknown (Law assumes they are close in age based on appearance) Powers: unknown (something that Law has a personal gripe with) All he knows that he is good at close quarters offence with a few long range attacks that he hasn't seen enough times to determine exactly how they work.

Demon is dressed in street clothes, black jeans and a white shirt. Only the black bandana over his head is part of his uniform. It hides his hair and casts his eyes in shadow. His third sword is still hanging on his hip, waiting for use. 

Law grimaces. "I can handle myself." He tells him.

Even without seeing his face, he knows that Demon rolls his eyes. The thunder of a rifle sounds and Law flinches on reflex before he sees the impact on one of the villains stones, shattering it into smaller pieces. Law follows the origin of the shot and just barely sees a figure on one of the neighbouring buildings but he doesn't need to see him clearly to know who it is most likely to be.

Name: unknown last name Usopp, aliases Snipergod, Savant Age: 22 Powers: unconfirmed accuracy ability He is trained in all manner of firearms and has near inhuman accuracy with all of them. Thusfar unclear if it is a trained ability or a physical trait.

"Where's the rest of your merry band of assholes?" He asks.

Demon's sword sparks as it collides with a piese of rubble, causing it harmlessly land next to them.

Law wouldn't exactly consider Demon and his group allies or friends. But he does owe them his life or whatever (he tries not to dwell on it - if only Luffy would give him the opportunity to return the favor).

"Snipergod is giving cover and Lady Ohara is helping evacuation." Demon tells him. 

Name: Nico Robin, aliases Lady Ohara, Mrs. All Sundays, Demon Child Age: 33 Power: Bloom She expells pollen and can create fully functional additonal limbs and organs whereever the pollen reach. They are extentions of herself and as such, suceptible to damage that she will suffer from.

"You have the buildings?" Demon asks.

Law bristles but swallows it down. Not the time. "And the rest of you?" He asks instead of answering because the answer should be obvious.

"Not here, we happened to be in the area." Demon says and Law scoffs. Just his luck.

"Right. You know this asshole?" He asks.

"Calls himself Zed, for cement." Demon tells him and Law glares at his back. His muscles move underneath his shirt as he slashes at the bits of concret.

"That doesn't even make sense!"

Demon shrugs with one shoulder and pivots on his heel to catch a stray piece of rubble. "That's what he said. We fought him before."

Law groans. "What a tool." He mutters. "How long until all the civilians are out?"

Horrifyingly a mouth appears on Demon's shoulder as well as an ear. Even knowing Lady Ohara it freaks him out.

"I estimate around twenty more minutes." The mouth on Demon's shoulder tells him. "Are any injured or trapped?" She asks and Law closes his eyes, focuses his awareness in the Room.

"None so far. Children on the seventh floor of the left building." He says.

"Understood. We contacted Handyman, estimated time of arrival is four minutes." She tells him.

Name: Cutty Flam, alieses Handyman, Iron Man, Cyborg Age: 39 Powers: Material Creation He can convert energy into objects, creating them out of thin air. Due to his background in carpentry he most often creates wood or other building materials and crafts insane structures out of them. Additonally half his body is mechanical (reason unknown) and has a variety of weapons and tools stored inside.

Law rolls his shoulders and makes his neck crack. Four minutes until Handyman can secure the buildings and free up Law from the burden.

"Shouldn't you cover your teammate?" Law asks as Demon deflects the next assault on them. Zed roars, focus split between trying to attack Law and protecting himself from Snipergod's shots.

Demon huffs. "She's hidden. If I go to her I'll reveal her location." He says and Law begrudgingly admits that he's the most vulnerable player on the field right now. "You got here first. Your call." Demon tells him and the ease in which he defers to Law catches him off guard.

He's too used to both heroes and vigilantes having too big of an ego for teamwork. It's a nice change of pace. Though he is acutely aware that it would be a different story if Demon's leader were here.

Law glances around and tries to assess the situation. Without having to spend time to defend himself, his hold of the buildings is rock solid and Lady Ohara will make the evacuation go much quicker. With Snipergod keeping Zed occupied he won't be able to get away quickly. 

"Can you deal with him?" Law asks, ducking his head when a piece of rubble chips off and passes by Demon. Nothing big enough that would cause damage.

"If I can get close." Demon tells him. They must have come here in a hurry. The knot of his bandana is beginning to come lose, showing off the grass greeen hair underneath.

Law looks past him towards Zed. He only catches a glimpse of the man's sneer before the ground rumbles. Conrete and rubble rolling towards him until he is completely encased. The buildings further down the road start to crack Snipergod's next bullets barely put a dent in the stone.

"I can get you close." Law says, breathing deeply. The area is already huge in order to encompass the entire two buildings but not big enough to catch Zed in it too. He doesn't even to run from it as Law expands his room. It swallows him easily. Law crocks his fingers, pulling at the stone surrounding Zed.

Here is why Law tends to keep a low profile and prefer quick beat down fights: If his opponent knows how his ability works, it's easier for them to resist it.

Zed's hold onto his makeshift armor is too complete for Law to make any piece of it budge. He grits his teeth. "If you can cut through stone." He adds, exhaling sharply. There has to be something else.

"With enough speed I can." Demon tells him and Law files that little tidbit away to investigate later. Law looks off in the direction of Snipergod.

"Lady Ohara, tell Snipergod to fire on my mark." Law says, focusing in Zed. More and more rubble joins him, lifting him higher off the ground. The rocks becoming and extention of himself. "You are going to be very fast, I won't be able to catch you." He tells Demon who simply nods.

With a gust of pollen, a mouth and ear appear on Law's shoulder and he resists the urge to shudder. "Where should he aim?" She asks him, voice strained. If he focuses he can feel her presence all around them, bits of her and her limbs in every room of the two buildings.

"Dealers choice." Law tells Demon who moves his head slighly to speak over his shoulder.

"Throat." He tells the ear there.

It disappears from Demon's body with a whisper. "On your mark, Surgeon." The mouth on Law's shirt says.

The buildings around Zed shake, losing chips of plaster, whole chunks being pulled into the orbit of the man's powers. They don't have much time.

Demon shifts his stance, puts one of his swords in between his lips before unseathing the third one. 

"Ready." He says with surprising clearity.

Law breathes, watches the rubble tornado pick up speed. "Now." The rifle bellows and Law feels the instant it crosses into his Room. His index and ring finger curl underneath his thumb. "Shambles."

The bullet slams into the road below him and in its stead, Demon flies through the air. The blades of his swords turn black and a palpable aura appears around him. As if smoke were pouring out of his orifices but not in same composition. Immaterial. An energy so potent it becomes visible. 

A deafening screech sounds as Demon flies past Zed, crashing through a shopwindow on the other side of the street.

For a heartbeat, Law thinks Snipergod missed his shot. Then everything stops. The rubble floating around Zed pauses midair before it rains to the ground. A red hot line cuts across his stone outer body. His armor slowly falls away, his hand shaking as he reaches for his torso. It takes another second for Zed to realize what happened before his body collapses in on itself, buried under his own rubble.

Law exhales, pulling his room closer around himself and the buildings to make the burden easier on himself. "Status on Demon?" He asks.

"Unclear. I had to leave or risk injury." Lady Ohara tells him curtly, unhappiness audible.

Law glances towards Snipergod but his figure has disappeared from the top of the building, probably making his way down. Behind him he hears footsteps accompanied with a metallic clatter and when he turns he sees the turqoise hair of Handyman and his terrible red unbottoned shirt as he runs towards them. Law wants to believe that Handyman is only wearing speedos because of the urgency but unfortunately he knows the man to be an exhibitionist. 

He gives Law a thumbs up as he skitts over the asphalt towards the closest building, dropping something round and metallic at his feet that extends into support rods that shoot into the walls to hold it up. Handyman secures them quickly while creating rebar out of thin air and adding to his patch job. On the other side of the road and the other building a flurry of pollen is the precursor to hundreds of arms shooting out of the ground, bracing against the walls. Law lets go of his hold slowly, testing the new support before he is sure it's safe to let go.

The weight leaving him is almost dizzying. While using his powers he doesn't notice it as much but the sudden lack of pressure is so stark he stumbles forward, only years of practise helping him to catch his feet. No sign of Snipergod yet and the rest of the street is deserted. Distantly Law notices the sound of sirens.

He doesn't run but it's a close thing (just to be efficient not because he's worried). The shopfront window has a human sized hole, destroying the logo printed on it that would identify it as a café. Chairs and tables have toppled and splintered, a swathe of destruction ending in the bar counter that has been broken in two. A pile of glass, wood and the remnants of an espresso machine obscured Demon save for his black boot sticking out from underneath.

Law climbs through the broken window, glass crunching under his feet. "You still alive?" He asks loudly, heart hammering in his chest.

A groan, and the pile of carnage shifts. Law hurries over to get the biggest pieces off. The espresso machine is warped, sharp metal everywhere. 

A hand plunges through the rubble first and Law takes a step back, feet slipping underneath him. Demon breaks through.  He sits up, shaking his head like a dog and making splinters fly everywhere. Law makes room before he gets hit by the debris (and so he doesn't do anything stupid loke offer a hand). 

Demon's bandana slips off, having hung on by a thread to the man's head. Green hair is sticking up with sweat and blood, the latter of which also runs down his face. Little cuts and scrapes all over. He doesn't appear to be too injured, Law wagers from Demon's movement. He digs himself out of the rubble without issue. His shirt is ripped in parts, leaving little patches of red on the white fabric as he takes care to pick all the wood from it.

He looks past Law, squinting out the window. "We got him?" He asks, shuddering slightly.

Law nods and feels stupid standing there.

Demon nods, sheathing one of his swords before reaching out blind to grab the third from the rubble. He presses the flag blade against his forehead briefly, muttering something Law doesn't catch before he sheaths the other two swords. 

He blinks with the one eye that isn't scarred over and blind as blood runs into it, obscuring his vision.

A common theory about Demon's abilities is that is must be a healing factor of some sort or he that he simply doesn't feel pain at all. Law has seen him fight and fought alongside him too many times to believe that.

Demon winces slightly as he steps down from his pile, sliding on the broken wood. 

He wipes at his brow to stop the blood flow. "Nice work." He tells Law with a smirk that shows off his teeth, pink with bloody saliva.

Law takes a second too long to remember himself. He huffs and turns around, stomping back to the front of the shop. 

"Could have done without your help." He says, seeing Snipergod emerge from the building across the street and jog in their direction.

Demon snorts. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome." Law bends down to pick up a piece of glass and with a flick of his wrist and a small Room, its replaced with Demon's bandana. Miraculously it appears to be undamaged. He holds it out towards the other man as he comes to stand by his side. It's as much of an apology as he will lower himself too. After all it was his plan that caused Demon's injuries.

"Thanks." Demon says, having no qualms about gratitude. "Drinks?" He asks as Snipergod reaches the broken window, out of breath.

Law is grateful for it too because with one word, Demon has derailed Law's entire train of thought. He looks at him as Demon ties his bandana around his head (and over his injury which makes Law bristle professionally).

"Oh, thank god," Snipergod says, holding his chest. "He's good." He tells the ear on the strap of his rifle. "That was so stupid." He whines dramatically.

Demon shrugs. "Worked out, didn't it?" Is all he says before climbing outside. Law follows after some delay.

[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.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

WiP Wednesday

This is the beginnings of a oneshot, filling an anon request (I’m getting to it! Slowly but surely!) I’ll post the request when I’ve got the whole thing written ;)

. . . . .

It was a dumb idea.

Getting the kid to tail her.

What was he thinking? This wasn’t some freah-off-the-line hack who didn’t know how to look over their shoulder without looking like a deer in the headlights. This was Natasha freakin’ Romanov: if she couldn’t claim to have invented the spy genre, she had definitely perfected it.

But he was desperate.

And Pete was worried about her, too.

“Something’s up with her, Mr Stark,” he had said, just that morning. “She missed training yesterday, and when I asked her about it, she told me she forgot. Mr Stark, Miss Romanov never forgets anything.”

Tony suggested the tailing as a throwaway joke, just something to soften the concern pulling out the kid’s puppy eyes. As he said it, though, it sounded with the ring of a very possible idea.

So, here he was, one rough plan later, sitting at a desk in his workshop, eyes glued to a screen showing Peter’s current position as a blinking red dot (with angular little spider legs—the kid had added that, when, Tony didn’t actually know). Through his headset, he communicated with Peter, talking to him, mostly listening to him narrate his every move.

The kid was enjoying it. He felt useful and trusted, and he was having fun spying on an actual spy.

Tony followed his trail carefully, calculating every possibility of where any road could take him. If Natasha’s trail led anywhere dangerous—into dark corners of the city or near any known criminal hangouts or potential rendezvous locations—he would call off this little endeavour (and he had made the kid swear to listen to him without hesitation or, so help him, he would send a suit to drag him back to the compound by the scruff of his neck).

He didn’t think there would be anything too much to worry about, but he knew… well, he knew Natasha. There had been times when she had tread off the straight and narrow, had gone where no one who wanted to sleep at night dared to even glance at, all to get a job—necessary but no less unsavoury—done.

He would be relieved at the end of this, he kept telling himself. He would learn that her absentminded moments were just a side-effect of spending mental and physical energy on some mission Fury had slipped her—“unofficially” because that was the only way he and whatever remained of SHIELD operated these strange, broken days.

This wasn’t some exercise to assuage Peter’s worries. He, Tony, was worried; had been for a while.

He couldn’t trace when he had begun worrying about Natasha exactly.

There was natural concern when he first met her, as Natalie: she was, as he then believed, a nice, normal person, and association with him—especially at that time in his chaotic life—came with risks to anyone in his vicinity (even ones who could bodily flip ex-boxers). Those waves of concern died flat when he saw her in that SHIELD uniform, the signature eagle emblazoned on her.

During the Battle of New York, his mind drifted to her a few times. She was one of the non-powered, unarmoured humans on the team: it was natural to worry about her when there was an army of murderous aliens pouring from a black hole in the sky. (He hadn’t forgotten that jagged jolt of anxiety that split through his veins when he saw her riding one of the Chitauri’s crafts, her back completely unprotected…)

After that, the missions the team shared, even the ones she skipped out on, always somewhere else, doing something else… there was a part of him that had begun to wonder, every time he saw her just come strolling through the tower at random, if this would be the last time he ever saw her, if the next call from Fury would be to inform them that their resident superspy had met her tragic end, somewhere classified, doing something classified.

It came out in bitterness sometimes, in snarky little remarks.

Look who decided to show up.

Ah, so you do remember where we live.

Are you an Avenger today? Or a SHIELD agent? I can never tell.

It came out in sentiments, always couched with nonchalance.

Please tell me that’s someone being fashionably late?

You come back in one piece: there’s only one Black Widow, after all.

Don’t get killed out there.

He just… wasn’t sure when all those discordant flashes of concern had shifted from idle and transitory to this near constant knot in his chest.

[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.

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

[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...

[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 3, 2022

Officials fear ‘complete doomsday scenario’ for drought-stricken Colorado River (Washington Post) The first sign of serious trouble for the drought-stricken American Southwest could be a whirlpool. It could happen if the surface of Lake Powell, a man-made reservoir along the Colorado River that’s already a quarter of its former size, drops another 38 feet down the concrete face of the 710-foot Glen Canyon Dam here. At that point, the surface would be approaching the tops of eight underwater openings that allow river water to pass through the hydroelectric dam. The normally placid Lake Powell, the nation’s second-largest reservoir, could suddenly transform into something resembling a funnel, with water circling the openings, the dam’s operators say. If that happens, the massive turbines that generate electricity for 4.5 million people would have to shut down—after nearly 60 years of use—or risk destruction from air bubbles. The only outlet for Colorado River water from the dam would then be a set of smaller, deeper and rarely used bypass tubes with a far more limited ability to pass water downstream to the Grand Canyon and the cities and farms in Arizona, Nevada and California. Such an outcome—known as a “minimum power pool”—was once unfathomable here. Now, the federal government projects that day could come as soon as July. Worse, officials warn, is the possibility of an even more catastrophic event. That is if the water level falls all the way to the lowest holes, so only small amounts could pass through the dam. Such a scenario—called “dead pool”—would transform Glen Canyon Dam from something that regulates an artery of national importance into a hulking concrete plug corking the Colorado River.

Hawaii history shows stopping lava not easy (AP) Prayer. Bombs. Walls. Over the decades, people have tried all of them to stanch the flow of lava from Hawaii’s volcanoes as it lumbered toward roads, homes and infrastructure. Now Mauna Loa—the world’s largest active volcano—is erupting again, and lava is slowly approaching a major thoroughfare connecting the Big Island’s east and west sides. And once more, people are asking if anything can be done to stop or divert the flow. “It comes up every time there’s an eruption and there’s lava heading towards habited areas or highways. Some people say ‘Build a wall’ or ‘Board up’ and other people say, ‘No don’t!,’” said Scott Rowland, a geologist at the University of Hawaii. Humans have rarely had much success stopping lava and, despite the world’s technological advances, doing so is still difficult and dependent on the force of the flow and the terrain.

Online Gambling Hooked the UK. America Is Next (Bloomberg) For four of the past five years, British bettors have lost more than $17.1 billion (£14 billion) on online casino games, sports betting and other forms of gambling. Fully 60% of the industry’s profits come from only 5% of its customers, and as many as 138,000 people in England are classified as problem gamblers—as well as 36,000 children aged 11-16. About 400 suicides, 8% of the total in England, are estimated to be linked to gambling each year, while it disrupts the lives of many more through broken marriages, bankruptcy, homelessness and crime. Now, with more and more states liberalizing gambling laws, one of the fathers of UK online betting says the scourge is coming for America.

Ukraine war shows Europe too reliant on U.S., Finland PM says (Reuters) Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has shown that Europe is too reliant on the United States for its own security, Finnish Prime Minister Sanna Marin said on Friday. Speaking at a think tank in Sydney, Australia, Marin advocated boosting Europe’s defence capabilities, including arms production. “I must be brutally honest with you, Europe isn’t strong enough right now. We would be in trouble without the United States,” Marin told an audience at the Lowy Institute. She added she had spoken with many U.S. politicians who had said they think Europe should be stronger.

Russia’s Labor-Starved Economy Pays Price of Putin’s Call-Up (Bloomberg) The call-up of men to fight in Ukraine has left labor so scarce in Russia that entire industries are in distress. Two months after the Kremlin announced the mobilization in late September, a record depletion of workers is fast spreading across a country already hobbled by an aging and shrinking population and with unemployment near the lowest ever. A study by the Gaidar Institute in Moscow in November found that up to a third of Russian industry may face a deficit of personnel because of the draft, the most severe crunch since 1993. The mobilization of 300,000 men, combined with an even bigger wave of emigration it triggered, will reduce the male labor pool by 2%. The call-up and the flight it caused cut across society, sweeping up urban white-collar professionals and people in rural areas alike. In Novosibirsk, Siberia’s most populous city, officials say they can field barely half the staff needed to clear streets of snow with so much of the seasonal workforce from the countryside caught up in the mobilization. More than 200 convicts will be employed at the state-run tank maker Uralvagonzavod.

Official says over 10,000 Ukrainian troops killed in war (AP) A top adviser to Ukraine’s president has cited military chiefs as saying 10,000 to 13,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been killed in the country’s nine-month struggle against Russia’s invasion, a rare comment on such figures and far below estimates of Ukrainian casualties from Western leaders. The Ukrainian military has not confirmed such figures and it was a rare instance of a Ukrainian official providing such a count. Ursula von der Leyen, the president of the European Union’s executive Commission, said 100,000 Ukrainian troops had been killed before her office corrected her comments—calling them inaccurate and saying that the figure referred to both killed and injured. Last month, Gen. Mark Milley, the chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff, said that as many as 40,000 Ukrainian civilians and “well over” 100,000 Russian soldiers have been killed or wounded in the war so far. He added that it was the “same thing probably on the Ukrainian side.”

China pledges to slowly exit ‘zero covid’ (Washington Post) China’s coronavirus czar said that the country would take “baby steps” in extricating itself from a three-year pursuit of “zero covid,” after authorities stepped up censorship efforts following rare mass protests, and ahead of a state funeral for a former leader. Her remarks were the surest sign so far that Beijing is moving to end a virus-eradication effort that has saved many lives, though at the high cost of sudden lockdowns, mass testing, sealed borders and a sluggish economy. Beijing has not offered a timetable on exiting zero covid, but some health experts say the strictest measures could be lifted by the middle of next year. After protests against zero covid spread to more than a dozen metropolises, some of China’s largest cities this week started lifting lockdowns, canceling mass testing and allowing some close contacts to quarantine at home. But measures that have long been phased out elsewhere in the world, such as testing requirements to access public entertainments spaces, remained in the southern economic hub of Guangzhou.

UN: Iraq Christians were victims of Islamic State war crimes (AP) Evidence collected in Iraq strengthens preliminary findings that Islamic State extremists committed crimes against humanity and war crimes against the Christian community after it seized about a third of the country in 2014, a U.N. investigative team said in a report circulated Thursday. The report to the U.N. Security Council said crimes included forcibly transferring and persecuting Christians, seizing their property, engaging in sexual violence, enslavement and other “inhumane acts,” such as forced conversions and destruction of cultural and religious sites. Islamic State fighters seized Iraqi cities and declared a self-styled caliphate in a large swath of territory in Syria and Iraq in 2014. The group was formally declared defeated in Iraq in 2017 following a three-year bloody battle that left tens of thousands dead and cities in ruins, but its sleeper cells continue to stage attacks in different parts of Iraq.

Rise in Iranian assassination, kidnapping plots alarms Western officials (Washington Post) In the summer of 2021, officers from the Canadian Security Intelligence Service showed up at the Vancouver home of Ramin Seyed Emami, an Iranian Canadian musician and performer who hosts a popular Persian-language podcast. Seyed Emami often features guests from inside Iran and delves into topics that are taboo in conservative Iranian culture, such as sex, mental health and losing religious faith. One of the officers explained that the government of Iran had developed a list of people living abroad whom it deemed a threat to the regime, Seyed Emami said in an interview. The officer didn’t say whether the 41-year-old podcaster’s name was on it, but the implication was clear, and he was told to take security precautions. The Iranian government has stepped up its efforts to kidnap and kill government officials, activists and journalists around the world, including in the United States, according to government documents and interviews with 15 officials in Washington, Europe and the Middle East. Iran’s security services have carried out lethal operations abroad since the regime took power four decades ago, officials said. More recently, they said, between 2015 and 2017, Tehran is believed to have killed at least three dissidents in Western Europe, including an Iranian Arab activist who was gunned down in front of his home in The Hague.

Will Ramaphosa Hang On? (Foreign Policy) South African President Cyril Ramaphosa is scrambling to salvage his presidency after an independent panel found that he may have violated the country’s constitution, fueling opposition leaders’ demands for his resignation and potentially paving the way for an impeachment hearing. The case in question—known as “Farmgate”—dates back to 2020, when burglars stole a vast sum of foreign cash from the president’s game ranch. But Ramaphosa never reported the theft. The revelations only came to light in June, when a political rival accused him of graft and concealing a theft of more than $4 million—unleashing a strange, explosive scandal that has since rocked the country. Ramaphosa has maintained that the thieves took $580,000 that he made from selling 20 buffaloes. But the panel didn’t buy his account, instead questioning why the packs of cash were stashed in a sofa, why the crime went unreported, and why the already-sold buffaloes are still on his property, among other tax and legal concerns. It’s a sharp turn for a leader who pledged to battle corruption after succeeding Jacob Zuma, whose presidency was marked by graft scandals. For Ramaphosa, the controversy also comes at a politically inopportune time, with the African National Congress’s leadership elections set to take place later in December.

Dwayne Johnson Visits 7-Eleven Where He Used to Shoplift as a Kid to ‘Right the Wrong’ (People) Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson is making up for his past mistakes. The Black Adam action star over the weekend shared a video on social media documenting a recent visit to a 7-Eleven in Hawaii in which he bought out the stores supply of Snickers bars and left them for any hungry customers to take for free. It wasn’t just a generous move, but one Johnson, 50, was doing as an act of redemption. As the Oahu native explained, 36 year earlier—when he was just 14 years old—he used to go to that very 7-Eleven daily and steal himself a King-sized Snickers on his way to the gym because he couldn’t afford to buy one. “I was broke as hell,” he explained in his Instagram post of his pre-workout snack, recalling that “the same clerk was there every day and always just turned her head and never busted me.” “Had to ‘right the wrong’ back home in Hawaii after all these years,” the Oahu native wrote on his Instagram post uploaded Sunday.

[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.”