#FOR CLARIFICATION SHES GREAT

[ducktr0ducin]

Fuck my coworker. I’m going to Wheezer her.

[npdkondraki]

2 things:

assuming etc/etcs are one of your sets of pronouns (im like 75% sure im reading it right) HI!!! i use et/cetera so it's. slightly different but YAY a fellow user of sort-of-the-same-pronouns

is there anywhere you recommend starting with regards to like. understanding kondraki lore

YES THAT IS RIGHT!!!!! thats so awesomeeee we love seeing ppl w/ similar pronouns .:33!!

hmm,, in regards to UNDERSTANDING kondrakis lore, not really! as per most scp lore its all a mishmash of misc tales and (usually one-sentence) appearances in actual scp articles, BUT!!!!!!! we recommend starting at scp-408*(***) (*just for general lore reasons, shes very tied to the swarm**(*408) so its good to read up on them first .:3) (***there's another version to 408, 7408, which i ALSO recommend as that one is slightly more popular. 7408 is what newer fans refer to when they talk about her swarm ^_^) and then just kind of reading other tales featuring her .:3. her lore isnt actually all that complicated compared to most doctors so its fairly easy to figure out by just reading a couple tales involving her .:-D

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[murdocs-sweetheart]

I will say I am. a bit nervous bc the artist who’s making my Murdoc plushie has not responded to me in about a week now I think..

[sabraeal]

The Man of Progress, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex, who is the whole reason this fic exists in the first place, since if she had not introduced to me the potential of Mel and Viktor to begin with I never would have watched Arcane, and then if she had not made this fic her birthday wish last year, the idea for it would have definitely moldered in my Potential WIPs files, neevr to be seen. This was ALSO for her birthday, but the draft did not stop at 6K, and so I decided to take my time with it 🤣

The glacial pace of progress might exasperate those more used to the churning cogs of commerce, ever ready to break the unwary between their teeth, but this is hardly the first time Mel has patronized one of these academy engineers. Oh, they might bow and scrape and extend their gratitude on bended knee before money has changed hands, but once that investment sits heavy in their accounts, well— there is a fine line between patron and employer. These engineers might tolerate the first, but under the latter, well…there are statues around the Academy of men throwing off their chains, as much warning to potential investors as it is a celebration of their achievements.

Innovation Does Not Suffer Tyrants. Neither, it seems, do their students suffer direction.

So Mel opens her purse when Talis shuffles up to her doorstep, wearing a smile that’s sure to have opened doors for him before, if not a couple of windows. For all his fresh-faced, boyish charm, he is a skilled negotiator— or rather, a skilled beggar; a talent he must have acquired from years of being under Councilor Kiramman's well-manicured thumb. In all his blustering talk of progress, he only obliquely brushes the angles of their meeting that fateful night, flattering her broad-mindedness and forward-thinking while also thanking her for her continuing interest. A neat little way to put her in a corner, provided a promise was made.

Which it was not. She’d been careful to hedge her bets with this boy wonder, no matter how prettily he performed that impassioned plea.

But there’s little harm in letting him believe that there’s an understanding between them, that her actions in that darkened corridor confer a loyalty that transcends simple business. On the contrary, that’s the currency in which these Academy engineers set their stock. Money may move mountains, may turn a floundering lab into foundry of progress, but these academics sank or swam on the height of their reputations, rose or fell on the strength of the hands helping them up— or shoving them down. A nice bit of seed money would see her a cut of the profits, but letting Talis think that a bond was forged in Hextech’s glow, well…

She couldn’t outbid Heimerdinger— not that he’d ever be gauche enough to put his own money down; he’d call it an Academy Grant and let himself be seen as a benevolent mentor rather than vile investor— but she could at least ensure that they played on the same field. A thing that mattered now, when all the other councilors raced to put their hats— and their wallets— into the ring.

Kiramman was already of the opinion that she owned him down to his hammers, eager to play mother and master in equal measure. And Hoskel, well— for a man whose fortune was made on sail ships and long-haul voyages across the Conqueror’s Sea, from Damacia to Lokfar and beyond, he’s strangely insistent on babysitting his investments on land, arriving for an hour every other day or so to wave his hands around and be seen, as if simply standing on the site made it his. Salo must be much the same, even if she hears less about it; slinking and sneering makes so much less of an impression than Hoskel’s huffs and haws. Why, he must be half covered in hives by now, surrounded by so much grease and dirt and work.

So Mel gives them their space. They have a lab to construct and wonders to build; they hardly need councilors swanning in day in and day out, demanding to be shown how every last bit of their investment was spent, down to the last Washer. She had to stand apart, to be the one that didn’t press. A councilor who understood the process. An investor they could trust with their vision.

To the assistant, at least. Viktor. No last name. Typical of the Undercity. Talis might glad-hand and rub elbows and kiss babies, but it’s Heimerdinger’s shadow who ensures that every Silver Cog received goes where it should instead of passing through that strange field of theirs, never to return.

“Not that one,” she hums, waving away silk and lace, as cunningly draped as it is. “What on earth was that man thinking? Really.��

Elora blinks, first at her, then at the dress, confusion weighing heavily on the corners of her mouth. “The designer had been sure you would like it. He said it fit your…aesthetic sensibilities.”

She trails a finger down the back line, lower and lower until she reaches its nadir, right where her low back would have turned to something lower still. Pity. “It’s white.”

“Well, yes,” Elora allows. “That is the primary color in your wardrobe. He must have taken your preferences into consideration when he made it.”

Mel arches a brow, a corner of her mouth following suit. “Yes, but what he should have considered is why.”

Where some might knit their brow, Elora’s only lift, a question even as she answers, “Because you like it?”

“Because I want to stand out,” Mel corrects her, amused. Only two steps takes her to the window, where Piltover spills out beneath her outstretched hand. “In a city of blue and brick and beige, white shines.”

“Ah. Right, I see.” Her head bobs, officious and efficient, as Medarda expects from their domestics. “Dressing to impress.”

“No, dear.” The phantom of her reflection smiles in the glass . “I dress to awe. Especially reclusive little inventors who don’t make a habit of going to these little soirées.”

Elora glances down at the gown, mouth furrowing at the corners. “I think Talis is already impressed.”

A snort spills out of her, quickly stifled. “No, no, not him. The other one”—her hand waves; elegant, simple, and completely dismissive— “Heimerdinger’s assistant. Former assistant now, I suppose. Of the two of them, he’s the one I need to convince into my corner.”

Too bad her own assistant hardly is. “That one? He doesn’t seem very…?”

“Personable? Sociable?” she offers, amusement dripping from every word. “Human?”

“Important,” Elora decides. “Talis is the one that has been meeting with their investors. He’s practically the face of Hextech. But his partner…”

Is no more than a blur in the papers, a face turned away when the shutters closes, a smear in the background of Talis’s singular achievement. If Jayce Talis has made himself the face of Hextech, then Viktor is the ghost that haunts it. The phantom that is churning out their prototype even now.

“All the more reason to catch his attention,” Mel hums, thumbing through the rack of gowns rolled against one wall of her office. “Talis is a known quantity. Academy engineer, scion of a minor house, has a jawline you could forge a hammer on. Handsome, clever, and sure to wave whichever way the wind blows. But the assistant…he can be managed.”

A corner of her mouth curls. “Who knows, I might even come as a relief, after being bullied around by the good professor all these years. I just have to…impress him first.”

Elora glances at the gown slung across her fingers, skepticism marring the smooth line of her brow. “And you think a dress will do it?”

“Not that one, certainly,” she snorts. “But another…that might put him off his guard. Let me insinuate myself a little more firmly into his good graces. A little novelty never hurts on that front.”

Neither does a little attraction, but, well, a woman must always leave a little mystery in reserve. Even with her most trusted assistant. “That’s quite a bit to put on a dress, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps.” Black and leather and silk slithers over Elora’s arms as she lays another across them. “But I think this one can handle it.”

*

On the hanger, the dress intrigued, a study of soft and hard, of supple and stiff, of structure and drape. A winner, the Revered Professor might say, so long as it was about gears and cogs, and not fashion and fabric.

But on a body— her body— the dress is less a work of art and more a marvel of modern engineering, a bulwark of leather and boning that somehow gives off the same gravitas as marble or granite, while yet still possessing the same ease of movement as water down a fall. It eddies around her legs, baring and concealing with each step, a come-hither wrapped in a stand back. Councilor Kiramman corners her not three strides across the floor, stemming the opportunity for compliments— on purpose, she’s sure— but by the palpable press of the stares on her back, it seems that it has achieved its purpose.

“Is that your plan then?” Elora murmurs at her shoulder as Kiramman holds court, words straining to bear her disbelief. “Shock and awe?”

Mel allows her head the barest tilt. “Are you worried?”

“Not so much worried as” —she hesitates, casting her eyes about the room, as if it might give some hint as to how to smooth the edge of this blow— “it’s putting quite a bit of cargo on one ship, isn’t it?”

Her mouth curls. “You’re not much of a gambler, are you?”

Elora’s brows raise, not impertinent enough to be reproach, but it was certainly a cousin. “I hadn’t thought you were either.”

“I’m not,” she hums, rolling the stem of the flute between her fingers. “But even I know that roulette can’t be won by going all-in on a single bet.”

Her mouth puckers, unease drawing heavy brows together. “Then how—?”

“There he is!” Councilor Kiramman tears herself from her sermon with a smile, arms falling wide as she calls out across the floor, “The man of the hour!”

“The trick,” Mel murmurs, only loud enough for Elora’s ears. “Is to know the man at the wheel.”

She prepares her own smile as she rolls her weight off the pillar she's attached herself to, one that’s both gracious and dazzling, designed to set the gold spattered across her cheeks shimmering and throw weary engineer eyes wide—

But when she turns, her night sky is occluded by an unexpected front of broad chest, barely contained by its waistcoat. “Mister Talis,” she hums, her dulcet tones hardly disguising the spines of her disappointment. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Of course it is,” Kiramman laughs, patting him right below the silken knot of his tie. “We can’t have a gala without its guest of honor.”

His grin tugs to a grimace, but with a face as fine as his, Kiramman hardly notices. He pats her hands absently, as an indulgent son might his doting mother— fitting, since the councilor has already turned her attention away, humbling boasting about his achievements, as if she were his.

But it’s Mel that his amber gaze fixes to when he rumbles, “I’m glad to hear that, Councilor.” He adjusts his tie, bashful, the way men who are certain of their welcome can afford to show. “I have to admit, it’s nice to see a friendly face here. I’m not used to fancy shindigs like this.”

That’s hardly what his suit suggests. Oh, it’s certainly a few years out of fashion, the cut not as close as the young men like to wear it now and the colors not as bold, but menswear changes by degrees, not entire angles. It’s still well within the bounds of modernity, hems and cuffs worn but well-repaired, every seam neatly tailored from the start.

“I would have never known.” She can spare him this little earnest comfort; he certainly won’t be seeing much more of it tonight. “You look like you could have been born with a champagne flute in your hand.”

“Ah…” To think that a boy his age could blush so completely, red from collar to hairline. “That’s kind of you to say. I feel like everyone in this room looks at me and sees hammers.”

Perhaps, but only the ones measuring the breadth of his shoulders and comparing it to the tuck of his waist. “How is your partner doing? I suppose he must be even more left-footed among this crowd.”

Talis blinks, bashfulness breaking under a boisterous laugh. “Oh, Viktor? He isn’t here tonight.”

“He” —her gaze falls to his elbow, lingering on the empty space where a scowl is conspicuously missing— “isn’t.”

“You know how it is.” He leans in, one side of his mouth hooked into a boyish smirk. “This isn’t really Viktor’s crowd.”

Only moments ago he had claimed it wasn’t his either. “I was under the impression that a guest of honor typically attends their own party. Especially one thrown by the patrons funding their research.”

“Ah…” Talis has the grace to look sheepish now, scratching at the back of his closely clipped scalp. “Well…when you put it that way…”

Kiramman laughs, a haughty little giggle that would fit better in her daughter’s mouth than her own. “Oh, come now, Councilor Medarda, I can hardly take offense. Jayce came, after all.”

“He did,” Mel allows with a smile so gracious her teeth ache. “I simply expected that at a gala to celebrate the future of Hextech, we would be able to see both men helming the project.”

“Oh, really. It’s not as if we don’t know who came up with the idea.” Kiramman hooks her hand around Talis’s elbow, giving him a pointed jostle. “When we honor Heimerdinger, you hardly invite his whole laboratory to celebrate.”

“Ah, but you see, Councilor…” Talis clears his throat, hesitant. “Viktor’s not some technician. He’s my full partner. There wouldn’t be Hextech, if he hadn’t—”

“Of course, of course,” Kiramman soothes with a motherly pat on his sleeve. “We all have our assistants, don’t we? I don’t know where I would be without Alannah keeping me on point.”

Those healthy cheeks take an ashen cast now, his gaze darting to her as if she might spare him some quarter. But Mel simply takes a sip of her champagne, making a mental note to compliment Hoskel on the vintage. “Yes, I’m sure that’s very useful, Councilor. It’s only…Viktor—”

“’Great minds must be free for greater ventures,’” Kiramman quotes, though Mel could hardly say from where. Perhaps one of Revered Professor’s contemporaries, by the way Talis jolts at her side. “Don’t you agree, Jayce?”

He laughs, one hand tugging at his collar. “Ah…of course. Great minds.”

“Is that so?” Mel raises her brows, utterly unimpressed. “And here I was, under the impression that it was action, not ideas that saved Hextech from the incinerator.”

“Councilor!” Talis practically chokes on the word. “I—”

“Oh goodness, is that Lord Albus?” It’s Lady Kiramman that tugs on Talis’s arm now, all gracious smiles as she peels him away from the councilors jockeying to get a word in edgewise. “Clan Ferros has been quite interested in your progress. If you talk to Albus now, I’m sure he would be quite amenable to working out a generous understanding…”

“But Councilor Medarda—”

Kiramman’s smile sharpens, carving a line in the parquet between them. “I’m sure she will excuse us. Won’t you, dear?”

“Of course.” She lifts a hand, the barest shrug. “Far be it from me to keep you from Lord Albus and his generous mind.”

And wallet, she doesn’t add, but by the desperate look Talis spares her over his shoulder, she hardly needed to.

*

Elora might marvel at her endurance when it came to wearing heels the length of her arch, or gowns with the sort of architecture that left marks as dark as a lover’s in the morning, but it’s always been the mask that has wearied her most, the unending strain of smiling where there was not a granule of good humor left in her hourglass. An actress might don a role for three acts, but a politician lived it for every waking hour of their day— and sometimes, well into the night.

There are moments, however, where she might let her cheeks rest, where her face might fall into its natural lines instead of to the ones her act demands. She locates one well into the night; a balcony left abandoned now that night had fallen and there was no sun to set Piltover glittering. This one would have been on the wrong side of the estate anyway; there’s only the suggestion of trees when she squints into the night, a handful of the hundred that flood the landscape this far from the city proper. Nothing that would interest any of the pillars of Piltoverian progress milling about the Kiramman ballroom.

So to find Talis there, tucked away in the shadows, is a surprise as well as a disappointment. Not much of one— she had expected him to find her later; there is nothing men love to do more than explain away their foolishness, especially in front of a woman— but she must admit, she thought he might be alone when he made the attempt.

“Councilor!” He straightens from his hunch, the bulk of his body no longer blocking the slim one curled beside him. “I, er…”

“I’m sorry,” she says, annoyance leeching sincerity from her tone. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t! It’s just…” He sends one of those helpless looks to his companion, and she huffs, unfurling all her coltish limbs until only Kiramman’s daughter remains. There’s none of her mother’s elegance in her— there rarely is, in fourteen year old girls— but there is her sheen of shrewdness, and the promise of her father’s height.

“It’s fine.” The girl’s chin tilts proudly, the familiar curl of her lip breeding true. “I don’t mind. I was done talking anyway.”

She wasn’t, and she does— at least, so the pouty pitch of her voice implies— but she’d die rather than admit it. Especially in front of her. Better just to pretend it was and sulk in private.

Mel’s mouth twitches. That girl would make a good councilor herself, in time. Or at least a very convincing cat.

“Caitlyn…” Talis may call out, but he doesn’t do much else to stop her, watching her walk out with little more than a wince. “Ah, sorry about all that. She’s just a kid.”

He shrugs, as if that should mean something to her. Perhaps it would, if she were used to children. Maybe more, if she had ever been a child herself. “I think my forgiveness is the last of your concerns tonight.”

Mel settles a hip against the balustrade, for once looking down on Piltover’s most popular lantern jaw. It brings her close enough to see the flex of his cheek, nerve jumping right beneath the skin. “Ah, don’t worry. Caitlyn’s a good kid. She’ll just be glad I didn’t talk over her head like everyone else.”

Her eyebrows arch. “I wasn’t talking about her.”

His head snaps up, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, reminding her of nothing more than one of Kiramman’s hounds caught stalking tonight’s entrée. “Ah…?”

“You let Cassandra Kiramman call him your assistant.” She snorts, one arm folding over her waist. “You better hope it doesn’t reach your business partner’s ears. At least before you can explain yourself.”

“Ah.” His teeth clack down in a grimace. “Yeah, Viktor won’t take that very well.”

“Great minds rarely do.” She hums around the rim of her glass, obscuring her smirk. “I hope you have a good excuse ready. I’d hate for your project to fall behind due to some…creative differences.”

“That won’t happen.”

He snaps upright, and she expects that stiff spine to radiate with earnesty, for those honeyed eyes of his to gleam with academic fervor, but instead there’s a sort of desperate calculation in them, the flywheels of his mind running an entirely different set of numbers.

“Listen…” Talis scratches at the back of his head, the line of his shoulders tense. “I know this party, well…it wasn’t really your idea.”

To put it mildly. A fund-raising gala might have been in her plans eventually, but was supposed to come after a working prototype, something she could arrange to show to its best advantage after a few drinks and canapés. But Kiramman had needed to flex her talons, showing just how deep she could sink them in Talis, if she had the interest.

“I’d like to make it up to you.” Talis favors her with his most charming smile, the kind that opened wallets as easily as hearts. “You were our first investor after all.”

She lifts a brow. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

“A personal tour. Tomorrow. All access.” She’s half tempted to shield her eyes from the way he beams, eager to please. “It’s the least we can do, considering how much you’ve helped us out.”

That’s certainly one way to refer to the small, personal fortune she’s put in their accounts. But she’s hardly going to quibble over verbiage when he’s offering what she’d been planning to charm out of him. “And you’ll be there? Both of you?”

“Sure.” His mouth tightens around the word. “Why not?”

*

For men who have walked the hallowed halls of the Academy, who are used to the great vault of its atria, filigreed columns stretching their ribbed arms toward the heavens, the warehouse is just as starkly humble as the day they bought it. At least it isn’t just as empty. When Talis comes to meet her, he emerges from one of the newly erected partitions, hurrying across the floor to clasp her hand.

“Councilor!” His greeting echoes from all directions, all-encompassing, with a smile just as overwhelming. “You made it.”

“How could I not when you promised to show me around personally?” She lets her mouth slant, teasing. “After all, everyone notices when the guest of honor doesn’t arrive to their own party, don’t they?”

“Right. Of course.” Talis’s smile wavers, just for a moment. “I’m just glad to see you were serious about this.”

“I’m not in the habit of making light of my investments, Mr Talis,” she assures him. Unlike some of my colleagues, she doesn’t say, but by the way his eyes tighten, she doesn’t have to.

“Ah, of course, councilor.” He claps his hands together, dispelling the awkward air that’s settled between them. “Well, I hope you’re ready for your tour! Everything’s still in development, but I think there’s some real exciting things I can show you if—”

“Just you?”

Talis blinks down at her, confusion knotting the space between his heavy brows. She peers pointedly at the empty space beside him.

“Ha, ah, yes, well, Viktor’s busy.” His tongue trips over the polite lies trying to rush off it. “We’re still trying to stabilize the spheres, you know, or well— their output at least. See what we can actually do with Hextech, once we can get it up and running on demand. I know that’s probably too technical for an excuse, but, er— lots of places we can improve. Lots of places we have to improve, to make our deadlines. You know how it is.”

Mel stares up at that simpering smile and bites back a sigh. “Well, then,” she manages, perfectly cordial as she winds her fingers around his elbow. “I’m glad that you could be spared, then.”

Pink tingles the highest arc of his cheeks. “Well, councilor, you’re a top priority to us.”

“Some people in this warehouse have a strange way of showing it.” She hums, letting her smile widen.

There it is, that grimace. That barest flash of apology in his eyes before he looks away. “Ah…I’m sure…er…”

“Don’t worry, Mr Talis.” She pats his arm, radiating confidence. “This will hardly be my only visit. I’ll have plenty of time to get to know your partner.”

“Right.” The word see-saws in his mouth, uncertain. “Next time, maybe.”

“Next time,” she agrees. “Definitely.”

*

Councilor Hoskel is the sort of man who prefers to attend parties, rather than host them; despite the decadent vintages he imports, he would rather sell them rather than serve them, mainly at exorbitant prices that make even the highest lords hesitate. And yet, he cannot squirm out of the duty entirely, not without earning himself a reputation as an unrepentant miser, a skinflint whose clan others should be wary of associating with.

And so when he must unbend, it is to this: not some gleaming gala or intellectually stimulating social, but gambling.

“Did you know that in Demacia, they race actual horses?” Hoskel’s laugh wheezes across his lap, spindly fingers sketching out the thinnest suggestion of a thoroughbred. “Barbaric, really. All down to the animal at that point. Nothing at all to do with the skill of the jockey.”

It’s a smaller track than the ones she’d chased Kino around as a child, his gold-banded coils whipping against the gleaming scale of his armor, smile made all the broader by memory. A place like this couldn’t fit the mounts they rode, prancing and proud, roan coats gleaming under a Noxian sun. Or Demacian, for one summer. Shuriman, for two years, as Mother painstakingly carved a red river between the dunes. It hadn’t mattered, just so long as there was space enough— and time enough, without Mother breathing down their necks— to have hooves wear down a track.

Mel’s read poets from Lokfar to the Shadowed Isles— required reading for the daughter of Noxus’s premier warlord— but there has never been a one who could do justice to the way the wind felt as it whipped at her cheeks, sand churning beneath her mare’s hooves, the taste of freedom clenched between her teeth. And so there is no hope for her, not here in this city that does not expand out but up, an endless stretch of stone and metal and miracles of engineering, ever reaching toward the sky.

Especially not to a man like Hoskel, whose eyes gleam not at the sight of a fine bit of horseflesh but at the delicate gearworks that replace it. Already it spins and sparks, a poor substitute for the prancing of a high-spirited mare, but its jockey gives its slender steel neck a pat anyway, form preserved if not function. There’s a team of engineers behind him— students, she understands, responsible for the maintenance of the track’s mounts for credit— running through the last few checks, but there is no shield science can provide these men, not when wheels might miss tracks, or sparks may catch cloth. Even if these horses have no legs, there’s still a half dozen ways to be trampled.

That’s part of the appeal, she knows. Not that any of the councilors here will admit it. But Mel has eyes enough to see how they lean forward, breaths caught as they wait for the starting shot. Oh, they might scoff at the Noxian compulsion for conquest, call them warmongers and barbarians and worse, but there’s hunger in there, a desire for blood beneath the thin veneer of civility.

But it would be rude to speak of it, beyond the pale for the squeamish Piltoverians. So instead Mel smirks, adopting a casual lean against the curved arm of her seat. “And not a poor way to pick out talent from the Academy’s pool either, I suppose. A pity I paid so little attention to it last year.”

Hoskel might find challenge in a children’s toy, but he divines her meaning easily enough. “Ah, yes, I’m sure Talis must have made a good go of it more than once. Can’t remember it, of course, but— must have been a winner, whichever one it was. Really shown these boys how to put one of these fillies through their paces!”

A cackle wheezes out from that too-wide mouth, punctuated by a chummy slap of his thigh. “He’s a good chap, that one. Took me around the whole lab just last week! Showed me all the new fangled doodads they’ve been cooking up in there. All highly secret, of course,” he confesses humbly. “But if there’s anyone who can keep his mouth shut, why—”

“The whole lab?” Mel asks, alarm sharpening her question to a point. “Even the workshop?”

Hoskel scoffs, wrist swiveling dismissively. “As if I’d go in there! There’s smoke and grease and who knows what else in a place like that! Do you know how much these trousers cost?”

She’s quite tempted to ask if he does, but instead she simply smiles, enjoying the way he squirms underneath it. “A small price to pay to be at the forefront of progress.”

“Ha! Progress, you say?” That narrow neck shakes. “It’s work that’s done in those laboratories, my dear! Grimy, filthy work, done by bodies made for the business! If you’re looking for progress, well, that’s what comes afterward, when the men with great minds decide what to do with it!”

Her brow twitches. “Is that so?”

“I even told Talis to get a few more people manning the place.” He huffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Boy like him shouldn’t be getting his hands dirty.”

“Really.” It’s a struggle to keep her mouth from curling. “I thought his family made hammers?”

“They hire people to make the hammers.” Hoskel’s bulging eyes roll. “Clan Talis simply decides what to do with them. I understand he’s an engineer” —how quickly a vaunted profession can sound like a disease caught from Midtown whores in his mouth— “but really, there’s no reason for him to bother with all that labor. Beneath him, really.”

“Of course.” Mel hums, too amused. “Not like Viktor.”

Hoskel squints at her over his glass. “Who?”

*

The first time is excusable; there are deadlines to make, more than a few she’s had a hand in setting herself. An abbreviated tour is only to be expected, to be later expounded upon in reports. If she is not allowed access to the workshop, it is a small price to pay for steady progress. One she’s happy to pay, since it seems few of their other investors make it past the showroom floor.

But when it becomes a second, a third, a fourth— well, let it never be said a Medarda can’t pick up a hint.

However, that doesn’t mean she’ll take it. Not quietly, at least.

“Councilor.” Talis is at his most ingratiating this morning, anxiety palpable as her mouth settles into something just short of a scowl. “You’re here! Perfect timing. We just just put a little something in the showroom that might interest—”

“Ah.” Mel cocks a hip, impatient. “So you’ve been sent to get rid of me, I see.”

His smile stutters to a stop, just like his steps. “Ha ha, get—get rid of you? No, no, of course not. It’s just…”

She knows what ‘it’s just’ all too well, but she only folds her arm, waiting. If he’s been sent out here to be bait, then he can squirm on the hook like one too.

“Well, you know how Viktor is.” His arms spread, half apology, half shrug. A gesture that’s so familiar fatigue rolls over her in anticipation. “Doesn’t like distractions.”

“It’s impossible for me to know how Viktor is,” she informs him with no little venom, “because he won’t ever speak with me.”

“Ah, ha ha.” Talis rubs a broad hand over the back of his even broader head. “Now, that’s a good—”

“I am not being funny, Mr Talis.” If only he were smaller, more engineer and less blacksmith, he might find out just how far past humor Mel has traveled. Even still she has to clasp her hands to her elbows just to keep from shouldering past to get her glimpse behind the curtain.

With a steadying breath, she forces her fingers to relax, to let the line of her shoulders ease to a sultrier slope.

“Jayce,” she sighs, letting one of those fingers raise to her cheek. “I am one of the main investors in this little venture of yours. If you are going to insist that this is a joint project, one in which this…Viktor is an equal partner…”

“He is.” His jaw sets with all the implacability for which his clan is known. “There wouldn’t be Hextech without Viktor.”

She allows her face to soften, to imply that she’s dropped her guard, just for him. “Then I would like to meet him one day.”

“Ah…” Guilt hikes his shoulders, but the gaze he gives her is soft— no, fond. Perhaps more than she would like. But she’d have to be a fool not to be grateful for the advantage. “Understood, Councilor. I’ll, ah, try to talk to him about it. Maybe for today we could—?”

“I’ll call ahead next time,” she promises, turning her back on him. “Then maybe Viktor can pencil me in properly.”

“Right.” He deflates. “Of course. Have a, er, nice day, Councilor.”

*

It’s at another one of Kiramman’s interminable teas where the woman corners her, smile all edges, and says, “It seems like those boys are coming along now, aren’t they?”

It’s a surprise, an ambush, and for once Mel is happy she’s been caught with her mouth full, if only to give her a moment to push past the shock to a smirk.

“They are, aren’t they?” Mel tilts her head, the very picture of graciousness. “Jayce was just giving me a tour the other week to show me what they’ve been working on. Those little— what does he call them? Beads. They’re quite impressive, aren’t they?”

“Jayce?” Kiramman’s mouth purses sourly, gaze scouring her from head to toe. Mel only smiles. Let the woman think what she likes. Talis would certainly love for her worst imaginings to be a reality. “I believe he calls them…spheres.”

“Ah, yes, spheres.” Though with all those rough edges, they hardly resemble one. “Clever little things, even if they are still wickedly dangerous. Hate to see what one of them might do to the neighborhood now, if they got out.”

“I must admit, I haven’t gotten to see their latest prototype. Jayce told me that they weren’t quite ready to take out of a lead lined box.” The councilor may throw her head back, may laugh like a little lark, but her eyes narrow above it, skeptical. “I suppose you must have been in the workshop…?”

If only. Then Kiramman’s guests could have seen some real entertainment.

“Hardly. Jayce brought out the case from the lab so I could see it in better light.” For your eyes only, he’d said with a wink, but she knew better to trust a face as handsome as his. And one so well-connected. “But you, surely…?”

It’s a gamble— for all that Viktor has seemed to have forbidden her from the lab without so much as a word, Mel cannot assume he could manage the same stolidness with Cassandra Kiramman. She’s Talis’s long-term patron for one, with far more cause— and inclination— to bustle her way in, so long as Talis didn’t put up a fuss.

But she only huffs, waving a hand. “Only a peek,” she admits, annoyed. “But that’s fine enough for me. I’ve never been much interested in that sort of thing— machinery. Dreadfully dirty. I much prefer to see what’s been polished.”

“Of course,” Mel hums, suppressing a smile. “And Jayce is so good at showing it off to its best angle.”

“Isn’t he though?” She puffs up, like a proud mother hen. “I’ve always thought he was quite charming, just the way a peer should be. And so obliging…”

That, Mel thinks, is exactly the problem.

*

It’s not Talis who meets her when she sweeps into the laboratory. No, it’s some gawky girl, half-hidden behind a set of squared-off spectacles, shrinking smaller behind her clipboard by the second.

“Councilor Medarda,” she gasps, knuckles white around the hardboard. “We, uh, didn’t know you would be coming by today.”

Mel stares down at her, mouth pursed. Talis had mentioned they would be taking on new staff, but she hadn’t heard of any new hires. “And just who are you?”

“Ah…I’m the n-new assistant, councilor. Sky,” the girl murmurs, feet shuffling beneath the white of her coat. “I-I’m afraid Mr Talis isn’t here at the moment, but if you’d like—?”

“I’m not here for Mr Talis.” He’s charming, of course, handsome. A clansman in his own right, however small the line— and entirely too eager to please. Enough that even the likes of Salo or— heaven forbid— Hoskel has sniffed it out. However finely chiseled that jaw is, and however easy— or pleasurable— it would be to turn it, Mel knows: a pawn liable to switch sides makes for a poor playing piece.

Let all the other councilors waste their time wooing the boy wonder, hoping to catch an edge over their peers. She, however, has options.

Or at least she will, if she can get past this girl.

She’s a shivering little thing, quailing beneath her bite. A thing Mel might feel bad about, if Talis hadn’t hired her for the sheer purpose of having an assistant to put her off, instead of doing it himself. “I-if you need any help, I-I’d be glad to, um, help you. The showroom has several of our—”

“No, thank you.” Mel is in no mood to be managed. Not by Talis, and certainly not by this child. “Is Viktor here?”

The girl blinks, eyes giant behind her frames. “Well, yes. He’s in the workshop—”

Her smile hones to a point. “Perfect.”

It’s nothing to sidestep the girl, striding with the purpose to where the workshop door looms, a heavy, leaden thing only Talis could possibly open with ease. When her hand clenches around the handle, she’s half-convinced it won’t budge, preemptively locked against unwanted distraction. But it opens easily beneath her touch, swinging wide on well-oiled hinges as Talis’s new assistant stammers after her.

It’s cavernous, walls stretching high above them, catching echoes in its vaults. There’s windows too, placed so high only the sparest light illuminates the dusty floors, but where they do sits a strange stand of arches, almost organic in the way they fold together— and the bent man working on them.

Viktor isn’t dressed for company, that’s to be sure. Jacket and tie have long ago been discarded, decorating a chair half-tipped against the wall, leaving only shirtsleeves and vest. Which are hardly more modest when he’s got the first buttons of his collar popped, sleeves rolled nigh up to his elbows.

“I see we’ve relaxed the uniform,” Mel observes, heels echoing in the empty space.

To his credit he doesn’t even stiffen, doesn’t even pause when he tells her, “Progress doesn’t have a dress code. Only results.”

Mel smothers her smile to a smirk as he stands, wearily submitting himself to her attention. She's won their little contest of wills, after all, and an audience with him her prize. With a sinuous movement, she slips between man and machine and takes it. “The results could be wearing their shirt properly.”

He hesitates now, mouth pursed, sparing her only the sourest of glares. “I wasn’t aware we’d be having a garden party amidst the gears and soot.”

But even still, a palm runs down his front, subtly adjusting the set of his shirt, fixing the skew of his vest. Mel’s lips twitch. Not so shameless as he would like to pretend, then. “Hardly.”

He flinches when her hand lifts, but it’s not him her fingers wrap around— she’s pushed far enough on that front for a first meeting— but the arch of his strange machine. If anything, his discomfort deepens, the smooth space between those heavy brows furrowing more profoundly with every minute she weaves through his portals, strolling casually as if it were just another turn about the room.

“But your investor has come calling,” she reminds him, peering at him through one of them. “You might try to look presentable.”

He frowns, pulling his already gaunt face tighter still. “I have more important things to worry about.”

“Like this?” She runs a finger down the arch, biting back a grin at his twitch. “What is this anyway?”

He heaves a sigh, setting aside his spanner, or, well, whatever it is he’s been working with. Mel knows quite a few things, but tools are hardly one of them. “An attempt to stabilize the hex field.”

She arches a brow, and with an even more aggrieved huff, he explains, “I’m trying to remove the boom.”

“Ah, yes.” Her finger flits away on reflex. “I have noticed there aren’t many windows here.”

One spiny shoulder lifts. “They’d be a pain to replace.”

“And expensive,” she huffs, thinking of the bill the council had dickered over for the ones in the library.

Viktor grunts. “That was included in the aforementioned pain.”

She steps out from the frame, taking a wider look at the wrought metal monstrosity before her. It’s familiar, in a way; she’d hardly had time to look closely at their initial prototype, not when security had herded all of them out from the glass and shrapnel made by it, but if she tilts her head, letting the vague film of memory fall over her…

“So.” Her heels clack as she paces, coming to stand behind where he’s crouched, already back at work. “You went…bigger?”

“Scale matters,” he explains, impatience underpinning his words. “Smaller is easier to power, but bigger makes more visible mistakes.”

She leans down over his shoulder. “Or makes a bigger boom.”

This time, he does flinch, rubbing at his neck as he mutters, “I don’t make things go…boom.”

“More’s the pity,” she says, stepping away. “But the question stands. You think that increasing scale will solve issues, rather than create more dangerous ones?”

“Small requires attention to detail. It requires fussing.” He sits back on his heels, scratching behind his ear. “We are still dealing with functional issues. It’s better to see them writ large than to miss them in the fine print. Missing the forest for the trees, as they say.”

Not here. It would probably be something about…cogs and gears, if she were to take her guess. “Then why was Jayce’s prototype so small?”

A breath hisses through his nose. “Because no one wants a tool the size of a room.”

“Oh.” She frowns, remembering the glass that had littered the library floor. She’d had to throw out that dress; it cut her every time she wore it after. “Are we putting these in houses?”

That shoulder lifts again, wearier this time. “To the man who makes hammers, everything fits inside a toolbox.”

Mel steps into the barest edge of his vision; he turns, just slightly, to keep her in his periphery. “And what about the man who makes progress?”

Silence stretched between them, too long. “That’s yet to be seen.”

She takes the arches in again, slowly pacing around their perimeter, thinking of hammers and boxes. Of what might not fit in them, and whether they should. Of whether there was profit to be had in moving things from room to room.

"I have to admit, I can't quite see the purpose of it." His hands suddenly still over his tools, as if so long as he didn't move, she couldn't take their funding away. "What I saw...that doesn't seem like something that will want to fit in a box."

"That was proof of concept," Viktor assures her, flitting back to fuss with a set of cogs. Clever as those hands of his are, he can't quite get them to mesh. "What happened that night-- that's not all Hextech can do. Floating and explosions and pretty lights."

"And things moving from one place to another." Mel can no longer remember which hand reached out to the coin, but she knows at one moment it was there, and with a shiver, it was somewhere else.

He snorts, shaking his head. "Teleportation is not an avenue we're moving forward with."

She blinks. "Why not?"

"Hextech is supposed to put power in the hands of the everyman, whether they're born it the highest penthouse in Piltover, or the dirtiest gutter of the Lanes." His mouth hooks into a rueful smirk. "Now imagine every one of them with the ability to be anywhere they want, whenever they want."

It's a struggle not to let her mouth thin, to let the grimace grit behind her lips show. "But surely there's useful applications of that power. Ones that might better more lives than simply...lifting boxes."

There's a twitch at the corner of his jaw; subtle, lost in the angles of his chin and cheeks, but there. A purse to his lips, a faint furrow to his brow-- the marks of an argument long lost, but not forgotten. Or perhaps, she thinks, watching how his face smooths to glass, never had.

"That may be," he allows, the tone all but removed from his voice. "But Jayce would prefer to focus on something that would be useful at a personal level. Handy. We aren't trying to cause chaos, after all."

"No," she agrees, letting her mouth linger around the word. "Just a revolution."

That gets him to look at her now, lips slightly parted. Surprised, maybe. Seduced. Looks like she didn't need the dress after all.

“Pity your partner is so limited in scope,” she muses, once more tracing the edge of an arch. “I wonder how far this could go if you weren’t limited to a box.”

*

For all the girl's protestations that Mr Talis was unavailable, he's waiting for her when she steps out of the workshop, hands wrung so tight they've gone white in his grip.

"Councilor Medarda," he gasps, falling breathlessly into step beside her. "How was...? Did Viktor...?"

He puts a hand on the door to open it for her, the sounds of the street rushing in. His throat clears, and his mind must as well, since he manages, "I hope you're happy with our progress."

“Me?” Mel turns he head, obscuring her smile. “Yes, I think my investment is coming along quite nicely.”

[shapeshiftersandfire]

rotating the maddie-jean dynamic in my head like a rotisserie chicken, these women are so fucked up together ✨✨

[a-beautiful-little-f0ol]

the blood you caused on me. it wont leave. it wont scrub off.

Dear Gatsbyscar,

I did not cause any blood, and I’d suggest that you get someone to wash you.

Yours sincerely,

Daisy Buchanan

[amarillokidding]

reading nick and norahs infinite playlist for da 1st time bc last time I read it I only skimmed several parts when I was 12 and it's INSANE the way they're written, totally more neurotic and self-deprecating than they are in the movie. Tris is a more 3dimensional character instead of a "cheating bitch ex-girlfriend" the movie went with and way more clubbing is involved. Also Book!Norah is a yaoi enjoyer confirmed:

[reasonsforhope]

It’s an open secret in fashion. Unsold inventory goes to the incinerator; excess handbags are slashed so they can’t be resold; perfectly usable products are sent to the landfill to avoid discounts and flash sales. The European Union wants to put an end to these unsustainable practices. On Monday, [December 4, 2023], it banned the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear.

“It is time to end the model of ‘take, make, dispose’ that is so harmful to our planet, our health and our economy,” MEP Alessandra Moretti said in a statement. “Banning the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear will contribute to a shift in the way fast fashion manufacturers produce their goods.”

This comes as part of a broader push to tighten sustainable fashion legislation, with new policies around ecodesign, greenwashing and textile waste phasing in over the next few years. The ban on destroying unsold goods will be among the longer lead times: large businesses have two years to comply, and SMEs have been granted up to six years. It’s not yet clear on whether the ban applies to companies headquartered in the EU, or any that operate there, as well as how this ban might impact regions outside of Europe.

For many, this is a welcome decision that indirectly tackles the controversial topics of overproduction and degrowth. Policymakers may not be directly telling brands to produce less, or placing limits on how many units they can make each year, but they are penalising those overproducing, which is a step in the right direction, says Eco-Age sustainability consultant Philippa Grogan. “This has been a dirty secret of the fashion industry for so long. The ban won’t end overproduction on its own, but hopefully it will compel brands to be better organised, more responsible and less greedy.”

Clarifications to come

There are some kinks to iron out, says Scott Lipinski, CEO of Fashion Council Germany and the European Fashion Alliance (EFA). The EFA is calling on the EU to clarify what it means by both “unsold goods” and “destruction”. Unsold goods, to the EFA, mean they are fit for consumption or sale (excluding counterfeits, samples or prototypes)...

The question of what happens to these unsold goods if they are not destroyed is yet to be answered. “Will they be shipped around the world? Will they be reused as deadstock or shredded and downcycled? Will outlet stores have an abundance of stock to sell?” asks Grogan.

Large companies will also have to disclose how many unsold consumer products they discard each year and why, a rule the EU is hoping will curb overproduction and destruction...

Could this shift supply chains?

For Dio Kurazawa, founder of sustainable fashion consultancy The Bear Scouts, this is an opportunity for brands to increase supply chain agility and wean themselves off the wholesale model so many rely on. “This is the time to get behind innovations like pre-order and on-demand manufacturing,” he says. “It’s a chance for brands to play with AI to understand the future of forecasting. Technology can help brands be more intentional with what they make, so they have less unsold goods in the first place.”

Grogan is equally optimistic about what this could mean for sustainable fashion in general. “It’s great to see that this is more ambitious than the EU’s original proposal and that it specifically calls out textiles. It demonstrates a willingness from policymakers to create a more robust system,” she says. “Banning the destruction of unsold goods might make brands rethink their production models and possibly better forecast their collections.”

One of the outstanding questions is over enforcement. Time and again, brands have used the lack of supply chain transparency in fashion as an excuse for bad behaviour. Part of the challenge with the EU’s new ban will be proving that brands are destroying unsold goods, not to mention how they’re doing it and to what extent, says Kurazawa. “Someone obviously knows what is happening and where, but will the EU?”"

-via British Vogue, December 7, 2023

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader  word count: 2.1k notes: Another part to ex!reader and babydaddy!jack thanks to @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange's reply to part 3! Fits before the Prequel!

Jack Abbot does not want to be interviewed.

He’s made that clear to everyone — grumbling to Gloria, threatening Robby, muttering under his breath about “puff pieces” and “PR bullshit.” But he shows up anyway. Apparently, losing rock-paper-scissors and the thought of Gloria owing him a favor are enough to get him in the room.

He’s already five minutes late when he walks into the break room at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, barely glancing your way.

“Dr. Abbot?” you ask, voice a little too bright.

He doesn’t answer right away — just finishes pouring his coffee. Then, deadpan: “That’s what the name tag says.”

You blink. Smile tight. Off to a great start.

You introduce yourself, give a quick rundown of the piece — community health spotlight, frontline ER coverage, equity in urban hospital settings.

“Yeah, I read the email,” he says, finally turning. He looks like hell: scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess, a twitching vein in his temple that suggests he’s running purely on caffeine and spite. But his eyes — sharp and unexpectedly curious — hold on you.

“Let’s get started?”

You pull out your notes and recorder, settling into the seat across from him.

“This is for a piece on how ER staff are adapting to systemic constraints in—”

He lifts a hand. “Please don’t say ‘in these trying times.’”

You smirk, hitting record.

Thirty-five minutes later, your recorder is full. Your notes are chaotic. And your opinion of Dr. Jack Abbot… has evolved.

He’s still kind of a dick. But he’s compelling — sharp, honest, surprisingly self-aware. He talks with his hands, voice softening when he mentions residents by name. There’s a story there. Probably a few. But every time you try to dig, he deflects with dry humor and pointed looks that feel more teasing than defensive.

You’re packing up when he clears his throat.

“So,” he says, “you get what you need?”

“Think so,” you reply. “Unless you want to give me a stirring quote about resilience. Maybe something involving a phoenix.”

He leans back, arms folded. “How about: ‘Most days I want to punch a wall, but we’re out of budget for drywall repair.’”

You laugh. “Wow. Poetry.”

“You asked.”

You hesitate. “Honestly, I expected you to be more…”

“Hostile?”

“I was going to say ‘buttoned-up.’ But sure. Hostile works.”

He smirks. “If you wanted polished, you should’ve interviewed Robby. But I lost rock-paper-scissors.”

“Lucky me.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low, “I think I’m the one whose luck is shifting.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, suddenly aware of how close he still is.

“Well… thanks for the time. I know your shift was long.”

“Mm.” He doesn’t commit to gratitude — just watches you.

You hesitate. Then — against instinct — you reach into your bag and pull out a card. “Here’s my email. Just in case anything else comes to mind.”

He takes it, thumb brushing over the raised print. “Of course. Let me show you out.”

Two days later, Jack is in a mood.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” a nurse mutters.

“He’s been like that since that hot journalist left,” another chimes in.

“Maybe he got rejected.”

“I didn’t get rejected,” Jack snaps, startling them. “I’m just a sleep-deprived idiot who washed her damn business card with my scrubs.”

“Oh my God,” someone groans. “She’s a journalist. Just look her up and make up a reason to email. Jesus.”

Your inbox pings.

Subject: Quote Clarification From: jack.abbot@ptmh.org I meant “systemic negligence” not “strategic indifference” in that part about state funding. Also, I never said “heroic.” Ever. Want to make that crystal clear. If you want to double-check the phrasing, I know a place with good fries and strong drinks. -Abbot

You stare at it. Then reread. Is he… asking you out?

God help you, you kind of hope he is.

You reply:

Sure. As long as you don’t try to rewrite your quotes mid-pint.

The bar is dim, divey, absolutely his pick — confirmed when the bartender greets him with, “You back already?” and your drinks hit the table before you sit down.

“You have a tab here?” you ask.

“I had a chair with my name on it,” he says. “Until they caught me revising journal drafts on my days off.”

You laugh. “Work-life balance going well, I see.”

“The fries help.”

He’s in jeans and a black T-shirt. Still rumpled, but clearly intentional. Hair pushed back, eyes clear. The difference is subtle. But it’s there.

“So,” he says. “Am I worse in print than in person?”

“Oh, definitely,” you tease. “But very quotable.”

“That a line you use on all your sources?”

“Only the ones who share their fries.”

You both reach for the same one. Fingers brush. His breath hitches.

The air shifts.

You fall into easy rhythm. He tells stories — the worst shift, the weirdest patient, the quiet things that don’t make the cut but still shape the job. You tell him about being locked in a janitor’s closet at a mayoral debate. By the time you finish your drinks, you’re both laughing more than talking.

Your knees knock under the table.

He glances down. Then up. “So… is this part of the fact-checking process?”

You tilt your head. “Would you prefer it was?”

“Depends,” he murmurs. “You gonna quote what I say next?”

You pause. Then: “Not unless it’s good.”

His eyes stay on you. Then he leans in.

“How about this?”

The kiss is quiet at first. Soft. Testing. But deepens fast — hands in your hair, thumb at your jaw, like he’s been thinking about this since the interview and just needed the excuse.

When he trails down your neck, you forget your name.

You’re still catching your breath when he mutters, “Too forward to ask if you want to get out of here?”

“Yes,” you say. “But I like forward.”

He grins, hand low on your back. “Fifteen minutes this way. If you don’t mind walking.”

“Lead the way.”

You wake up slowly — not to an alarm, but to the quiet shift of weight beside you. Sheets tangled, room faintly lit by the early gray of morning. For a moment, you don’t move. Just listen.

Jack’s already awake. You can feel it in the way his breath has steadied, his body warm and solid beside yours, one hand resting lightly at your waist like he forgot to move it.

Your voice is quiet. “You always up this early?”

“I don’t sleep well. Occupational hazard,” he murmurs.

You turn toward him. He’s propped on one elbow, hair a mess, shirtless, gaze already on you. There’s something cautious in it — like he doesn’t want to push too hard, too soon.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“I think so.” A beat. “Little disappointed you didn’t try to sneak out. Would’ve made things easier.”

He smirks. “I thought about it. But then I realized, this is my house and I didn’t have anywhere to sneak off to.”

Your heart drops a bit “Oh shit, I spent the night. I don’t spend the night.” You try to get out of bed but his arm has you lightly locked in.

He watches your expression, then adds, voice lower, “I’m not in a rush. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

You search his face. “So what is this then?”

He shrugs, but it’s not dismissive. “Something I haven’t stopped thinking about since the break room.”

You huff a laugh. “God. I really thought you hated me.”

“I did,” he says. “For like the first two minutes. And then I realized you were just really fucking good at your job.”

You smile. “You know this is probably a bad idea, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze lingering on your lips. “But not the worst one I’ve ever had.”

There’s a stillness between you. Not awkward. Just quiet.

From then on, you’re basically attached at the hip. Any free moment either of you has is spent together—or texting, though Jack is, hands down, the worst texter you've ever met. Half the time it’s just one-word replies. Sometimes emojis that don’t make sense. Once, a photo of a traffic cone with no context. But you find it weirdly charming.

Two months in, he invites you to grab breakfast after one of his night shifts. “Swing by the hospital,” he says. “We can walk from there. Just let them know you’re here for me, they’ll let you in.”

You’re nervous walking in. You’ve been here before, obviously—it’s how you met Jack—but it feels different now. Like meeting the family. And you haven’t even talked about labels.

But the moment he spots you, his whole face lights up. He cuts across the nurse’s station toward you without hesitation.

“Hi,” he says, giving you a quick kiss. “You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

“No, no,” you murmur, caught off guard by the PDA, especially in his workplace. “Just got here.”

“Perfect.” He glances at a chart in his hand. “I just need to hand this off and then we’re good to go. Mind sitting here for a sec?”

He leads you to his desk, and it’s all so… Jack. A photo of him and a few Army buddies, a coffee-stained mug with a jackrabbit on it, a bumper sticker that reads Honk if you love amputees, and—tucked behind his monitor—your article, folded up like something worth saving.

You don’t even get a chance to sit fully before a couple of nurses wander over.

“That article you wrote? Incredible,” one of them says. “You really captured the systemic issues. We appreciate you shining a light on it in such a visible way.”

“Oh—it was an honor to be trusted with the story,” you reply, a little flustered. “You all do the hard work. I just hope it helps spark something.”

You feel Jack behind you before you hear him.

“You two done harassing my girl?” he teases, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You don’t miss the look exchanged between the nurses before they excuse themselves, already whispering as they disappear down the hall.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head toward the exit. “Ready to go?”

“What, no grand tour? You were so rude the first time I was here—I didn’t get one then.”

He smirks. “Fine, whatever. Let me show you around.”

He takes you on a brisk loop, introducing you to a few of the names you've heard in passing—Santos, Samira, the guy who once threw out his back trying to do a TikTok challenge. Then a voice rings out:

“Abbot, leave. You were off fifteen minutes ago. Get out.”

You turn to see Robby, grinning, arms crossed.

Jack sighs. “Just showing a guest around before heading to the diner.”

“Ohhh,” Robby says, eyes narrowing. 

“This is the Robby?” you ask, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for being so good at rock-paper-scissors. I wouldn't have met this guy without you.”

Robby laughs. “Ah, the journalist. It’s about time. Great article, by the way.”

“Had some great sources,” you reply.

You leave the hospital together, walking a few blocks to a small diner. Once you’re settled in a booth and sipping coffee, you nudge his knee under the table.

“Demoted from ‘your girl’ to ‘a guest’ in a matter of minutes. Think I failed the family meet-and-greet.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, I’ve been panicking about that for the last twenty minutes. I froze. First time felt natural… saying it again, in front of Robby, just felt…presumptuous.”

“I didn’t mind,” you say, voice a little quiet. “We haven’t talked about it, but… I didn’t mind. I’m not seeing anyone else. Just… so you know.”

He looks at you, serious now. “Yeah. Me neither.”

You smile, tentative. “Good to know. I’m not really planning on seeing anyone else.”

“I sure hope not,” he says, then falters. “I, uh… don’t really want to keep doing this unless we’re exclusive. But if that’s not what you’re looking for, I—”

“Jack,” you interrupt, amused. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He groans again. “You don’t have to make it sound like we’re in third grade.”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like it.”

“Okay, yes,” he says, finally meeting your eyes with a grin. “I’m asking. Officially. Want to be my girlfriend?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmmm. Depends. Will you start texting like a normal person?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then yes,” you say. “But only because you’re cute.”

He laughs, reaches across the table to tangle his fingers with yours. “Deal.”

And just like that—without fireworks, without ceremony—you’re his. And he’s yours.

[cressidagrey]

The Mysterious Mrs Piastri - The "Canon" Version

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

Notes:

Hi! This is the reworked version of the "The mysterious Mrs. Piastri". No worries! The original is still there. The problem is, that I wrote that piece originally as a stand alone.

There was never supposed to be Bee. There was never even supposed to be Felicity, because it was originally supposed to be a reader insert.

There was never supposed to be a sequel, which is why there is a lot of social media stuff in the original that's very out of character for Felicity, but I used back then to flesh out the "character" more because again, there was never supposed to be sequel.

So here it is: The new and "improved" version:

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.

“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”

Lando relaxed. This one was easy. Surely Oscar would say tattoo. Maybe he’d joke about getting “downforce” written across his bicep in cursive. Something normal.

Instead, Oscar said, calm as ever, “Well, I already did one of those things.”

Lando choked.

He choked.

His drink shot out of his mouth like a missile. “YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”

Oscar turned to him, eyebrows creased in confusion. “What? No.”

And then it happened.

Lando watched, in real-time, as his brain caught up with Oscar’s words. “Wait.” His voice cracked. “WAIT.”

He stood up. Actually stood up. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!”

Oscar just nodded. Calm. Chill. Like he’d just announced what time breakfast was, not that his entire personal life was something Lando apparently had zero clue about.

Lando was spiraling. “WHAT?”

Even the interviewer sat forward, sensing blood in the water. “Wait—married married? Like, legally?”

Oscar looked almost offended by the clarification. “Is there another kind?”

Lando’s hands flew to his head. His whole worldview was crumbling. “SINCE WHEN?!”

Oscar shrugged like they were discussing tire strategy. “A while now.”

Lando looked to the crowd for help. The crowd was screaming. Phones were recording. PR was probably out back crying.

“I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend!” Lando yelled.

Oscar squinted at him. “You know that.”

“I DO NOT KNOW THAT.” Lando was full-blown shrieking now. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”

Oscar just shrugged again, that same infuriating calm on his face. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”

Lando’s soul left his body. “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!”

The interviewer was thriving. “We need details. How long have you been together?”

Oscar, ever consistent: “Since we were fifteen.”

Lando wheezed. “FIFTEEN?!” He sounded like he was being personally attacked. Oscar nodded like that was a normal answer.

“Where did you meet?”

Oscar blinked. “School?”

Lando turned to the audience, pointing like he needed witnesses. “Look at this guy! Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course!”

“When did you get married?” the interviewer asked, beaming like she’d just uncovered the next great F1 scandal.

Oscar: “When I was eighteen.”

The crowd erupted. Lando clutched his chest. “EIGHTEEN?! WHY?!”

Oscar: “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”

Lando physically recoiled. “What, like… straight out of high school?!”

“Not straight out,” Oscar said thoughtfully. “We waited.”

“How long is a bit, Oscar?”

Oscar tilted his head. “Three weeks after graduation?”

Lando made a noise he was pretty sure only dolphins could hear. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, THAT’S A BLINK.”

The interviewer was practically in Oscar’s lap at this point. “How did you propose?”

Oscar shrugged. “I asked her to marry me.”

Lando stared. “That’s it? That’s the whole story?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

“Where?” the interviewer prompted.

“At home.”

“…At home?”

“On the bed.”

Lando threw his hands in the air. “YOU ABSOLUTE ROBOT.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”

“That poor woman,” Lando muttered.

Then came the worst part.

“How did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?” the interviewer asked.

Oscar gave the most Piastri answer imaginable: “No one asked.”

Lando screamed.

“Who is she?!” the interviewer asked, practically vibrating. “What’s her name? Where’s she from?”

Oscar, completely useless: “My wife?”

Lando looked ready to launch himself into the stratosphere. “YES, BUT WHO IS SHE? WHY HAVE I NEVER MET HER?!”

Oscar blinked. “I thought it was obvious?”

“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!”

Oscar just shrugged again.

Lando was losing it. “Okay, but why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” Oscar said, like that wasn’t the most unhinged thing he could possibly say.

“How would I have known?!” Lando shouted. “Do I look like a mind reader to you?!”

Oscar just looked at him, completely unbothered. The calmest chaos Lando had ever known.

Finally, Lando gave in. “You have to introduce me to her. Like, actually. You can’t just be married and expect me not to meet her.”

Oscar sighed, clearly seeing the writing on the wall. “Fine.”

“Good.” Lando sat back. Then narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Does anyone else know?”

Oscar considered. “I think Zak does.”

Lando shrieked. “WHY DOES ZAK KNOW?!”

“Because he’s my boss?”

“I’M YOUR FRIEND!”

Somewhere, McLaren PR was having the worst day of their careers.

Oscar Piastri, the most low-maintenance driver in the paddock, had just casually revealed on live fan stage that he had a wife—and had had one since he was eighteen.

And Lando?

Lando was never going to emotionally recover from this.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/FormulaTea: 🚨OSCAR PIASTRI JUST CASUALLY ANNOUNCED ON FAN STAGE THAT HE’S BEEN MARRIED SINCE HE WAS 18??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN. WHAT.

@/chaoticf1brain: not oscar piastri saying “i already did one of those” to a “married or tattoo?” question and lando immediately short-circuiting. THIS IS CINEMA.

@/pitlaneprincess: the fact that oscar piastri’s marriage reveal came from a game of “would you rather get married or get a tattoo” is so unintentionally iconic. robot behavior. absolute king.

@/mclarensburner: no like. imagine being oscar’s teammate, sharing hotel gyms and debriefs and flights and NEVER KNOWING he was out here with a whole ass wife since he was a teenager. i’d scream too.

@/lanxiety_norris: Lando’s live meltdown over not knowing Oscar was married has already entered my top 5 F1 moments of all time. He spat out his drink. He screamed. I will be studying this footage for the rest of my life.

@/drivehivehq: oscar saying “she’s amazing. 10/10. would always marry her again.” in the middle of lando’s breakdown 😭💍

why is he lowkey husband goals???

@tiretalkpod: Oscar Piastri being married for FIVE YEARS and no one knowing is somehow more chaotic than any on-track drama we’ve had in the past 3 seasons. This man kept a whole wife secret like it was tire strategy.

@/piastrified: oscar: “how did i keep it a secret? no one asked.” the ENTIRE INTERNET: now asking every possible question at once

@/PRnightmare:  McLaren PR right now: 🧍‍♂️💻💥🔥🧯📉📉📉📉📉

@landosocial:  lando literally said “I’M YOUR FRIEND” like a hurt Victorian child finding out his best mate got married without telling him i’m sobbing 😭😭😭

@/f1brainrot:  we don’t know her name. we don’t know her face. we just know she said yes to a man who proposed “at home. on the bed.” and honestly? she’s a legend.

@/gridwivesunite:  Oscar said “I proposed at home. On the bed.” Oscar also said “she said yes.” Sir??? Why is this accidentally the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard???

@/tracklimitsandtea:  Me watching Oscar drop five years of marital lore in one fan stage while Lando has a nervous breakdown: 👁️👄👁️

@/buzzingtonstan: IF THIS MAN HAS A WHOLE WIFE, DOES THAT MEAN HE ALSO HAS A KID?? IS THERE A BABY PIASTRI OUT THERE??? OSCAR. BLINK TWICE.

@/landodrama: someone make the Netflix episode of this IMMEDIATELY. title it “How Oscar Piastri Crashed the Internet in 6 Words”

@/flannelanddownforceWHO IS THE MYSTERIOUS MRS PIASTRI!?!?

@/nicolepiastri:  I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

↪️@/piastriluv: NICOLE PLEASE TELL US YOU’RE KIDDING 😭😭😭

@/landochaotic:   Did he at least call you after the ceremony or did you find out via a tax form?!

***

Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.

He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.

Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.

The call barely rang twice before Felicity picked up, her face appearing on-screen, framed by the garage lighting. She had her hair tied up and was wearing one of his old hoodies—his favorite one, judging by the faded McLaren logo on the sleeve.

Just seeing her calmed him down instantly.

“Hey, Oz,” she said, smiling like she already knew he needed it.

Oscar slumped back against the couch, head tilted to rest against the wall. “Hey, Fliss.”

She studied him for a second. “So. How was your day?”

Oscar closed his eyes for a beat. “Lando found out we’re married.”

Her eyebrows lifted in slow, amused surprise. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”

Oscar opened one eye. “Apparently not.”

That earned a full laugh, soft and familiar. “How the hell did you think he knew?”

Oscar shrugged. “I dunno. We’ve been married for, what, five years now? I figured… someone would’ve told him.”

Felicity gave him a long, fond look. “Oz. You’re about as subtle as a torque wrench, and somehow also the most emotionally secretive man alive.”

“I can be romantic,” Oscar huffed, immediately defensive.

Before she could reply, there was a loud, unmistakable bang on the door. Followed by—

“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”

Oscar closed his eyes again and muttered under his breath, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

On-screen, Felicity was trying very hard not to laugh. “Is that…?”

“YOU HAVE THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND DEMAND ANSWERS—”

Oscar tilted the phone so she could see the ceiling. “Yes.”

Now she was laughing freely, and it was a beautiful sound—one he’d always liked more than any podium cheer.

The banging continued. “STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR. I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. I CAN HEAR YOU BREATHING.”

“You should probably let him in,” Felicity said, lips twitching. “Before he combusts.”

Oscar sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate. He got up, opened the door—

—and Lando barreled in like a man on a mission.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Lando demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”

Oscar didn’t even flinch. Just held up the phone like it was Exhibit A. “She’s on FaceTime. Calm down, lunatic.”

Lando whipped around so fast he nearly tripped, then launched himself onto the couch, staring at the screen with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Silence.

Felicity gave him a polite, amused smile. “Hi. You must be Lando.”

Lando stared. Then pointed. “You’re real.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

He turned to Oscar, looking betrayed on a spiritual level. “SHE’S REAL.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.”

Lando turned back to the screen. “And you married him? At eighteen?”

Felicity shrugged, her smile fond. “Yep.”

“WHY?!” Lando looked genuinely baffled.

Felicity tilted her head. “Because I love him?”

Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”

Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.

Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”

Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”

Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.

Oscar side-eyed Lando. “What’s so hard to believe?”

Lando just flailed his arms. “You’ve been my friend for years and I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend, let alone a wife!”

Oscar folded his arms. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Oh, and now I’m the emotionally unaware one?”

“Yes.”

Lando flopped back on the couch like his entire world had been shaken. “You never told me!”

“You never asked.”

Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.

“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”

Oscar looked at him flatly. “You’re meeting her. Right now.”

“No. In person. I need proof she’s not a deepfake generated by your PR team to make you seem like a human being.”

Oscar deadpanned, “No PR team is that good.”

Lando pointed to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you soon.”

She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”

Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”

Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”

Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.

Oscar turned back to Fliss, who was fully laughing.

“You were not kidding about him,” she said.

Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”

She smirked. “Love you.”

Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.

****

@/oscarpiastri ✅

Caption:

So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.

Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.

So, meet my wife- Felicity—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.

We met when we were 14. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.

She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.

She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.

When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.

So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.

We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.

I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.

Fliss is still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.

She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.

So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.

I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️

@/felicitypiastri

Comments:

@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???↪️ @/felicitypiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.

@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.

@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @/felicitypiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.

@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.

@/landoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀

@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)

@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.

@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.

@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??

@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.

@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.

@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.

@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.

@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention?↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of.↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

@/felicitypiastri: 10/10, would marry you again. (Even if you forget to tell people.)↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️

@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.

@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.

***

@/felicitypiastri Instagram Post

Caption:

So. Yesterday happened.

Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:

1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!

Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.

2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love.

3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.

3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.

5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of nearly two years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.

5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?

6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.

7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer?10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.

Comments: 

@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.

@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.

@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.

@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.

@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖

@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.

@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.

@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”

@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.

@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.

@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OBVIOUS TO WHO?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

@/paddockgossip: Did ANY other drivers know??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.

@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’

@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.

@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.

@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.

@/drsdiva: This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.

@/f1softies: The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.

@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash

@/piastriupdates: Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.

@/f1memesdaily: Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.

@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???

@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. 

@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: See? Alex gets it.

@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: To be fair, you were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He still does that, btw.↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.

@/arthur_leclerc: The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/felicitypiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/logansergeant: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’

@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.

@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.

@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. Also, I am busy at home. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yep.  

↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.

@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.

@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.

@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/felicitypiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/piastrified: oscar posting a heartfelt essay about marrying the love of his life felicity posting a selfie from their wedding day and casually mentioning he stole her pen we are in a ROMANCE NOVEL people

@/tifosibutsoft:  not to be dramatic but i would lay down my life for felicity piastri and her 20-photo instagram grid.

@/formulafeminism: her instagram goes: 🧠 page-long math caption 🐔 chicken in a knitted sweater?! 🛠️ engine restoration 🍞 perfect sourdough crumb 💍 wedding ring in engine grease this woman is unhinged. i love her.

@/landoslostmind: lando finding out oscar is married via fan stage chaos the internet finding out felicity is better than ALL of us via a grid that has exactly zero curated content same vibe.

@/chaosinturn1:  felicity: “technically i’m an f1 wag” also felicity: wears oil-stained jeans, builds a gearbox, and bakes bread from scratch at 3am this woman is a weapon

@/garagegirlsupreme:  Felicity Piastri’s whole vibe is: “I could kill you with this torque wrench or love you for the rest of my life. Either way, you’re eating homemade banana bread.” 10/10 no notes.

@/formula1tumblr: Oscar: “I’d marry her again in a heartbeat.” Felicity: “We were inevitable.” Me: sob crying into an old hoodie I pretend is Oscar’s

@/pitwallposters:  you know she’s terrifyingly brilliant bc her instagram isn’t even TRYING to be aesthetic and it still made us fall in love with her

@/felicityspanner: people are out here thirst-following felicity for hot girl math & carburetors and you know what? same

@/softoscarpiastri:  Oscar: “I assumed people knew.” Felicity: “Oops.” Me, holding back tears while reading both their posts like it’s a Nicholas Sparks adaptation: 🧍‍♀️

@/beehivetheory:  felicity piastri’s instagram is the most confusing and impressive thing i’ve ever seen. one post: her holding a sourdough starter like it’s her child. next post: her under a 1967 alfa romeo spider with a wrench in her mouth. next: her proving a theorem i don’t have the qualifications to read.

@/mclarenbrainrot:  i think the best part is that felicity’s account is just soft lighting, feral captions, old cars, and a literal chicken coop.

@/chaoticgoodfelicity:  “Technically I’m a WAG. I steal Oscar’s hoodies so that counts right?” felicity i want to be you SO BAD.

@/formulanope:  I don’t know who I want to be more:

Oscar, who married the love of his life at 18 and thought everyone just knew

Felicity, who loves cars, chickens, and spreadsheets more than media attention

@/speedmathqueen people are shocked oscar married a genius but felicity’s instagram LITERALLY has a video where she’s like “just fixing a differential while calculating gravitational drag on a whiteboard” and then makes banana bread like it’s nbd how is this woman real

@/lanlanf1:  every team principal right now reading oscar’s caption like: “okay so not only is he unshakeable on track but also writes like a poet, has been married since 18, and literally fixed himself by 15. great. fantastic. my drivers can’t even commit to a protein shake.”

@/gpbutemotional:  Zak Brown: “we support family at McLaren.” Andrea Stella, quietly reprinting Oscar’s driver bio with “married to a woman smarter than all of us combined”

@/justpitthings:  the fact that felicity Piastri could win an engine-rebuild competition, a bake-off, and a theoretical physics conference in the same weekend AND look bored while doing it… she’s what every gifted kid from tumblr wanted to become

@/tinfoilfelicity:  convinced felicity is the reason oscar is so calm. you grow up married to someone who organizes her maths notes in color-coded hexadecimal and has chicken and suddenly nothing in life phases you anymore.

@/piastriupdates:  what do you mean oscar’s love language is handwritten notes inside his gloves before every race i’m actually going to cry in the middle of a petrol station

[sevsgiirl]

— piss her off ‘til she hates me, pt. 1

pt. 2, pt. 3

mechanic!sevika x reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: when the vacant house next to sevika’s finally got new tenants she didn’t think much of it. as long as her new neighbors didn’t cause any trouble, all was well. that is until she found out the neighbor had a young daughter.

word count: 9k words.

tags: age difference, alternate universe, mechanic!sevika, brat!reader, enemies to lovers, oral sex, dom!sevika, sub!reader, pet names, scissoring, hate sex, vaginal fingering.

note: for clarification, reader is 20 years old while sevika is her canon age in this (38-40)

you can check out the fic playlist here.

sevika wasn’t the buddy-buddy type when it came to her neighbors.

as someone who mostly kept to herself, she preferred to be left to her own devices, granted she wasn’t necessarily unapproachable. if you’d knock on her door to borrow some tools, she’d likely lend you hers. have some problems with your plumbing? on a good day, she’d offer to fix it herself.

she’d even attend the annual neighborhood barbecue sometimes, but she wasn’t the type to knock on doors and welcome the new people who had just moved in with freshly baked cookies. that’s something she left vander to do.

so when the vacant house adjacent to hers finally got some new occupants after the previous tenant moved out 3 months ago (a friendly old woman named babette who she would never admit to missing, she and her homemade lasagna she’d offer sevika for dinner) she didn’t think much of it.

but she was curious, so she peeked through her blinds to get a good look at the new tenants, trying to assess what she had to deal with.

when she looked, she was simply greeted by a man who looked to be in his 50s hauling out boxes - slouched posture, flannel button-up, and leather boots. he had the tiredness in his eyes that indicated he was just an everyday samaritan. she was happy about that because she liked her peace.

but before she was about to close her blinds again, a new figure caught her eye. this one younger, miles younger, who sported beaten up doc martens, ripped black shorts that ridden up too high around the rear area that sevika was quick to avert her gaze when she stared too long, and a loose fitted top that was sliced around one shoulder, leaving it exposed.

with painted black nails and eyelids adorned with dark eye shadow, sevika watched as you got out of the front seat of the moving truck and inspected the house in front of you with an intense gaze. before a small smirk made its way to your face, the kind she knew only meant trouble.

“looks great, dad!”

sevika couldn’t believe this.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

it’s not that sevika wasn’t fond of people younger than her.

she was just too old to handle any of their shit. not that being forty-one was geriatric by any means, but she liked her peace, and she couldn’t necessarily have that if she had someone twice younger than her living just down the block. the possibility of house parties being thrown already sending shivers down her spine.

she already had vander’s daughters out of her hair, and even then she heard from him they’re coming back home for their semester break this week so that’s another problem to deal with. you couldn’t be too far from their age range either, probably closer to vander’s eldest, violet. which relieved her in a way.

she hasn’t even spoken to you yet but she dreads the day she’ll ever need to. but it seems as though your father heard her prayers because it didn’t take long after the moving truck drove off when a sudden knock came from her front door, making her raise her eyebrow.

she opened it and just her luck she was greeted by your father, a soft smile on his face as he gave her a gentle wave “hi there, me and my daughter just moved in and I wanted to formally introduce myself.”

sevika gave him a curt nod “I noticed. welcome to the neighborhood.”

again, she wasn’t the type to knock on people’s doors and give them a formal introduction to the whole damn block. the only way she ever got to know people was when word got around about her being the town’s mechanic. she was mostly acquainted with the fathers and uncles, meanwhile the women her age she preferred to sleep with. occasional flings here and there, nothing serious.

the only people she’d consider her friends were vander and silco, and perhaps some of her co-workers back at the mechanic’s shop but they lived elsewhere.

it was hard for her to truly get along with someone, albeit she isn’t opposed to making friends, it’s just something that takes time. she’s a tough cookie.

your father, on the other hand, seemed civil enough. sevika didn’t even notice the container he carried with him until he lifted it “well, my daughter baked some brownies and I thought maybe I’d give you some. wouldn’t hurt to befriend a few folks on the first day, and well, you do live next door.”

she eyed the container while she debated whether to return the gesture or not, and as she thought long and hard about it, she didn’t want to appear like an asshole.

“care for a cup of coffee, then?”

and that’s how she found herself sitting across from your father at her kitchen table, with him sipping his coffee while she chugged her third can of beer of the day.

despite herself, your father was pretty pleasant. thirty minutes of mundane chatting and she’s already gotten to know quite a bit about him - widowed and left to take care of his only daughter, your mother dying while you were only eleven years old. breast cancer. she offered a bit of sympathy which he appreciated.

“never got remarried?” she couldn’t help but ask.

your father laughed softly, shaking his head “no, can’t. when she died a part of me died with her, and I don’t think anybody can truly fill that void. plus I don’t think my daughter would be on board. not that she wouldn’t let me, she never cared but I know she still thinks about her mom a lot.”

sevika let out a hum “I get it. my mom died when I was young too. it never got easier.”

“it doesn’t.” he replied “she’s twenty now. a sophomore in college but sometimes I do feel like she’s clinging onto that part of herself when her mom was still alive. she became a bit rebellious after that. threw herself to drinking at sixteen, I tried to stop her which worked when she finally became eighteen, but her habits still kick in.”

sevika would be lying if she said she didn’t feel bad for the old man. she didn’t have any kids and quite frankly, has no intention of having any in the near future, but she can only imagine how difficult it’d be to see your child spiral like that and have it be out of your control.

“she’s doing a lot better now?” she asked.

your father nodded, although it seemed a bit uncertain “I think so. she’s on her mid-semester break and will be back by the end of the month.”

sevika sighed internally at that, at least she won’t have to worry about you potentially becoming a problem for too long.

her and your dad conversed a bit more after that - about how he decided to move here because he a got new job in town, and how your college was located two hours away, making him think that your visits would be limited given how you don’t like traveling for long hours (again, another win for her) he also asked her about her prosthetic arm ‘bad car crash. got stuck and had to get it amputated’ she explained and he gave a sympathetic look in return.

soon, she led him up to her front door. it was nearing the evening anyway, but she surprisingly appreciated the company.

“sorry if I took up much of your time, sevika.” your father apologized and she smiled. a genuine one.

“it’s no bother. if you ever need help don’t be afraid to ask.” sevika said and she meant it.

your father offered a grateful nod, walking down her driveway and next door to his house. when sevika looked, there you were waiting for him.

you decided to change into something more comfortable since you arrived. a tight-fitted black tank top with thin straps and grey cotton shorts that exposed your legs to the cold air. you didn’t seem to be wearing a bra either and given the weather, she could notice your nipples poking through the fabric even from where she stood.

sevika shook her head. goddammit . she just made friends with your old man and here she was ogling at his daughter. she wasn’t even supposed to like you.

as your father walked up to your front door he sent her one last wave goodbye, which made you finally look at her.

for that brief moment, your eyes locked. she couldn’t decipher that look on your face when you studied her, arms crossed as you cocked your head to side while your father spoke “she’s our next door neighbor, sweetheart. sevika, meet my daughter!” she only smiled awkwardly while you continued staring at her.

suddenly, that same smirk made its way to your face again, opening your mouth to respond “hi sevika,” you said, your voice sultry and sickeningly sweet. sevika hated that it did something to her.

you didn’t give her time to acknowledge your greeting before you turned on your heel and went back inside, and she didn’t even realize her chest tightened the entire time you two made eye contact until you were finally out of sight, making her breathe normally again.

[crescentofthegods]

STORMY THUNDERCLOUDS!

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

request: harry didn’t think seeing you with someone like dean could make him feel so… worthless.

word count: 2,667

warnings: FLUFF, slightly angsty bc harry compares himself to dean, swear words, lovely little smooch at the end, added a bit of romione somewhere, jealous harry, reader lowkey overthinks everything and it makes harry feel like shit, etc etc!

author's note: i’m sorry this is so late anon😭😭 i will proofread this later but i hope you like it!

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

more harry potter | masterlist | navigation

BEING ‘JUST FRIENDS’ WITH YOU OF ALL PEOPLE was proving to be a dangerous task for the Chosen One. Finally, he’d figured out his feelings—whatever bond the pair of you shared was certainly not cordial. And, he knew you thought it too.

            So, naturally, he assumed there was an established sort of… situationship. Harry hadn’t really talked about it with you, but he was just going with his gut; a stupid thing to think in all honesty.

            Clarification is key. But, because he hadn’t clarified it, he was forced to watch you have some sort of ‘conversation’ with Dean, who had just broken up with Ginny. There he was, laughing with you, touching your arm as you grinned in return, his fingers slowly trailing towards yours so they could intertwine—

            “You’re clenching your fists,” a feminine voice broke Harry’s agitated daze, his green eyes snapping towards Hermione, who sat before him, her expression written with disapproval. Ron was too busy stuffing his face to acknowledge the pair. Pressing his lips together in irritation, Harry cleared his throat, staring at his plate of food—bangers and mash. He didn’t even want it now, not with the image of Dean Thomas and you giggling together like you were the best of buds.

            The calm buzz of the Great Hall had returned. The sixth year hadn’t even noticed that he’d been staring for the last five minutes—why were you sitting with Dean? Sure, you shared Ancient Runes with him; that didn’t mean you had to walk and talk with him and even have lunch with the guy. You always sat with Harry—

            “Harry—you’ve summoned a thundercloud!” Hermione interrupted once again, sighing with exasperation as the brunette glanced towards the enchanted ceiling of the hall, only to see what his best friend had described—it was a thundercloud, and it looked ready to strike him; be that as it may, his bushy-haired friend was quick with her wand, causing the cloud to dissipate.

            “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, Hermione having to strain her neck just to hear him.

            “What is with you? You’re not even reading your stupid Half-Blood Prince book—”

            “It’s not stupid,” he was quick to defend his extremely informative textbook, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked away. “And, anyway, there’s nothing… ‘with me’. I’m fine.” Slurping his pumpkin juice, Ron practically guffawed, shaking his head as he placed his goblet down.

            “He’s staring again,” he nudged Hermione, Harry rolling his eyes as both of their gazes flitted towards you and Dean.

            “Ahhh,” she nodded, like she’d understood the situation at long last. “That makes sense, actually.” The Chosen One, who didn’t appreciate what his friends were trying to imply, simply scoffed, scratching the back of his head and forcing himself to stare at them instead of you.

            “I’m not bloody staring. You’re staring,” was all he said in response to Ron, zipping his mouth shut when he watched your approaching figure.

            “The fuck do you mean I’m staring—?”

            “Hi, guys!” you beamed, bright as a ray of sunshine per usual, sliding in right next to Harry as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, your strawberry-scented perfume wafting towards him as he tried not to collapse right in front of you.

            Everything about you was amazing. Your lovely, luscious locks. Your perfectly sculpted countenance. Your god-given body, not that he ogled it on a daily basis—Harry just appreciated how heavenly you appeared without even trying. An angel amongst men was what Harry once called you during a vulnerable moment… he meant every word. He’d say it every day just to see your graceful smile decorate your pretty lips, your dimples curated either side which made you shine like the planet Venus during the night.

            Despite every thought sprinting through his mind, every image of you imprinted on his neurons, he couldn’t let go of you and Dean. The way you grinned at him—only Harry could make you grin like that.

            “Harry?” your soft voice shattered his spiral, concerned eyes meeting his darkened ones, your fingers intertwining with his—Dean’s fingers had intertwined with yours—

            DEAN, DEAN, DEAN—

            “Are you alright?” Again, your murmur saved him from despair. But, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t do this. Not now, not with you.

            “Excuse me,” he muttered, suddenly sliding out of his seat, leaving you utterly befuddled as he stormed out of the Great Hall, messing with the Windsor knot of his tie as he walked. You gazed at his retreating form, thunderclouds anchoring the beats of your heart as you furrowed your eyebrows, meeting Hermione’s look of indignation—it wasn’t towards you, of course, but it was definitely aimed at Harry, who fled the scene like some coward. What was wrong with him?

            “Is he okay?” you asked quietly, fiddling with your fingers, your gaze flicking between ‘Mione and Ron. “Did… did he leave because of me?” Everything between you and Harry had been fine earlier. Perfect, actually. He had walked you to your Runes lesson, listening to you rant about the difference between ehwaz and eihwaz—

            “Genuinely makes no freaking sense. How the fuck am I supposed to remember that ehwaz means partnership and eihwaz means defense? They’re basically pronounced the exact same way!” You complained, pouting as you did so, your expression crumpling even further as you leaned your forehead against Harry’s shoulder, hearing his deep chuckle, his large hand cradling your head. “Don’t make me go in there…”

            “You know you want to. Professor Babbling’s been off sick and she’s finally back—you said you missed her.”

            “Well, yeah, but…” you ended up groaning quietly, hiding in his chest, Harry’s grin only widening. He loved seeing you like this; an adorable thing, you were, clinging to him like some bunny.

            “Come on, love,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you (he didn’t want you to go either, but he knew he’d be seeing you at lunch). His lips brushed your hair as your head tucked itself under his chin—anyone would think you were some odd, but normal couple with the way you both were embracing each other in the middle of the hallway.

            They helped him, these hugs. Distracted him, even. Voldemort, Slughorn’s memory he was yet to retrieve, his impending NEWTs mocks… Everything was just too much—

            But, you… you were his saving grace.

            “Fine,” you grumbled, pulling away, albeit reluctantly, lifting your gaze—your sullen pout still stuck to your lips as Harry laughed. “But you better meet me in the hall after.”

            “Of course. Always.”

            “—Are you mental? No,” Ron retorted, pushing his plate away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve; Hermione grimaced, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth for him as Ron tried to reassure you. “You know Harry. He’s… just a bit thick sometimes. He forgot that textbook of his.”

            “Yeah! Yeah…” Hermione agreed, tossing the napkin onto the ginger’s plate as she continued. “He’ll be back.”

            “Right…” you nodded, feeling a little relieved as your eyes fell to your lap, swallowing the lump in your throat. He definitely did not leave because of you. Definitely not. Right.

            Fuck.

            “Uh…” you cleared your throat, standing up, running your hands through your hair before readjusting your robes. “I’ll just go after him—”

            “Yes! Yeah, you do that,” Ron complied, Hermione’s head bobbing quite enthusiastically.

            “We’ll be right here!”

            With that, you zoomed off, politely pushing past people, your heartbeats growing louder by the minute—like a storm had concurred. Did something happen between Runes and now? Did you do something wrong?

            “They need to shag already,” Ron mumbled in your absence, causing Hermione to gasp, swatting his arm like his comment had offended her personally. “What?”

DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS.

            He was doing anything just to keep the thought of you away. In the comforts of his own room, nothing could bother him—not Dean, not Voldemort, not Slughorn…

            Harry was on the floor of his dorm (shared with Ron, Seamus, Neville and damned Dean), the Marauders Map in his lap, just staring at the footsteps of random students going by—the pads of his fingers itched the ancient parchment, his lips pursed as if he was concentrating. A particular trail caught his eye, the prints belonging to Draco Malfoy, who had appeared in a random hallway out of nowhere; what was he up to?

            Still and all, Harry did not care for Malfoy. Not when your footsteps decorated the page all of a sudden, leaving the Great Hall… by yourself? Shaking his head, Harry looked elsewhere, desperate to see where… well. Anyone. He couldn’t talk to you. Not like this. He was the definition of cowardice. Despair. Being jealous over a guy was… a new thing. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—

            Is this what love felt like? Is this what his father felt whenever his mother chose Snape over him?

            The difference was that Dean was a decent bloke. Nice. Respectful. Good with spells. Similar to Harry in that sense. But Dean wasn’t… cursed. He wasn’t the Boy who Lived. He wasn’t going to be the boy who would soon be Voldemort’s demise—Harry knew that was his only purpose. You could be normal with Dean. You couldn’t ever be normal with Harry…

            “Who are you spying on now?” The gentleness of your question splintered his deprecating thoughts, his head snapping towards the entrance of his dorm in slight surprise. He couldn’t tell if he was pleased or aggravated by your presence. For one thing, you caused his anxious tendencies to disappear. Anyhow, he was still peeved about Dean.

            Fucking perfect Dean Thomas out of all people.

            In your eyes, Harry merely grimaced—you had your own tendencies to contemplate and overthink… Harry was not grimacing (at least, not towards you), rather his expression was a mix of happiness and dreaded envy. Anyone could misinterpret that. The Chosen One was far too expressive, so much so that he’d normally get into quite a lot of trouble with Snape because of it.

            “I can leave… you seem, um, busy—” your smile had dropped, and Harry immediately cursed himself, interrupting you swiftly.

            “No!” his exclamation caught you off guard and he cleared his throat, looking away with coloured cheeks. “I mean, uh, no. Stay. Please,” his quiet mumble was purely out of shyness, in fear of rejection. You were special. A rainbow within a mass of thunderclouds.

            Thunderclouds that no longer caged your aching hearts.

            Your smile appeared as quickly as it left, the corners of your lips quirked up in a way that Harry knew it was genuine. He didn’t know if he was gaslighting himself, but he could’ve sworn you only smiled like this with him and no one else. In Harry’s eyes, your smile had fifteen different variations at the least.

            Shutting the door behind you, you walked towards where he sat by his bed, careful to not accidentally trample Ron’s many socks that scattered his side of the room. You tucked your locks behind your ears before sitting down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest, your bright eyes finding his face. Troubled. He looked troubled. And, even though his two best friends reassured you, you couldn’t help but ask him…

            “Did I do something wrong?” Your usually placid voice had now resounded to a disheartened whisper, something Harry was unintentionally the cause of. His head whipped around to meet your gaze, his eyebrows furrowed in slight devastation.

            His jealousy had caused you to feel like this. Damn you, Harry.

            “Of course not,” he assured, pushing the Marauder’s Map off his lap, his attention fully on you and you only. You nibbled your bottom lip, looking away from him, your knees relaxing.

            “But then… Why did you leave?” Reluctance embraced your tone like it was an old friend. Harry knew you well, knew you well enough to understand your anxieties. Your nerves. He hated himself for even assuming you and Dean had something going on—it was now clear that that hadn’t been the case.

            “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Harry sighed; it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “It wasn’t you—it’s never you,” your eyes met as he spoke with that soft tone of his, a tone he only really reserved for you. “I was… uh,” he struggled to speak, struggled to voice why he was slightly upset. He would only look pathetic.

            You noticed this, of course. You always notice. Delicate fingers trailed towards his, your warm hand embracing his larger, calloused palm, comforting him. Reassuring him that you were there to listen. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaned against his bed, not finding the courage to look you in the eye anymore—the ceiling accepted his look of despair.

            “I was jealous, is all,” he admitted, bewildering you as he scoffed to himself. “Of you and… Dean.” His words had knocked you for a twist; out of all things, you hadn’t expected him to say that—he had been jealous the entire time? Your initial bewilderment dissipated, wanting to understand, well… why?

            “For what reason?” you asked, your lips parting as Harry’s head turned towards you.

            “Just… the way you were both interacting, I guess,” he muttered, not knowing how to explain it.

            “Interacting?” you repeated, amusement lacing your tone as he rolled your eyes—that smile you always adored found his lips.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, trying not to seem so affected by your quiet giggle in response. “You were both laughing and it just… set me off. I don’t know why,” he finished with a sigh, scratching his head after turning away from you, his eyes meeting the floor. “Dean’s everything I wish I could be. You might—” he stopped himself before he could go further, and that only increased your intrigue.

            “I might what?”

            “You might…” his eyes closed. Like he was defeated. Ready to accept his fate. “You might actually like me if I was more like him. If I wasn’t… the Chosen One.”

            He was met with silence. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at you, but you were in a plight of shock; you didn’t even realise that Harry had let go of your hand. Shock might actually be an understatement. You already gathered that the rumours were true—that he really was destined to end You-Know-Who once and for all. Nonetheless, what you were contemplating over and over in your head, was his confession.

            He liked me?

            “As in… more than friends?” Harry smiled then, a breathless chuckle escaping him—he adored you, adored that you always had to be absolutely sure.

            “Yeah. More than friends.” That was all you needed. Those four words. Those two sentences of reassurement to let you know that you weren’t just imagining this. And, you hated him, moreso yourself, for not telling you sooner. For making you overthink for the last couple of weeks.

            “Harry James Potter,” you exhaled, shaking your head with disbelief. “You really are as thick as Ron says.”

            “Wait. What—?”

            The softest of lips mingled with his as soon as you leaned in, testing the waters before Harry reeled you in completely, your hand landing on his chest so you could steady yourself. Your eyes were closed, Harry simply enjoying how they felt like his pillows, your lips. How they felt heavenly against his. Gentle, light, tender—nothing like the palpitating storms that bothered him daily. As you steadied yourself, his hands found your hips, bringing you as close as possible so you could settle in his lap, the pair of you unable to break the kiss as it developed into something more; hunger, need, desire. You could feel it escaping him—every word he couldn’t give voice to melted like molten, hugging your heart like it was something you were used to; the thunderclouds disappeared long ago, and yet, Harry was making sure they were gone for good.

            Lips locked together in a lovely embrace. Soft clicks filling the dorm like this was a normal occurrence.

            Harry had never felt more at home. You in his arms. You in his heart.

[ladykailitha]

Steve and the D&D Game

An AU where season 4 never happens because Hopper lives and El doesn't lose her powers. So they kick Vecna's ass before summer is out.

Steve takes it upon himself to inform Eddie that since he is now the DM for his kids here is a list of things NOT have in his campaigns and why.

Like very detailed reasons why this would absolutely traumatize the freshmen and he has very good 'non-NDA breaking' reasons and Eddie is just staring at this list in his hands like "WTF"

No demogorgons- Will was kidnapped right after they failed to defeat one in their D&D game

No doglike packs of any kind- Dustin and Lucas were attacked by feral dogs

Nothing with all teeth and no faces- Mike has an irrational fear of the tooth fairy and all those teeth she collects (this is entirely made up and pisses Mike off that HE was used for that!)

Which is great everything is going along great until Halloween when Eddie runs a horror one-shot and it's about kids being kidnapped and experimented on and when the freshmen get irrationally into the story, Eddie comes to Steve for clarification on that one.

That one is a little hard to explain without explaining who El is and what happened to her but he thinks he does a pretty good job.

Now poor Eddie is freaking out because how is he supposed to navigate kids so thoroughly traumatized so Steve offers to listen to his DM notes before each session.

Eddie weaves these tales and Steve always quick to naysay things that would actually harm them but leaves twists and turns in place because he wants them to have fun too.

Soon enough he starts to enhance Eddie's storytelling.

Steve's all like: Oh don't have the twist bad guy be the wizard, it's always the wizard. Have the twist bad guy be the paladin who's been corrupted by Vecna but glamoured so the party can't tell he's broken his oath.

Eddie does so and absolute giggles in delight when Mike figures it out before the final betrayal comes because Mike has played paladins before and something feels off. Eddie makes him roll the appropriate roll and is giddy when he succeeds.

So now Vecna is without his fateful servant and Eddie is thrilled because Steve just keeps making his campaigns better.

All this made juicier when they realize that the human paladin is really Kas in disguise and they manage to convince Kas to turn his sword on Vecna.

All along the way, Steve is suggesting characters that might help the freshmen through said trauma. Like having queer NPCs so certain members *cough cough Byler cough* understand that it's okay to be queer.

Or carefully curated adventures like their own but without the triggering elements from Steve's list.

Finally on the night before the final session, Steve is trying to listen to what Eddie is saying, but he can't take his eyes off his lips.

He says something off hand that's actually kinda brilliant and Eddie is all "That's so brilliant I could kiss you!"

To which Steve replies "I really wish you would."

Eddie blinks at him for a moment before doing just that.

And then when the next day Lucas announces that the basketball team is in the championship. Eddie bummed because after that night they can't use the drama room, because the school musical is about to start rehearsing. So Steve offers up his big house for them to play in over Spring Break, so all of Hellfire is there to see Lucas sink the final basket to win the game.

And Erica is there to play Lady Applejack. Not to replace Lucas, but because since it's over when everyone is out of school, they agree to add her for the finale so they get all the help they can. She rolls the Nat 20 at the end that kills Vecna with Kas's sword.

Then Steve and Eddie announce their relationship to Hellfire and everyone is thrilled. But especially Mike and Will.

[darkclouds-rainsounds]

My answer to that question is something I'm more uncertain about/not as sure in the solidity of. Basically even more speculative than my collection of theories and is more so "based on my theories as they are presented, this could be how this works" rather than something more grounded in the source material itself.

So, I think when it comes to Moony being friends with Ena and each Ena being a different one, that Moony is friends with "Ena". Each Ena is a different instance, but she is still "Ena", and Moony is friends with "Ena".

I don't know how to word it in a more concise technical manner, but my closest equivalent to conveying it is like, it's a constant without bounds. Ena is Ena. Ena is friends with Moony and Moony is friends with Ena.

And regarding your tags, yeah, the concept of anemoia with Worker Ena would absolutely be in effect under the context of my presented theories— I actually overlooked that (and also forgot about the trailer song even being anemoia), so thanks for bringing that up. Because while the entities in 'this' timeline have experienced the other episodes' instances of Ena and her activities, since each Ena is different and these memories are not shared amongst all of them like a hivemind or neural network, she wouldn't know exactly what is being referenced about "her" past because she technically didn't go through those events; it was different instances of her.

And going along the "Worker Ena is Temptation Stairway Ena but Something Happened", then the only past memories we can assume this specific instance of Ena has experienced are (at least) that of Temptation Stairway.

Of course, we have no confirmation, so this could eventually be proven wrong.

Recently in trying to come to a logical comprehension of the abstractness and esoteric narrative of ENA, I eventually came to speculate that all episodes' Enas are different ones. I even mention this in the tags of this post that I chose to not add and instead screenshotted them to preserve them.

The reason I came to speculate this is simply because I'm the sort of person who tries to make the incomprehensible, comprehensible. If something appears to have at least enough sense and continuity to it to not be complete 'nonsense', then I will persistently attempt to break it down into something that makes logical sense and unearth a "true/concrete understanding" (much to my own chagrin and annoyance. Motifs and patterns and connections-making brain is too used to doing this that I can't really "turn it off"). I am also aware that that's not what ENA is about— at least not initially, given the hourglass dog unlockables in DBBQ make mention of "lore" within the ENA universe (but even I'm skeptical as to how the word "lore" is being used, because I'm doubtful it's used to mean 'a canon' of sorts).

But ENA as a narrative is more akin to Hylics than something like your standard JRPG: there's a world and a relatively understood comprehension of how the laws of it work (to an extent) and things like entities and recurring people, but there's no real overarching plot to them— though Hylics doesn't exactly fit 1:1 with this description as both games do have a sort of plot, but the first game's is a lot more mere happenstance and not something like a "god-given quest".

Or in short, things really happen just to happen. DBBQ is to ENA what Hylics 2 is to Hylics.

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Anyway, why exactly I speculated that all the episodes' Ena's are different ones has to do with my having attempted to understand when Power of Potluck takes place.

I've already theorized how PoP possibly fits chronologically into the ENA series as a whole in two instances, but temporarily gave up out of acquiescing to the highly probable case that ENA just isn't something that a comprehensive timeline is necessary for or was even considered in the making of it.

To summarize my tags in the first link, based on a post someone made about how Ena in PoP is missing the middle strap of her suspenders which matches how she looked in Auction Day (where for Extinction Party and Temptation Stairway she has the middle strap), the op theorized that PoP chronologically occurs before Auction Day. I misremembered when they said PoP possibly chronologically occurs as before Extinction Party.

This time placement still matches up if PoP is placed in the gap between the two since Ena only has the middle strap in her design from specifically Extinction Party forward, so reasonably, any time before then she could have not had it yet.

(And as an aside, due to the possible achronological nature of Ena, it's also reasonable to speculate that the episodes in the order they were released also didn't chronologically occur in that order.)

But that's not my point of discussing this, just that I misremembered and that in my tags, were Auction Day to be put in place of my mention of Extinction Party, my point would still stand.

As you can see, I tried to come to a logical understanding of how PoP fits in with the rest of the series— not just because of that post pointing out the possible timeline placement— but because it doesn't make sense what with the ending of Temptation Stairway.

Sure, maybe one could offer the argument that the Great Runas' wish fulfillment wouldn't be permanent for one reason or another (ala "you can't just wish away your sadness; as an emotion, it will inevitably come back and this wish will only offer temporary solace at best"), but Ulysses literally tells Ena that she's trapped within the Divine Door until it next opens, which won't be for a long time, so how is she in Power of Potluck?

Maybe she really did just wait out the whole time and is still alive (how one would even figure out a life expectancy for a functionally immortal and achronological entity like Ena, I don't know), but this feels like a stretch.

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That was then that I considered "what if it's not just PoP Ena that is a different Ena, and Auction Day; Extinction Party; and Temptation Stairway are all one Ena, and DBBQ is yet another Ena, but that all of the episodes have different Enas?"

This is actually implied within the series itself with Rubik in Extinction Party and Shepherd in Temptation Stairway addressing Ena as though there existed multiple of her.

Some people have taken this to mean that Ena is a species rather than that there are multiple of specifically her. Put another way, multiple of the same entity (as is shown in the Holy Code with multiple blue/yellow Enas frozen in place and intermittently glitching into mannequins).

If it's already established that in some form there are multiple Enas (regardless of if being a species or just multiple of one person), then why not take it a step further and speculate that the Ena in each episode is also a different one? Why assume that the Ena we watch through all the episodes is the exact same one?

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What really made me seriously consider this was that, going based on this theory, it makes what was going on with Ena in Temptation Stairway make sense.

In Temptation Stairway, the whole way through, Ena's voices don't match the side they're typically assigned to (male voice coming from sad and female voice coming from happy). Sometimes they match, others they don't. Sometimes for one sentence from sad, it's the female voice but for the immediate subsequent sentence it's the male voice, creating this weird dissonance.

In Auction Day, Extinction Party, and later Power of Potluck, this mixing of the voices never happens. For those episodes, happy is always the male voice and sad is always the female voice.

Going into Temptation Stairway with the belief that its Ena is the exact same as the Enas in the prior two episodes creates dissonance and confusion because she never had this 'issue' before, so why are her voices so mismatched now? But if one goes into Temptation Stairway with the belief that each episodes' Ena is a different one, then that clears any possible dissonance and confusion because then it'd just be this one instance of Ena in particular that's all weird.

This also in turn, makes Power of Potluck's events even happening make sense since Ena shouldn't have been able to leave the Divine Door until it next opened (is it possible for her to transfer herself to a different mannequin on command? Like, without dying first? And if she were to be transferred to a different mannequin, would the Great Runas' wish fulfillment still be in effect or would it be null since she's technically a different entity (mannequin, not Ena) than the one who made the wish?). If the Ena in Power of Potluck is a different Ena, then that could mean that Temptation Stairway's Ena could still exist simultaneously.

Though, that's if one's interpretation of "multiple of the same entity" is the straightforward "clones"-type understanding. It's possible that while there are multiple Enas, there is still actually only one of her.

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That's where the theorized achronological aspect of her comes in. Many different timelines/chonologies overlapping each other at different points to create the 'illusion' of there being multiple of her, but there is still only one of her in the strictest sense.

But then there's also the "one person can be in two places at once" thing.

To explain it as simply as I can and how I understand it, Ena basically functions like Celebi from pokemon, but like, a bit more convoluted.

This understanding of "Ena is multiple of the same entity" contradicts how Power of Potluck works— depending on when it occurs.

On one hand, if Power of Potluck chronologically occurs after Temptation Stairway, then it doesn't make sense since all Enas are actually just one entity ever but there's some timey-wimey shenanigans going on with her thus making her "multiple", and if Ena is trapped behind the Divine Door and possibly can't get out even by using a different mannequin because it'd possibly nullify her wish, then how and why does Power of Potluck occur?

Her wish was fulfilled, and while Ulysses says "desires are never fulfilled nor quenched", given the many Enas floating motionless in the Holy Code, glitching, the rest of the events of Temptation Stairway implies that this Ena actually succeeded whereas all the others failed.

(And this also makes the events of Temptation Stairway very interesting when viewed with the belief that there is only truly one Ena but there's time overlap going on. Because, as Shepherd implies, she has met Ena before. Ena has entered the Divine Door before. she has tried to make her wish to the Great Runas before— and as the many instances of her in the Holy Code show, she's tried this many times. And it was only during the events of Temptation Stairway itself that she (seemingly) succeeds.)

So if Ena is stuck within the Divine Door and wouldn't have been able to leave for a very long time and her wish was fulfilled (for a literal god, I find the idea of the Great Runas' wish fulfillment not being able to stick disappointing and portrays the genies as not all they're cracked up to be. That they don't deserve the reputation they have if their powers are naturally impermanent and there's nothing they can do about it), then why does Power of Potluck even happen? Why is Sad back?

And of course, I have to address the elephant in the room that is Moony having reverted back to her normal form than the cursed humanoid form she got as per her wish in Temptation Stairway.

Again, this is only really a snag if one views Power of Potluck occurring chronologically after Temptation Stairway, if it's viewed as having occurred prior to T.S, then there's no issue.

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But that then leads me to what I theorized about the nature of PoP in relation to the rest of the series: Power of Potluck is an alternate timeline of Ena where she failed in having her wish granted by way of not making it to the Divine Door in time.

It can't be her having failed some time after having entered it because remember, the Door closes right after she and Moony enter it and she can't exit it until a long time later.

And as I stated in my tags above, I find Power of Potluck chronologically occurring after Temptation Stairway— just in general— rendering T.S redundant since... what was the point of all of that and Ena having her wish fulfilled in having her sadness removed if it just comes back in the next episode?

People try to logically explain it as "the Great Runas' powers probably aren't permanent or weren't permanent with the nature of Ena's wish in particular (and Moony's, I guess)", but that feels like a stretch since for all how glorified and praised the Great Runas is, I've no reason to reasonably believe that it was exaggeration— or that the nature of Ena's wish was incompatible with permanence (the Great Runas is literally "Run As". As in "run as administrator". I kind of doubt something with that level of power could be so easily undone. It's literally a metaphysical rewrite).

But if Power of Potluck is a different timeline altogether where Ena failed to even reach the Divine Door— and Moony is still a moon rather than humanoid, meaning she also failed to reach it— then PoP makes sense, as its existence doesn't conflict with Temptation Stairway.

If one ascribes to the flavor of "Ena is multiple of the same entity" theory where she's all just one entity ever but there's achonological overlap, how Power of Potluck occurs would alter the nature of this take on Ena into something even more convoluted. That being, each Ena, rather than assumably all being from one timeline and occurring in the past or future from when they're supposed to be— creating the illusion of there being multiple Enas— is actually "every 'instance' of Ena is an Ena from a different timeline".

And that with each Ena being from a different timeline but they're able to cross over to other timelines and also have the same aforementioned achronological format, then shit gets really confusing.

Basically then, only Ena would be able to "jump" timelines but not any of the other characters. That way it's still only one Ena but it's Ena from different timelines.

(Technically, this is also the same take as how I explained "each episode's Ena is a different one, which explains what was up with the voice dissonance with T.S' Ena", as each episodes' Ena actually being from a single timeline is literally just the same as the take that the Ena in all episodes is the same exact one.)

If one ascribes to there literally being multiple Enas (not a species, just multiple of the same entity ala "clones"), then Power of Potluck almost makes sense. Because, while this does account for the conflicting existences of PoP's Ena and T.S' Ena, it doesn't account for Moony still being a moon rather than humanoid— and we don't have any reason to realistically believe that there are also multiples of Moony (and possibly every other character).

So, in the end, the most sensible explanation for Power of Potluck occurring without being in conflict with Temptation Stairway is that PoP occurs in a timeline where Ena and Moony failed to reach the Divine Door (which in itself is inherent to believing that each episodes' Ena is a different one).

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Now, having established that every Ena seen is a different instance, how does Dream BBQ's Ena fit into this?

My first theory was that she too, was a different Ena but still originally was blue/yellow Ena that somehow became how she is now, and while I still think this, there's now more to it.

While I did reblog and found much of the theorizing in this post agreeable, when it came to DBBQ Ena being implied as being Temptation Stairway's Ena, that... sort of didn't register properly in my brain...

It's like "water is wet, yeah." then going "OHHHH. Water is wet!" like, ?????? it didn't??? click right??? in my brain??????

Understanding but not true understanding?

It wasn't until I started doing this theorizing completely separate from that post that I organically came to the same conclusion.

As per my tags from different DBBQ analyses:

With things from the series literally being referenced in-universe, I don't think it's meant to just be a "wink wink, nudge nudge" for the player, but is actually something that has occurred in-universe. Emphasis on "occurred", past tense.

And with Worker Ena during the end of chapter one having technical difficulties in loading into the mannequin at the hub where she blips through her "hangover form" and even blue/yellow Ena for a single frame, I think it has actual bearing in-universe. That it's not just an easter egg, it means something.

I phrase it in the first post's tags that "she has been blue/yellow", but that was postulation for the sake of fitting within tag and tag character limits. It has not been proven that Worker Ena once was blue/yellow Ena, but evidence throughout DBBQ heavily implies this to be the case.

And even Worker Ena's 'bugging out' at the end of chapter one is just my interpretation of what was going on: that she was being loaded as past states (like... a computer. Save states, system restore, etc) before she was properly loaded back as Worker Ena.

I interpreted it this way based on the appearance of Hangover Ena being a completely unique state of Ena (as opposed to the emotional extremes which aren't unique states since they're just emotions from a blue/yellow or cream white+blue-grey/red Ena) and viewing the single frame appearance of blue/yellow Ena with knowledge that the events of the series have already happened (because I've seen some people speculate that DBBQ is a prequel?? No???), it lead to me thinking that the appearance of blue/yellow Ena during the 'technical difficulties' alongside Hangover Ena was that these two states of being have something in common.

She has been Hangover Ena. She has been blue/yellow Ena.

So, how does this tie into Worker Ena potentially being Temptation Stairway's Ena?

Since I have established my belief in the theory that Worker Ena isn't a completely separate "type" of Ena (along the lines of the "Ena is a species" theory) and instead formerly was blue/yellow, I can properly start explaining.

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Referring back to this analysis, this is the only analysis I've seen that makes any mention of the wish option Ena could make to Theodora about "punishing the moon".

Things like aspiring for a blissful life or eternal happiness can be understood within only the context of Worker Ena as we know her in DBBQ (completely divorced from her being series Ena) given how overworked she is and how much she hates her job and outright states she no longer has personal agency.

Aspiring for Frank's forgiveness on his behalf is also understandable— especially since he's 1. one of the few characters (as of chapter 1) that is genuinely kind to Ena with no backhanded compliments or remarks about her and 2. pronounces and spells her name correctly as ∃NA.

He is the most respectful character thus far to Worker Ena, so her aspiring for his forgiveness on his behalf being because of his genuine respect for her makes sense.

Then there's of course the aspiration to get rid of the smoke, the entire reason Ena even came to have an audience with Theodora.

But then there's the option at the bottom.

"Aspire for the punishment of the moon." The heck does that mean?

Well, as this analysis theorizes, Worker Ena isn't just any random instance of Ena, but is specifically Temptation Stairway's Ena.

To quote said analysis,

"But if Runas was in fact the murdered Genie, then there is one suspect in particular that pops into my mind. Someone who has met Runas. Someone who was... unimpressed. Dissatisfied. And found herself trapped inside his domain for a long, long time."

This aspiration only makes sense in the context of Worker Ena being the same Ena as in Temptation Stairway.

Why? Why would it specifically have to be Temptation Stairway's Ena and not a different one? Aspiring for the punishment of the moon doesn't really convey a form of specificity to the events of Temptation Stairway, theory that the Great Runas was killed and Ena was blamed for it/being punished on behalf of Moony or whoever did it or not.

Well, there's several reasons.

The first being the constant mention of God that Worker Ena has ("bless you for your business", "worry not, you're still a child of GOD", "GOD knows the rest") makes the most sense with Temptation Stairway's Ena— though this can come across as confirmation bias.

Another reason is that DBBQ Ena is overworked, stressed, and one of her sides is literally anger and anxiety, and that Worker Ena was formerly blue/yellow but Something Happened. That one of her aspirations to a GOD is to "punish the moon"; Moony would have had to have done something absolutely horrific to Ena to have led to series Ena becoming the way she is now and first chance she gets at reaching a wish-granting god is to punish Moony.

Yeah, I think the reverence of God despite Meanie remarking she "doesn't believe in anything" and upon Worker Ena meeting a wish-granting god like Runas who doesn't grant wishes without limit unlike him, is to aspire for the punishment of "the moon", I think they're connected.

Basically god/genie-based trauma about what was unfairly taken from her (after so many instances of her failed).

Also, "punishment" as a concept has only been spoken of in some form by only four characters thus far across the series and DBBQ combined.

Moony in Temptation Stairway

Ulysses in Temptation Stairway

Taski Maiden in Chapter 1 of Dream BBQ

Theodora in Chapter 1 of Dream BBQ

What's interesting is that the instances of punishment being mentioned in the webseries are in Temptation Stairway.

But Moony's mention of punishment when viewed under the lens of her having done something to Ena— whether directly or indirectly— that eventually caused her to become Worker Ena is... extremely worrying.

The full context is:

"Pay the debts of the loser." "Rude entities like you get punished for the sins of others." "Aspire for the punishment of the moon." and Theodora's response.

.......

Anyway.

Postulating this to be the case, that would mean that for "Full Happiness" Ena to have become Worker Ena, then the Great Runas' wish wasn't impermanent (again, like it naturally faded over time or that it was incompatible with the nature of series Ena's wish), but was, well... more akin to the type of wish fulfillment loophole trickery that genies in other media are known for (not that I think the Great Runas tricked Ena, but that he fulfilled her wish exactly and other negative emotions eventually arising was just a consequence of lack of foresight on Ena's part in not specifying she only ever wanted to be happy).

Yes, Ena's sadness was removed, but there was nothing that specified a different emotion couldn't take its place.

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This reminds me of my analysis on someone's post about Worker Ena regarding how Meanie is specifically cream white/very pale yellow. How, with the way Anxiety is displayed on Meanie by default looks like shading and given how abstract and wacky the characters in ENA are, the shading peculiarly being completely absent on Salesperson's side isn't that odd.

It's not until the Purge Event that during the phone call with Froggy, Ena's sprite during the call visibly shows the "shading" creeping down her face, revealing that it wasn't just weird shading that only applied to the Meanie side, but was actually a whole third color.

And if Anxiety, as a third color, was cleverly disguised as being weird shading that isn't out of place for something as bizarre as ENA, then Meanie being cream white/very pale yellow rather than a stark white could be along the same lines. That Meanie being yellow-tinted isn't "just lighting", but is also something more that's cleverly disguised.

I stopped thinking this to be the case, but now upon theorizing that Worker Ena is Temptation Stairway's Ena and that the Great Runas' wish fulfillment is strictly still in effect, that perhaps there is merit after all in Meanie being comprised of formerly Happy and Sad (I'm still holding out on it out of residual skepticism, though).

Though, it wouldn't really be "Sad" since that side of Ena was removed.

Anxiety is blue-grey rather than a pure grey. It is not a pure blue like Sad was. Anxiety is not the same emotion as Sad.

Like I said, the Great Runas' wish fulfillment is still in effect: Ena is still rid of her Sad side.

But if Worker Ena really is Temptation Stairway's Ena, that informs the specificity of what T.S' Ena wished for. That it did not include her always and only being Happy, just that she wished to be rid of her sadness.

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But wait! There's more! This also ties into how Worker Ena being Temptation Stairway's Ena affects how Power of Potluck exists as it does.

Temptation Stairway was stated by Joel G. to be a "season finale". This on its own means that Power of Potluck is the first episode of the second season. Joel G. also says Temptation Stairway was "the end and the beginning of something".

There are several comments he replied to and two in particular caught my interest.

Given that Dream BBQ's trailers exist before Power of Potluck, and PoP Ena is along the lines of how she's already been depicted in season one, it's safe to say that he was referring to Worker Ena here.

And then... this.

"One of these characters will stay with the new look on [sic] the future".

Obviously this doesn't apply to Worker Ena since she looks completely different from Full Happiness Ena.

But we haven't seen Moony yet in Dream BBQ.

He said one of them will "stay with the new look", so there's little reason to believe he changed his mind— especially since we have not seen Moony yet to confirm whether that is the case or not.

Regardless, until more episodes and chapters come out, I'll still just view Worker Ena as "connected to blue/yellow Ena" but that's the extent of it. I'm not banking on this being The Singular Truth and then it warp my perception of Worker Ena into "oh poor Temptation Stairway Ena" when that hasn't been confirmed despite there being a lot that supports that theory.

It's too early to be making calls like this when there literally are only four episodes (three episodes in season one and one episode in season two thus far) and a single chapter of the game. Still think it's worth speculating on, though.

[nightingale2004]

Gravity falls Hcs: Throughout the years, pt. 1

The town of gravity falls continues to remain normal, but still has its weird strange flair

More and more tourists come and go from Gravity Falls Oregon, especially after Weirdmageddon

Tyler is still mayor and going on strong

Dipper and Mabel still visit Gravity Falls every summer, and they remain close with their friends from Gravity Falls

Mabel, Grenda, and Candy's friendship still remain strong as they all grow up (since they got phones and computers, they text and videochat 24/7)

Dipper and Mabel have their troubles in school, especially after what they've been through, but no matter what, the pines twins stick together through thick and thin

Dipper is still not so popular, but he found his people, and he managed to create a "Dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons" club in school

Mabel is still to this day an arts and crafts master and also a master of knitting and clothing designs.

When Mabel was granted access to the world of the internet. She made her own business website showing the clothes she made, along with making video tutorials on knitting, art, and making wax figures

On one of twins' birthdays, great uncle Ford and Mabel gave Dipper three journals so he could find his own discoveries and adventures and write them in the journals (Dipper loved the gift and takes great care of them.)

Mabel still never misses a scrapbook-ortunity

Wendy and her gang of friends are still hanging out and still close (they've slowly started to treat Thompson nicer)

Robbie and Tambry are still together and are getting married (Wendy is Robbie's best woman and Tambry's bridesmaid)

When Soos got married, everyone was there, and it was all very emotional. Especially for Soos who cried at his own wedding more than anyone

When the pines twins come to gravity falls over the summer or the holidays, the townspeople all know their name, give them endless hugs and high fives, and it's pretty much the happiest moment for the townspeople

Old man Mckgucket still invents, but this time, it's for the benefit of town.

As time went by, Fiddleford started fixing his mind little by little with his son's help. He is also slowly rebuilding his relationship with his son and Stanford

When Mabel and Dipper's parents met with the Stan brothers, they demanded an explanation. Stanley and Stanford came up with a very believable lie involving Stanley owing a bunch of debt to dangerous men, and then he faked his death to get them off his back with Stanfords help.

Bill Cipher's statue is still in the woods of Gravity Falls, and everyone makes sure that people, including tourists, go nowhere near the statue out of fear

Stanley slowly starts remembering everything, but he asks his family and Stanford for clarification on memories that are a bit of a blur

Every time the Pines twins come to gravity falls, it's always a new adventure, and Candy, Grenda, Wendy, and even Pacifica started joining them on their adventures

Soos named Stanley the grandfather and the pines twins as the godparents. Melody wanted to protest, but she could never say no to Soos

Wendy found a girlfriend and still helps out at the shack, but now she is working as either a lumberjack or working on construction

Since money was tight for the Northwest family, Pacifica took a job at the diner thanks to lazy Susan, and now she earns her own money to help out, and she FaceTimes Mabel and the girls a lot

Pacifica gives Mabel fashion and design tips

Sev'ral Timez still lives in the woods and somehow managed to mate and multiply with nature. Now there are mutant hybrid Sev'ral Timez children running around Gravity Falls

Ivan or Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle is traveling around the world to find his song that is in his heart, and so far, he has released a few Banjo songs but not many

While living in California was nice, Waddles, after some time, was no longer aloud to live with the Pines twins family, which broke Mabel's heart but Soos luckily volunteered to take in Waddles after he convinced Melody to be on board which Mabel immediately was happy about

Sheriff Daryl Blubs and Deputy Durland are married and have adopted a boy together

After the weirdmaggedon, everyone has their trauma, and everyone deals with it in their own way, but the town who went through it all go through the healing together or with those that they trust