#no location no character names just vibes still

[salikawood]

💥RETURN OF SLACKJAW💥

[darkmatilda]

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: two years ago, completely by accident, you helped catch a serial killer. now, as mysterious events start to pile up around you, you begin to suspect that someone is after you, seeking revenge. terrified, you're willing to do anything to save yourself—even if it means reaching out to your ex, who wants nothing more to do with you.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: [these warnings only apply to part 1!] spencer reid x criminal(thief)female!reader, stalking, mention of dismembered bodies, serial killer targeting women, mention of abduction, mention of mental issues and addiction of the victim, reader is kinda morally grey

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

𝐚/𝐧: HUGE THANKS to my beloveds from the server who have been listening to me yap about this fic for the past few days!!! a few of my dear girls show up here as characters, in this part it’s @esote-rika i hope you like the role i chose for you <33

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

You hadn’t dreamt about it for almost a year now.

Before, that image had returned to your dreams regularly. A small, wooden vacation cabin in the woods—far enough from the bustle of the city to feel like a retreat, but close enough to avoid the unease that comes with complete isolation. An operation that had required you and your then-partners to meticulously study the owner’s weekly routine, gathering as much information about him as possible. There was no pressure of time—it was a place for vacations or lazy weekends, not for everyday living.

You had no trouble breaking in without even damaging the lock. You had your methods. The owner was due to arrive soon and discover that the painting in the small living room was gone. You wondered if he even understood its historical value. Wealthy people often liked to fill their properties with expensive works of art to catch the eyes of their guests and dazzle them with their price tags. But they rarely cared about the context or the circumstances of their creation. Often, if the artist was foreign, they could barely pronounce their name.

You liked labeling every person you robbed as ignorant. It gave you more motivation.

Your partners had immediately located the painting, while you started looking around the interior yourself. There could be more valuable items—jewelry or antique furniture. Once, during a robbery, you had been about to retreat when you found a hidden door leading to a basement, which turned out to be practically a vault. That year, you booked your dream vacation.

This time, you were heading down the stairs again, shining your flashlight ahead. The beam of light didn’t fall on a bust, a leaning painting, or an Art Deco dresser. It illuminated the battered face of a woman, bound as though she weren’t a living being, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

The waitress set a plate of pancakes in front of you, but you suddenly regretted ordering them. Your stomach was still in knots after seeing that image again in your dreams. You’d gone out for breakfast because you had no plans for the day and didn’t want to spend it entirely cooped up in your apartment. You adjusted yourself in the leather booth. The place had a 90s vibe, with its black-and-white checkered floor, red seating, and curly straws poking out of milkshakes topped with double whipped cream.

A cop slid into the booth next to yours with a sigh, ordering waffles with bacon. Out of habit, you tensed up slightly. As a member of the criminal underworld—a thief and active dealer of antique goods—you weren’t a fan of even fleeting interactions with people who carried handcuffs on their belts. You much preferred gold bracelets.

"...abandoned body parts of an unidentified woman were found along the shore of Neabsco Creek in Prince William County. This exceptionally brutal crime immediately sparked panic within the local community, following a series of murders that had occurred here just two years earlier. It was right on this riverbank that the limbs of the last victim of the killer were found before his capture…”

“The Waterside Butcher,” the cop to your left muttered, mouth full of waffles. “I don’t know if you heard, but that guy’s a real piece of work. Fuckin' psycho. But it ain’t him now—they got him locked up good.”

Thank you for sharing that unsolicited nugget of information I didn’t ask for, officer, you thought, as you remained silent. You didn’t want to engage in any confrontational interactions with the police. In fact, you couldn’t physically speak—you had a chunk of pancake stuck in your mouth, swelling up like a soaked sponge, and you had to spit it out onto your plate.

The cop shot you a look of disgust before turning his attention back to the waitress, bragging about his knowledge of the crime details. He even mispronounced the killer’s name. Robert Miller, not Roger. The man whose vacation cabin you broke into two years ago. The one whose basement you found a woman imprisoned in. The one you reported to the police, even though that meant exposing what you’d been doing in his house. Your case quickly ended up in the hands of the BAU profilers, who used your testimony and connected it to a serial killer they had been hunting for a long time, one who always dumped his female victims along the banks of water sources.

They even offered you a deal. Your testimony, and in exchange, you were only charged with one burglary, one attempted theft. They completely ignored the dozens of others that had happened before.

So, it could be said that you helped them catch The Waterside Butcher.

The cop was right about one thing. Thirteen murders, and he was locked up for the next few lifetimes. So, it had to be either a copycat or...

But if someone like that escaped from prison, would the public even know about it?

Your nightmare hit again. Right on that night. A bad feeling?

Your phone rang.

"Hey, Mrs. Hemingway," you greeted your older neighbor from the floor below, the one you’d swapped numbers with when you were helping her settle in after her hip surgery and taking care of her poodle. You were surprised she was calling you. "Everything okay?"

"Sweetheart, I told you to just call me Erika," she said gently on the other end, her voice carrying a note of tension. "I’m just calling to let you know you're flooding my floor again. Haven’t you fixed that sink yet?"

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. "I’ll be there in a sec. Sorry, Mrs...Erika, that this happened again."

You left the almost untouched pancakes on the plate and walked out of the restaurant, heading toward your building. You’d been moving around a lot because of your line of work, and this place had been home for maybe three months now. For about two weeks, something strange had been happening with the sink in your kitchen. You’d return late at night to find the floor completely flooded, leaking down to the apartment below, where Mrs…Erika lived. It happened every few days, almost regularly. After the second time, you hired someone to fix it, but he said everything was fine with the faucet. Either you kept forgetting to turn it off, or…you just couldn’t come up with a better explanation.

Oddly enough, that wasn’t what occupied your mind on your way back to the apartment.

Your thoughts were consumed by the murder case. You couldn’t help it; everything related to it made you uneasy. During the trial, you’d heard all the details of the crimes he’d committed. You’d seen photos of torsos of women, abandoned in various places, along with their legs and arms. You’d listened as the handsome profiler explained the psychology behind it all. How he lowered his voice with a comforting care, assuring you there was no chance he would ever get out of prison. You nodded, having no reason not to believe him. It was him who proposed the deal you took – keeping your earlier crimes under wraps in exchange for your testimony.

You made a mental note to check in on how Rebekah was doing later. You were the one who saved her, though you didn’t particularly like using that word—after all, you’d ended up there by accident. You kept in touch, but it was hard to call it friendship. You were bound by the situation in which she almost became just another limbless victim. You didn’t have much in common, but she had struggled a lot after that event, and you wanted to make sure she was okay. It was kind of like womanhood. 

The first thing you did when you got back to your small but quite stylishly furnished apartment in a nondescript neighborhood was to turn off that damn sink. And then, you offered a heartfelt apology to Erika. In return, you promised to walk her poodle for a week.

“No need, darling,” she assured you, standing in the doorway of her apartment. She was an elegant woman, a fashion enthusiast. Dressed in a gray plaid skirt and a cleverly cut blouse with a tie at the neckline, large black earrings dangled from her ears. Sometimes when she went out, she wore a matching black bowler hat. Behind her, the poodle was frantically wagging its tail, excited to see you. “The doctor recommended I get plenty of walking. I take Coco out every day at eight for an hour. Just the cost for the flooded ceiling is fine.”

You agreed, silently promising yourself that you’d order her a massive bouquet of flowers in the coming days. But for now, you headed back to your apartment, walking straight to the bedroom where you kept a locked chest of drawers… and inside, an album of photos. And within those photos, a substantial amount of cash. Since your income didn’t come from legitimate sources, you steered clear of banks like the plague. You counted out the sum you planned to give Erika—more than she probably expected. But before you could lock the chest again, your fingers automatically grabbed the album. It wasn’t just money in there; you liked to capture moments in photos, and you had plenty of them. You always took them with you when you moved.

The first page showed several pictures from your early childhood, chubby cheeks, dreamy eyes. You quickly turned the page, then another…

Your fingers clenched tightly, even though your mind hadn’t fully processed what you’d just seen. You shook your head, thinking it was just your imagination playing tricks on you.

A photo of a little girl on her first bike. Her face should have been expressing joy, a toothless smile. Instead, all that was there was white, emptiness. A cut-out section.

With furrowed brows, you continued flipping through the album, almost in a trance. If every photo had missing pieces like that, it would’ve been easier to understand. But this was just one photo out of hundreds, one little girl without a face…

A graduation photo. You should have been smiling, hugging your friends. But your face was missing. Your breath caught in your chest. A trip with friends—your face cut out. A beach day, devoid of your face. Not every photo had been altered, but almost every stage of your life captured in that album had at least one case like this. It was as if someone was trying to erase you completely.

You stopped at the point where you had stopped taking as many photos. The last few were from your previous relationship. It hadn’t lasted long, but you had particularly enjoyed taking pictures of Spencer Reid, the profiler who had worked on your case. His brown hair, wide eyes in surprise because he hadn’t known you were sneaking up on him with the camera, the dimple in his cheek when he smiled, filled several good pages. There weren’t many good photos. He looked amazing in spontaneous shots, but in posed ones, his smile was always awkward, stiff.

That photo wasn’t one of your favorites. It had been taken by some stranger during your little vacation in Rome. Spencer had been wearing a light linen shirt, his arm wrapped around your waist. You remembered exactly how you’d stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, only to cringe a moment later—having just slathered him with sunscreen, you tasted that bitter aftertaste in your mouth. A smile flashed across his face at that, and he adjusted his arm around you, smoothing your heat-fluffed hair behind your ear. So many perfect angles for a picture you could have stared at for hours, but that stranger had only snapped one. You both looked like an engaged couple who had never spoken to each other before, and to make matters worse, it looked like the family expected six kids from you both.

Your face had been cut out of it.

You slammed the album shut and tossed it into the drawer. A gust of wind blew the money meant for Erika onto the floor, but you didn’t care. What did you care about? There was nothing in your mind. A temporary, filling emptiness, growing with every beat of your heart.

Your body moved toward the window on its own, discreetly peering behind the curtain. A black car pulled away from the driveway, followed by a red one, and then a gray one. Could it be…?

No, you hadn’t looked at that album for several days. At least not to review the pictures. They might have been damaged before, and you only noticed it now. You didn’t know which version of events scared you more.

The voice of the news anchor played in your head like a true-crime podcast, describing a recently discovered body with far more gruesome details than in reality. The return of The Waterside Butcher, the one you helped catch. A break-in at your apartment (you hadn’t done it yourself, had you, in your sleep?) almost at the same time?

A twist of fate? A stupid coincidence?

For a moment, you paced around the apartment, thinking. Robert Miller was a serial killer of women, whose capture had been made possible by a woman who broke into his home. If—purely hypothetically—he escaped prison, wouldn’t he be driven by a certain kind of hatred directed specifically at her? A desire to destroy her, more important than anything else?

But that was absurd. You hadn’t cut ties with the case, but surely someone would have informed you if he had escaped. Though…Spencer had been your source of information, and you hadn’t spoken to him since your breakup, over a year ago. You hadn’t been in touch at all since then. So maybe…?

You realized you were standing in something wet. The floor was still flooded from a tap that had been left running.

For the second time this week.

The self-turning sink, this tension, this dream, the cut-out faces, the next murder.

Another brutally killed woman left on the riverbank.

The thought was improbable, yet it refused to leave you alone. It was far more likely that you were dealing with some deranged copycat—after all, it wasn’t uncommon for serial killers to have their admirers. However, that prospect didn’t fill you with nearly as much dread as the idea of being in the crosshairs of this particular man. 

You had to find out if there was even the slightest chance that he was out there, free.

*

“Hands up and turn around, slowly.”

Quick disclaimer—you and Spencer Reid didn’t break up on the most peaceful terms.

Aiming at your head was a bit much, though.

Without a hint of fear, you calmly closed the cabinet in his kitchen, from which you had just taken out a package of brown sugar cinnamon Pop Tarts. You immediately shoved one into your mouth, chewing the sweet bite while staring into the eyes of your ex, who was pointing a gun at you from about four steps away. His hair was longer than you remembered, and there was a trace of stubble around his mouth that caught you off guard. Or rather, how good he looked with it.

“I preferred your old place,” you declared, leaning back against one of the kitchen cabinets. Another bite of Pop Tarts, and a crumb fell onto your clothes. Oops. “Do you even have a microwave here? I could warm this up.”

“How did you get in here?” he asked, clearly irritated.

He still hadn’t lowered the gun, and you were starting to suspect he wasn’t exactly thrilled to see you.

“It’s always how did you get in here?” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Never what’s up? how are you? your hair looks amazing, did you know that? and that outfit?”

"You wouldn’t be yourself without all that pretentious talk, huh?" he scoffed, finally easing up a bit. His stiff posture, caused by holding the gun, relaxed, and after a beat, he lowered it and tucked it into his waistband. He accidentally pulled back part of his black blazer, revealing a dark purple shirt underneath.

You shoved the rest of the snack into your mouth, wiped your hands off, and swallowed.

"I’d be boring without it. And you wouldn’t be yourself without this overdramatization, right? Aiming at my head like I’m some criminal..."

"You broke into my apartment," he interrupted, folding his arms. It was evening, and if you hadn’t turned on the light before coming in, the place would have been drowning in cold darkness. A little of it slipped through the window that wasn’t fully covered. "I think that’s a pretty good reason to point a gun at someone. So what are you doing here?"

"You were right," you said softly, helplessly spreading your arms. "The path of crime doesn't lead to anything good. I should have listened to you, thrown it all away, and become a model citizen."

Spencer gently nodded, listening to your words. Then, he let out a laugh.

"And seriously?"

"Was I not convincing enough?"

"Did you get yourself into something again and need someone to cover your back? Because there's no better alibi than the words of an FBI agent?"

"Stop acting like I ever forced you into it. You did it on your own."

"Because I didn't want my girlfriend ending up in prison."

A tired sigh escaped you, not expecting it to take just three minutes from the start of your reunion to begin bringing up things from your relationship. Well, the fact that you even got together two years ago still seemed incredibly absurd and enigmatic, especially to outsiders. Let's be honest. An FBI agent and a criminal caught during a break-in for theft. Then, still a criminal, though with good intentions.

You couldn’t help that you didn’t see an end to that career, and you were pretty sure Spencer secretly hoped you'd give it up. During the less than six months of your relationship, you felt as though you were constantly on the police radar, even though he’d never turn you in. What’s more, once or twice, he vouched that you were somewhere else when you weren’t. To put it simply, he gave you a fake alibi.

That was roughly when everything started falling apart, as it slowly dawned on him that he couldn’t change you. Things got even stormier, and one day, after one of the many unpleasant exchanges of words at that stage, you just walked out, slamming the door behind you, and you hadn’t seen each other until now.

 End of the story.

"Listen," Spencer began after a moment of silence. "You broke in here for a reason, and I highly doubt it’s to reminisce. I should just tell you to leave, but out of some remnants of respect for you, I’ll let you say what this is really about."

"Oh, look at you, how gracious," you scoffed bitterly. Remnants of respect. He was right, though. You hadn't come there to reminisce; you were only interested in getting an answer to one specific question. You cleared your throat. "I’m assuming you’ve heard about the discovery on the shore of Neabsco Creek?"

Spencer took a step forward, furrowing his brows slightly. He still kept more than a necessary distance, as if you were the one pointing a gun at him.

"Your assumption is correct," he replied slowly, cautiously. "I just don’t understand the purpose. Do you have any information related to the case?"

Although it didn’t quite fit the topic, the corner of your mouth twitched.

"Are you hoping I’ll help you catch another serial killer?" you asked, immediately shaking your head. "No, I don’t know anything that could be useful to you. But I do have some bad feelings about it."

You saw him gently press his lips together in thought. Almost immediately, he understood where you were going with this and gave a slight nod. His eyes were still analyzing you carefully and distrustfully. You also noticed how carefully he chose his words, as he always did in the presence of someone who could mean trouble.

"Spencer," you said his name for the first time during this conversation, pausing for a moment to think about how it felt on your tongue. You’d almost forgotten. "Is Robert Miller still in prison?"

 "He murdered thirteen women, of course he’s still in prison," he replied with conviction. "And he’ll stay there forever. The body we found... the modus operandi is the same, but only because we’re probably dealing with a copycat."

 "Copycat," you repeated. "And not an accomplice?"

"He didn’t have an accomplice. We figured that out during the investigation."

 "Are you sure?"

 "What exactly are you getting at?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine confusion, his brow furrowed deeply.

You set the Pop Tarts box down on the counter. You’d thought about it a lot. Few knew about your involvement in the investigation, it hadn’t been made public, just like the exact circumstances surrounding the capture of the suspect. He, however, knew. He’d seen your face in court, heard your name. The entire previous day you had been obsessed with the fact that he probably had the right to correspondence in prison. He might have found a way to inform his potential accomplice about your identity, convincing him to take revenge on his behalf.

"Someone's stalking me," you said casually, as if you were telling him about what you had for lunch that day. "It started right when that murder happened. Just before the body was found on the shore. Someone...cut my face out of photos in my album."

Spencer stood still for a long moment. A look of concern briefly flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced by something else—skepticism.

"No offense," he began, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "but are you sure it’s not just someone from your circles?"

"Even if it is, so what? I'm still being stalked."

"Then, that’s not my problem”

Okay, that was cold.

“If someone from my circles wanted to kill me, they’d just do it. They wouldn’t be sneaking into my apartment, cutting my face out of photos, and turning the water on in my sink. The Waterside Butcher, as the media's calling him,” you tried to sound calm and logical, but your heart began to race as the memory from the dream you’d had two days ago—and the one that came to you last night��hit you. This time, however, you hadn’t found Rebekah in the basement of the house, but yourself. “Something’s not right. I can feel it. You guys should look into this. I mean, BAU. But not as a copycat. As someone connected to Miller."

You could see Spencer mulling over your words. His jaw tightened slightly as he processed what you said.

“Are you getting any real threats?” he asked. “Or is it just a busted sink and…”

“It’s not busted! Someone’s turning it on!” you cut him off, irritation creeping into your voice. “And not just someone—a serial killer I put in prison.”

“And who’s still there.”

You could feel yourself losing track of your own thoughts. Well, you’d barely slept the night before, and your brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

“Or his accomplice,” you corrected yourself.

“Or?” Spencer picked up on it, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, frustrated by his calmness.

"Well, sometimes you catch the wrong person," you said uncertainly.

Spencer exhaled deeply, briefly staring at the ceiling. You didn’t see the seriousness, the readiness to act, that you’d expected when you showed up at his apartment. There was no declaration that they would take another look at the case, maybe reach out to Miller again and try to get more information from him. The thought crossed your mind—if something like this had happened two years ago, would he have reacted with more urgency?

“I interrogated him two years ago,” he began. “Personally, for many hours, even days. He confessed to everything, nothing in his behavior suggested he was trying to manipulate us. He had a motive—he selected his victims based on their resemblance to his mother, whom he also murdered by pushing her off a boat during a family trip. At the time, it was considered an accident.”

As he spoke, memories of the courtroom and the police station resurfaced, when everything was just starting to come to light. And as he slowly moved closer to you, probably unknowingly, you also recalled the first time you really interacted, when he drove you home. You weren’t innocent, but that day, you had heard some truly horrifying details of the crime, and you felt a distinct unease. For the first time, you talked about something other than the investigation. I’m like Robin, but not like Hood. I rob the rich, but I don’t give to the poor you said, making him laugh.

"Our profile didn't include a partner. Trust me, we've handled plenty of cases where there were two or more perpetrators, but this isn't one of them. One person is responsible for this," he continued, trying to catch your eye, making his words more direct, wanting to make sure they reached you. "If someone's stalking you, it's probably not even connected to this case. And normally, I'd recommend you report it to the police... but I get the feeling that's not really an option."

You scoffed, because he was right.

"Highly unlikely they'd do anything about it. You know, the faucet could always be broken, and the photos...that can be explained away," you said, sitting up suddenly.

"Are you calling me paranoid?" you asked sharply.

"You always have to label things so harshly," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, I’m not saying that. I’m just suggesting that the previous murder and the media panic could have influenced how you're perceiving things, making you more susceptible to suggestion. Your mind has connected it with past traumatic events and added..."

"So, you're saying I'm paranoid. Just in scientific terms," you shot back.

Spencer sighed in frustration.

"Call it whatever you want."

For a moment, you just stared at him in silence, a rush of angry words pushing at the back of your throat, but you realized they didn’t make any sense. Why had you even assumed from the start that he would believe you? Leaving aside the fact that your argument was admittedly a bit stretched, the truth was, you weren’t the person he chose to trust anymore.

You briefly lowered your gaze, letting out a sigh, then lifted it back up as you got closer. Spencer tensed, almost moved to pull away, but quickly realized you weren’t threatening him. You simply reached for his purple shirt, slipping something into the tiny pocket on his chest.

"My current phone number," you explained, tapping that spot on his chest. "In case you find out anything. Oh, and one last thing. Do you remember what shape my birthmark is?"

He tilted his head, surprised by the question, the sudden shift in topic. Without waiting for an answer, you pulled at your shirt slightly, exposing a patch of skin just below your collarbone.

"It’s in the shape of pi, like you once pointed out." It hadn't reminded you of that at all before, just a vague shape, but ever since he'd mentioned it, you'd seen it only that way. And from then on, every time he kissed you, he'd always lingered at that spot for a moment longer—it was his personal, favorite point. You let go of your shirt, and Spencer immediately locked eyes with you.

"I just wanted to make sure you remembered," you added, before turning to leave. "In case I end up dismembered on some shoreline and they need to identify my body."

Spencer’s mouth fell open, unable to say a word.

"You knew it very well," you added casually as you made your way out.

You didn’t need him to escort you. You had gotten there on your own, too. 

*

Three days later, when poor Erika was flooded once again, you decided to take action. You contacted the right people to have the locks in your apartment changed and to secure the place in a way that would make breaking in nearly impossible—at least for an average burglar. You knew, however, that someone with the right skills, like you, could still get in. With difficulty, but it was possible.

You also made sure to refresh your knowledge of handling a gun. 

And you called Rebekah.

You didn’t like scaring her, but you preferred her to stay vigilant. If someone was targeting you, they might just as well try to go after her too. The problem was, she wasn’t answering your calls, despite you trying every hour throughout the day. Shortly after being freed from the murderer’s grasp, she hadn’t taken up any work, and since you were doing relatively well, you had been supporting her financially. Recently, however, she had managed to find a steady job, and that could explain why she wasn’t responding.

Spencer was right about one thing—you were slowly becoming paranoid. That’s exactly why, later that evening, you decided to head over to her address to make sure everything was okay. It wasn’t just about outside threats anymore. It was simply that… Two years was a long time, but not when it came to rebuilding a life after being abducted by a serial killer. Those years had been especially hard for her—there was the added struggle of addiction—and you just wanted the reassurance that she hadn’t done anything to herself. At least then, you’d be able to sleep more soundly—as much as the circumstances would allow.

Her apartment was located in a truly awful neighborhood, on the second floor of a stairwell covered in graffiti. You knocked on the door several times, pausing between knocks, trying not to panic or come across as aggressive—you didn’t want to scare her.

"Rebekah, are you there?" you called out when no one answered.

You spent a moment leaning against a spray-painted cock on the wall, letting out a sigh as you reached into the pocket of your jacket. The lock on her door was a simple one, requiring only the most basic tools—tools you carried out of habit. You made a mental note to send someone over to replace it.

Even if she wasn’t home, you wanted to take a look around and gauge how she was doing based on the state of the apartment. It wasn’t exactly ethical, but sometimes our surroundings say more about us than words ever could. Besides, there was a good chance she’d never even know you were there.

You stepped inside, calling her name again. The light was already on. Her jacket was hanging on the coat rack, suggesting she was home—but it was also possible she’d just worn a different one. You slipped a wad of cash into the pocket of her jacket. She’d find it later and probably think she’d just forgotten it was there.

The interior had dark green walls, and the apartment consisted of three rooms: a modest living room, a tiny bedroom with just a bed and wardrobe, and a bathroom you’d never been inside before. When you glanced into it, your face reflected in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. You looked really sleep-deprived.

Finally, you headed to the bedroom, clinging to the faint hope of finding her asleep in bed. The fact that all the lights were on worried you—if she’d gone to work, she would have turned them off. Anyone mindful of their wallet would’ve turned them off!

The bedroom door creaked softly as it closed behind you, leaving just a narrow gap that provided a sliver of a view into the living room, specifically the apartment entrance. That was when you saw it swing wide open.

At first, you wanted to leave the bedroom, assuming it was Rebekah and that you could greet her. But it wasn’t the petite, feminine figure of your short friend—it was a tall man, or so you guessed from his stature, despite the hood obscuring his face. Instinctively, you leapt back from the partially open door, making sure you were out of sight.

Heavy footsteps cut across the apartment, heading, by the sound of it, toward the kitchen area. There, they paused for a moment.

You didn’t even try to convince yourself it was some friend of hers dropping by for a visit. Deep down, you already knew—instinctively felt—who it was. And that thought paralyzed you so completely that, despite the gun tucked under your jacket, you quietly slid open the wardrobe door and squeezed yourself inside.

The door creaked as it moved, and you cursed silently.

Whoever it was, you hoped they were too focused on whatever they were searching for to have heard it.

You listened closely to the footsteps in the room next door, your mind spinning with one relentless question: Where was Rebekah in all this? Was she at work, completely unaware that someone was in her apartment during her absence? You tried to recall the last time the two of you had spoken. Certainly not in the past few days—perhaps not even in the past week.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing your breathing to quiet, to steady.

Theoretically, her apartment could’ve been empty for days now.

But who was this man?

The footsteps suddenly grew louder. The bedroom door creaked open. You drew in a sharp breath and froze, halting your breathing altogether. You had no idea how much the tight, dark confines of the wardrobe muffled sound.

The footsteps stopped.

You could only imagine the figure standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room, taking in every detail. Did he sense someone else might be here? He couldn’t know for certain. But it was possible—likely even—that he subconsciously felt another presence, much like you did in your own home every single day.

Fragments of the nightmare that had haunted you over the past few days came rushing back. It felt as if you were descending those stairs into the basement again.

And then a smell wafted through the air—faint but distinct.

It was the same scent you’d inhaled back then.

Two years had passed, but you still remembered that mixture of dust, decay, and sweat.

Were you really smelling it now? Or was it just a cruel projection of your terrified mind?

The footsteps began to retreat.

You listened with your eyes closed, straining every nerve to track the sound. Your legs felt weak, and it took everything in you not to slide down the back wall of the wardrobe.

The sound of the apartment door slamming shut echoed through the silence. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

And then your phone rang.

The sudden, sharp sound shattered the fragile quiet, making you choke on a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Your fingers acted on their own, quickly answering just to silence the noise.

“Hello?” someone said hesitantly, your name hanging in the air like a question. “...It’s Spencer. I’m calling because... something’s happened. And you need to know.”

No.

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could block out the reality creeping in.

The silence on your end must have encouraged him to keep talking. You heard the faint sound of him swallowing, the nervous gesture twisting your stomach into knots.

“Robert Miller escaped from prison”

You pressed the phone to your face, even though it was already on speaker. Words tangled in your mind, refusing to form. Spencer said your name twice more, his voice edged with concern, before you finally forced yourself to speak.

“You need to come here,” you croaked, your voice barely recognizable. “Please.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

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@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch @trulymadlydarling @cynbx @penelopegarciaismygf @nachrosas @angellic4l @awordsmith

[pitlanepeach]

Clara | Chapter One

Toto Wolff x Original Female Character

Summary — She wasn’t looking for anything extraordinary, just a quiet life; peace. She should’ve known her past would catch up with her eventually — one way or another.

Warnings — Age-Gap (24 & 50), one night stands, unplanned pregnancy, complex family dynamics, sugar daddy Toto vibes, strong language, sexually explicit content.

Notes — It's here! I've concluded that this fic will end up being around 7 chapters, for those who like to know what to expect! As always, send me your thoughts! - Peach x

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

She was nineteen the first time she left home.

Ran, really, was a better way to put it.

There hadn’t been a dramatic moment. No suitcase flung open in the hallway, no door slammed behind her. Just a pink sky, a silent bus ride, and that cold, certain kind of knowing—the kind that settles into your ribs and whispers, if you stay, you’ll drown.

Mick had stayed. Of course he had. That world had always fit him—tight like a glove, stitched together in perfection and expectation. He was good. The golden boy. And everyone told him so.

And Clara? Clara had been handed the quiet burden of being his twin.

The same face, the same blood, the same surname—but none of the brilliance people were looking for. Just enough resemblance to be a reminder, never enough to be a revelation. The pressure hadn’t been loud. It had come in glances, in polite suggestions, in the way people looked at her like they were waiting for something to switch on. Some fire. Some legacy.

After the accident, it became unbearable.

The house was suddenly full of silence. Everyone grieving in their own way. Everyone pushing forward because they didn’t know what else to do. And Clara—Clara had felt like she was being swallowed whole by the weight of it.

The pressure to stay strong. The pressure to stay visible. The pressure to become something great. A symbol. A Schumacher.

But she didn’t want to carry anyone’s legacy. She didn’t want to represent a name. She just wanted… a soft life. Quiet mornings. Gentle hands. To be held more than she was looked at.

So she left before she could unravel entirely. No big exit. No scandal. Just a quiet bag packed and a train ticket south.

She dyed her hair darker. Started using her mother’s maiden name. Learned how to disappear gently, with grace.

Started smiling less. That helped.

Jobs came easily when you were tall and lovely and didn’t ask for much. The world had a place for girls like her—on the edges of luxury, pretty and quiet and always moving. She passed through Ibiza, Berlin, Nice, Dubai. Never stayed long enough to be known. She learned how to flirt without promising, how to disappear while standing still, how to be wanted without being remembered.

By the time she took the winter-season contract at a private estate in the Swiss Alps, she was twenty-four and bone-tired.

The job had come through a friend of a friend. Exclusive. Discreet. Hospitality for elite guests—businessmen, old money, the occasional celebrity trying to avoid cameras and commitments. Clara said yes before she even saw the full details. High pay. Quiet location. No press. No fuss.

She hadn’t realised what kind of people she’d be serving until she saw the guest list.

And there it was.

Toto Wolff.

She’d read the name twice. Then folded the paper and put it out of sight like it might burn her fingers.

He hadn’t known her then, not really. She was just a kid when he used to come by the Schumacher home—tall and intimidating, always deep in conversation with her father, the kind of man who seemed too big for their kitchen table. She’d curl up on the stairs sometimes, half-listening, pretending not to care. But she remembered the sound of his voice. Deep. Calm. Quietly dangerous.

Now he was here. In the exact place she’d chosen to disappear.

And she would serve him drinks like she didn’t know him.

Like she wasn’t someone he’d once seen running barefoot in a paddock. Like she hadn’t watched him from the shadows for years, intrigued and crushing on a man who was thirty years older than her. 

The moment she saw him, she knew it wouldn’t work.

He was older now—sharper, maybe lonelier around the edges—but his presence filled the room the way it always had. Clara ducked her head, took a breath, and told herself he wouldn’t recognise her.

Not here.

Not like this.

She’d buried Clara Schumacher a long time ago.

She just hoped Toto Wolff didn’t know how to dig.

—

The kitchen was warm, too warm—radiators on full blast and the oven open for the pastry chef’s temperamental soufflés. Clara stood near the sink, rolling her sleeves up and letting the heat flush her cheeks. Her blouse clung to her back, but she welcomed the discomfort. It was grounding. 

“Did you see the guest list?” Someone whispered. It was Elise, one of the other servers—French, painfully pretty, and always two steps ahead on gossip.

Clara didn’t look up from the tray of polished glasses she was inspecting. “Briefly.”

“Well, I saw it,” Elise continued, loading her voice with importance. “There’s going to be, like, five billionaires here. That Wolff guy? He’s huge. Like, terrifying. But also... kind of hot in a cryptic-CEO kind of way.”

“I’d let him ruin me,” muttered Anaïs, the pastry assistant, half into the fridge.

Clara forced a smile and kept polishing. 

God, they had no idea.

“Apparently he’s super private about his private life,” Elise said, lowering her voice. “Obviously. I mean, when was the last time anyone heard about him having a girlfriend?”

Clara’s throat tightened. Her hand slipped slightly on a wineglass stem, and it wobbled before she caught it. She turned, steadying her tone. “Which wing is he staying in?”

“East,” Elise answered. “Why?”

“No reason.” Clara dried her hands and reached for her tray. “I’ve got the cocktail round for the main salon.”

“Good luck,” Anaïs said with a wink. “Try not to melt.”

— 

The estate’s main salon was dimly lit and elegant, all old wood and older money. A fire crackled in the hearth. Conversation buzzed low and intentional—men with pocket squares, women in sleek black dresses, the clink of cutlery and crystal.

Clara stepped into the room like a shadow, trained and fluid, balancing her tray with easy grace.

She saw him before he saw her.

Toto was stood near the fireplace, glass in hand, deep in conversation with a man she vaguely recognised from handful of financial tabloids. He looked broader than she remembered, darker around the eyes. But his presence hadn’t dulled. It pressed into the room like gravity.

Clara’s stomach twisted. She approached slowly, circling the room, offering drinks, nodding politely. All muscle memory.

And then—

He turned.

Eyes met hers.

Only for a second. Maybe two.

But it was enough.

His expression didn’t change. No widening eyes, no sharp intake of breath. Just a quiet recalibration, like a man noting a discrepancy in a report—unspoken, but deeply, dangerously noted.

She looked away first. Felt the heat rise to her collarbones. Stepped past him like he hadn’t just undone five years of erasure with a single glance.

She made it to the far side of the room before she let herself breathe again.

But even as she served the rest of the guests, hands steady and smile serene, she felt it.

His gaze.

On her.

All night long.

Not leering. Not obvious.

Just there. Like a hook in the water, waiting.

Not absolutely sure what it had caught—but curious. Focused.

Remembering.

— 

The night had finally exhaled.

Guests were retired to their wings or slowly drifting that way. The last fire in the main salon had been banked. The soft shuffle of slippers and closing doors was the only sound left in the house.

Clara moved like a ghost through the back corridor, tray empty, apron half-tied at her waist, jaw clenched tight enough to ache. She just needed ten more steps. Her suite. Her bed. One locked door between her and—

"Clara Schumacher.”

Her name stopped her like a crack of thunder.

She turned slowly. He was there—Toto. Leaning casually in the mouth of the hallway, one hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, the other resting on the trim of the doorframe.

His eyes were unreadable in the low light.

She hesitated. “That’s not my name.”

He raised one brow, just slightly. “No?”

She didn’t answer.

A beat passed. Then two. “I almost did not recognise you,” he said finally, voice low. “But you have your father’s eyes. And your brother’s mouth. That tilt, when you’re irritated.”

“I’m not irritated,” she lied.

“You always were, around me.”

That made her blink. “You remember that?”

He gave the smallest of smiles. “You were a teenager who hated being ignored.”

“And yet you still did it.” She folded her arms, tray pressed between her ribs and elbow. “Ignored me.”

He nodded, thoughtfully. Then his voice lowered even further. “What are you doing here, Clara?”

“I work here.”

“You shouldn’t.”

She stiffened, eyes narrowing. “Why not?”

“You’re a Schumacher,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You were never meant to serve.”

Her mouth pulled tight. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“I am allowed to want to separate myself from my family name.” She told him sharply. 

“I knew your father,” he said simply. “He would be horrified, mäuschen, that you are spending your time cleaning lipstick off champagne glasses like you are somebody else.”

“I am someone else.” She said, on a sharp inhale that cut through the pain of hearing anybody talk about her father. “Clara Schumacher doesn’t exist anymore.”

Toto stepped closer. Not menacing—just steady. Measured. Quiet concern, coiled beneath layers of restraint. “I remember her,” he said. “And I think that she is still in there.”

Clara turned away, blinking hard. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “I had to leave. I couldn’t— I couldn’t stay there any longer. I couldn’t stand to watch him fade away. And then to have to sit back and watch Mick rise to the top…” 

“I think that I do understand,” he argued, his eyebrows drawn together, his voice low and careful. “You were afraid, so you ran and hid.”

She flinched. 

The silence stretched, thick and raw. 

Sensing the tremor in her, Toto softened, his voice dropping even lower, the words curling around her like a warmth she didn’t want. "Mäuschen," he murmured, his voice gentler now, “Kleine Maus... it’s okay. You don’t have to hide. Not from me.”

Clara’s breath hitched in her throat at the softness of it—the softness of Mäuschen, a pet name so tender it made her stomach tighten, just a little. 

He reached out, barely, almost as if he were going to touch her arm. But he stopped himself, his hand hanging at his side. “I won’t tell anyone that I have seen you,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, an attempt to ease the tension. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Clara didn’t answer immediately. Her chest felt tight, the words clinging to the back of her throat, but she couldn’t quite say them. “I’m not afraid,” she finally whispered, though the words felt hollow. 

Toto’s gaze softened even more, and for a moment, she knew that he could see the fractured pieces of herself that she was trying so hard to hide. He took a step back, giving her space, but his eyes held her still. His voice was low again, barely audible in the quiet corridor. “Du bist nicht allein, Kleine Maus,” he said, his words barely a breath, more an affirmation than a promise. “But I will be here for a full week. So… when you’re tired of pretending this life is what you want, when you’re done with this ridiculous act of rebellion… find me.” He gave her one last lingering look—and then he turned, slowly, walking away, the soft echo of his dress shoes fading into the distance.

Clara stood there long after he was gone, her pulse hammering in her chest. She could still feel him; like he’d etched himself into the space between her ribs somehow.

“Clara?” Elise called. “Can you come and give us a hand in the kitchen?”

She took a deep breath, pushed every thought of Toto Wolff to the back of her mind, and headed back toward the kitchen. 

—

Clara’s fingers moved quickly, setting the table with an almost mechanical precision. The guests were seated, the room filled with quiet chatter and the clink of glasses. She drifted through the room, her body automatic, her face a practiced mask. The pressure of it all had become second nature: being used, going unnoticed, never really there but always present.

Toto wasn’t like the other guests, though. He had a way of watching her, of speaking to her, that tugged at her in ways she didn’t want to acknowledge. He had arrived early, sitting at the far end of the room, casually sipping his coffee, his eyes following her movements with a quiet interest.

“Isn’t it curious?” He asked softly, his voice carrying just to her as the room emptied for a brief moment. “A woman like you… working like this. All your beauty, all your grace... and yet here you are, doing this.” He gestured toward the task she was occupied with, not loud enough to draw attention but still heavy with implication.

His tone was gentle, almost conversational, as though he were commenting on the weather, not on the way she’d chosen to live. “You should be the one enjoying this, not serving it, don’t you think? Being treated the way someone of your pedigree deserves.”

Clara flinched, her heart skipping a beat, but she quickly masked it with a neutral smile. She forced her focus on the tray she carried, avoiding his gaze, but she felt his eyes on her the entire time.

She continued moving through the estate, offering drinks, greeting guests, and pretending that she didn’t feel the tug of his words, that they weren’t echoing in the back of her mind. His comment had been soft, almost kind. But it felt like a crack in the walls she’d painfully constructed.

Later, as she watched guests indulge in the luxury, their every need met with ease, she couldn't shake the longing that stirred inside her. For the first time in years, she remembered what it had felt like to be taken care of, to be spoiled, to be wanted without having to give something in return. Her chest tightened with the realisation of how much she missed it—and how terrifying that was to admit. 

—

The day dragged on. Clara was exhausted. She had been on her feet for hours, serving, attending to every need. And every time she passed by his table, there he was—Toto, watching her. There was something different in his gaze though. Softer, almost knowing, like he could see right through her mask.

He was standing by the door now, his eyes meeting hers as she passed by with a tray. “Kleine Maus,” he said gently, his voice carrying just enough to reach her. “I do not enjoy you like this. Working. Tired to the bone. Shadows under your eyes.” His tone was quiet, almost like a confession.

She stopped in her tracks, his words settling into her like stones in her stomach. She tightened her grip on the tray, trying to push the feeling of vulnerability away, but it was impossible.

“You deserve more than this life. You should be treated better than this.”

His words weren’t forceful. They weren’t demanding. But they lingered. And he said them so softly. 

Clara took a deep breath, but she couldn’t help the sudden tightness in her throat. She turned away quickly, feeling the overwhelming pressure rise in her chest.

She kept moving, trying to keep herself together, but it felt harder with each step. The words continued to swirl in her mind. You deserve more than this life. You should be treated better than this. It was all she could hear.

And then, suddenly, she was aware of him again. Toto’s presence behind her, quiet but insistent. She didn’t need to look to know he was there. The weight of his attention was all-encompassing.

When she felt a hand on her arm, steady and warm, her breath caught in her throat. “Komm, lass uns hinaus gehen,” he said, low and soft, but firm—inviting her out of the chaos, out of the pretence. “Come, let’s go outside.”

Her chest tightened, and without thinking, she let him lead her down the hall. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. Her tears started to fall before she could stop them, soft at first, then uncontrollable.

Toto didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why or try to stop her. He simply led her down the hall, away from prying eyes, into a quiet space where no one could see her fall apart. When they reached an empty corner, Clara collapsed, her sobs racking her body. The years of pretending, the exhaustion, the years of loneliness—it all came flooding out. She couldn’t hold herself up anymore. She was done.

But Toto was there, catching her instantly. His arms enveloped her, pulling her close in a way that was both protective and comforting. He didn’t ask her to stop crying. He didn’t tell her to be strong. He just held her, letting her collapse into his chest as if she had no weight at all.

“Du bist nicht allein, Kleine Maus,” he whispered into her hair. His voice was a promise, quiet and steady. “I will never let you go without proper care again. Not for so long. You deserve much better than this.”

Clara clung to him, her sobs quieter now, but her body still shaking with the release of everything she’d been holding back for so long. Toto’s arms, his warmth, were like a safe place she had long forgotten could exist.

— 

The corridor was silent. Every polished stone echoed under Clara’s bare feet as she approached the end of the guest wing, her night coat pulled tight around her. She stood in front of the door for too long, knuckles raised, not knocking.

Then, like he always could, he opened it before she could make a sound.

Toto looked at her without surprise, like he’d known she would come. Like he’d been waiting. "Clara," he said softly. Just her name, but it sounded different in his mouth. Measured. Weighty. Almost reverent. She didn’t speak. Just looked at him, eyes wide, still a little red. Her hands trembled at her sides. “You should not be walking the halls like this alone so late,” he murmured, stepping aside. “Come inside.”

She did.

The room was warm, lit only by the fire. It smelled like cedar and expensive cologne, understated and masculine. She stood by the hearth, trying not to unravel.

“I don’t know why I came,” she whispered.

“I do,” he said. Simply. Kindly.

She turned toward him then. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His eyes flickered, something ancient and gentle behind them. He stepped closer, slowly—giving her time, always giving her time.

“Then you won’t be.”

She searched his face, then nodded once.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “You will let me take care of you tonight, Kleine Maus?” He asked, the pet name soft like silk. “Only if you want it.”

“I do,” she breathed, and God, she’d known this was a possibility, but the reality sunk in with a sharp, exciting spark. “Please.”

And Toto, gentleman always, but not soft, kissed her like he meant it. With control, with patience, with deep, deliberate reverence. Every move was a question. Every answer she gave was enthusiastic, quiet, whole-body yes. He undressed her like she was made of something precious, and the way he touched her, slow and steady and unbearably tender, felt more like worship than want.

He didn’t rush. He led.

And for the first time in years, Clara didn’t have to give. She was allowed to fall back and simply be received—all her walls pulled down, all her edges seen and kissed and kept tenderly safe. It was slow, it was intense, and it was unbearably good.

Later, wrapped in his arms, her face pressed to the warmth of his chest, she felt something terrifying creeping in.

Hope.

—

Clara woke just as the morning light spilled through the windows. Toto was already sitting on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt, his back to her.

Something about it—about the way he didn’t immediately turn—made her stomach twist.

He finally spoke, quiet, almost too gentle. “You should go home, Clara.”

Her breath caught. “What?”

He turned then, eyes kind but distant in a way they hadn’t been last night. “To your mother. To Mick. They will be missing you dearly.”

She sat up slowly. “You… you want me to leave?”

He stood and walked toward her, kneeling briefly to take her hand. “You have spent too long pretending you’re not loved. You need to be reminded.”

“But I thought…” She blinked, throat closing up. “I thought maybe—”

He hesitated, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles, lingering like he didn’t want to let go. His voice, when it came, was quiet—so gentle it almost hurt. “This life, liebling… it isn’t something I can offer without cost. And I—” he looked away, jaw tight, “I am not a man who gives only pieces. When I take, it is not done in halves. You understand?”

Clara’s chest ached. Her nod came too fast, too eager to protect her own pride. “Of course,” she said, the words brittle.

His hand tightened once, as if he might pull her back into his chest—but he didn’t.

And that, somehow, was worse.

Instead he leaned forward, kissed her forehead. A parting gesture. “Go home, Kleine Maus.”

She dressed in silence. Went back to her room and packed with numb fingers. 

And by the time the sun had fully risen over the snow-covered estate, Clara Schumacher was on the first flight home. 

— 

The gate creaked just like she remembered. The porch light still flickered faintly in the right corner. Clara’s suitcase rolled quietly behind her, wheels bumping over the uneven stone path leading up to the door. She hadn’t called ahead. Couldn’t bring herself to. She didn’t know what she would’ve said.

But the moment the door opened, everything stopped.

Her mother stood there barefoot, flour dusted on her sweater, eyes going wide with disbelief before softening with something fierce and maternal. “Clara?” She breathed, voice cracking.

Clara nodded—barely—and then she was in her mother’s arms, held so tightly she could barely breathe. The scent of rosemary and warm bread clung to her sweater, and Clara let her eyes close, let herself sink into that long-forgotten feeling of being held.

“You came home,” her mother whispered, voice trembling. “My darling girl.”

Before Clara could even find the words, she heard familiar footsteps behind them—hurried, heavier. Mick’s voice followed a beat later. “Mum? Who was at the—”

Then he saw her. His eyes went wide with disbelief before they flooded with something harder, deeper—relief.

“Jesus, Clara.” He crossed the foyer in three long strides, hugging her like he was afraid she might vanish again. “What the hell?”

She tried to speak but her throat closed up. So she just wrapped her arms around her twin and nodded into his shoulder.

“You disappeared,” Mick said into her hair, voice low. “And I didn’t know if you were okay. I kept thinking—” He pulled back just slightly, searching her face. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The house had quieted, but the air was still heavy. Clara sat curled on the bench beneath the kitchen window, nursing a mug of tea that had long since gone cold. The lights were dim. Her mother had gone upstairs. 

Mick stood by the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t said anything for a long time. Finally, his voice cut through the quiet. “You missed everything.”

Clara flinched. She set the mug down, fingers trembling. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Mick turned to face her fully, eyes sharp with something deeper than anger—hurt. “You missed my first season in Formula One.”

She looked down. “I’m sorry, Mick.”

“No, you’re not,” he snapped, stepping forward. “Do you know what it was like for me? Watching Mum try to smile through it and pretend she wasn’t crying every time she passed your room? I had no idea if you were dead or just—what? Pretending none of us existed?”

“Mick—”

“No,” he said, softer now, but still furious. “You left when we needed you. When I needed you. And I know things were hard—God, they were hard—but I was your brother. I am your brother. Your twin, Clara. You could’ve told me.”

Clara opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes shimmered. And then, all at once, she cracked. “I couldn’t,” she said, voice breaking. “I wasn’t strong like you. I couldn’t keep smiling, couldn’t keep pretending that it didn’t hurt, that I wasn’t disappearing inside. I couldn’t sit at the table every day and not know if Papa would ever say my name again. I couldn’t stand in your shadow and carry his too.” Tears streamed down her cheeks now, hot and relentless. “I’m sorry I missed your season. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wanted to be���I did—but I watched every race on the TV no matter where I was, and I cheered for you, Mick. I promise I did.” Her voice cracked on that last word.

She turned, expecting silence, or more reprimand—but instead, she found herself wrapped in her mother’s arms. Sabine had come down at some point, drawn by the weight of voices and grief, and now she was gathering Clara up like she had when she was small—like she always did when the world got too loud.

“Oh, mein Herz,” her mother whispered, fingers combing gently through Clara’s hair. “You never needed to be strong. We never asked that of you. We only ever wanted you safe.”

Clara sobbed harder. Mick looked down, blinking furiously, and then stepped forward too. Slowly, carefully, he sank beside them, leaning in. “I was so angry,” he said quietly. “But I was scared, too. Scared you were gone for good.”

Clara shook her head against their mother’s shoulder. “I was just... lost.”

“Well, not anymore,” their mother said softly. “You’re here. Home. And you will never be alone again.”

—

Six Weeks Later

Clara stood in the bathroom, staring at the small plastic stick in her hand. Her heartbeat was a frantic drum in her chest, each thump louder than the next. The room was quiet—too quiet—and her mind was racing, thoughts blurring together.

She couldn’t seem to breathe. The faint second pink line on the test was undeniable. It wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t a dream.

She was pregnant.

She sank down onto the edge of the bathtub, feeling the cold tile against her legs. Her hands were shaking. The steady rhythm of her breathing faltered, and the world outside the bathroom felt like it was slipping away from her.

Pregnant.

How had this happened? No, she knew how it had happened—of course, she did. 

She hadn’t planned for this. She had barely begun to piece together the fragments of herself she’d left behind, to understand what her future looked like now. How was she supposed to raise a child? How was she supposed to face her family after this?

The thought of telling them made her stomach twist. But that wasn’t even the most immediate problem. The thought of telling him—Toto—made her throat close with dread.

What would he think? What would he do?

They hadn’t spoken once since she returned home. Since the morning after. Since he’d dismissed her from his life entirely. 

A quiet knock on the bathroom door broke her train of thought.

"Clara?" Mick’s voice, muffled through the wood, was cautious, uncertain. “You okay in there?”

She quickly wiped her face, blinking hard to clear the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, her voice thinner than she’d intended. “Just... give me a second.”

Her brother’s voice softened. “You sound like you’re crying.”

She closed her eyes, the lump in her throat tightening again. The weight of it all pressed on her, unbearable. “I’ll be right out,” she called back, her voice a little steadier now. “Just a minute.”

Clara took a deep breath, gathering what little composure she had left. The test sat on the edge of the sink, staring back at her, and for a moment, she just looked at it.

How did you happen?

She took one last glance in the mirror, slid the test into her waistband, smoothed her hand over her hair, and then stepped out of the bathroom.

NEXT CHAPTER

[reidsmanuscript]

Meet the Minds

Summary: 4 years after that one time in a bar, on how your character Criminal Minds was born, and maybe how something else was also borned. Pairing: mgg x actress!reader Genre: friends to lovers?, fluff, mutual pinning TW: Public Scrutiny/Fame, reader has severally parents issues, plus they are passive aggressive but it's short i swear, brief mention of cheating, mgg takes a minute to appear i know im sorry, long introduction wc: 3.7k! A/N: hopefully someone will understand what I'm aiming for with both of my dear !readers, this is with the solely purpose to treat myself i fear Masterlist!

　　 　　　     .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Since that one time in a bar it has been 4 years. Your show City Lights has gotten big. And when you say big, it was BIG, and so did you.

You were wrapping up the third season of the show, with a renewed contract for the next season in hand and a few promising movie proposals. In the past four years, you and your friends have become famous. Not A-list famous, but enough that if any of you went out, someone would recognize you, or a few paparazzi might follow your every move.

The four of you had lived in the same apartment in New York ever since filming started on location. HBO wanted your friendship to feel authentic for the cameras, and boy, were you grateful for that… because they had become your true best friends—not just on TV, but in real life.

It was Ashley, Jack and Nathan. Something that always happens when you start a show and it gets views it’s that the whole crew becomes a big family. In the middle of the second season, you finally mustered the courage to ask the showrunner, Jeff Davis, if you could join the writers' table to pitch some ideas for your character. He agreed, and since then, some of the best storylines on the show had come from your contributions.

The thing was, your name brought in big numbers, and it had caught the attention of producers and showrunners alike. Criminal Minds had premiered a year ago, gained some traction, but they wanted to take it to the next level. So Jeff, the same creator of your show, called you and your agent to see if you could join the cast.

There were two problems. First, your schedule was already packed. Moving to L.A. for the shoot wasn’t an option—City Lights had you locked in for the fourth season, and there was a possibility you'd land the lead in a promising film. On top of that, you were still taking college classes from a foreign university at your parents' insistence. So, being a recurring character was out of the question.

Second, when they handed you the script, you hated the character. They wanted you to be the fan favorite, Spencer Reid’s love interest, and while you had no problem with that, the character itself didn’t sit right with you. She was this sweet, innocent woman, one who was a victim from one unsub, and Spencer, an addict, would find redemption through her. He’d get sober and everything would be perfectly happy. You thought it was dull.

For starters, you knew how controversial it would be for her to become his personal recovery center, but you also saw the potential in the character. So, you asked if you could rewrite her into something more dynamic, something with more depth. Given the trust Jeff had in you, he gave you free rein to make the changes.

“How’s it going?” Jack, one of your best friends and a Criminal Minds fan, asked, entering the living room.

“A surprisingly moving amount of absolute nothing,” you said jokingly, staring at the blank space.

“Oh, come on, dude! We’ve watched some of the episodes together! You know the vibe,” he said, sitting down on the couch beside you.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it.” you said throwing your hands to the air in a comically exasperated way.

“Well, I know the vibe, I just don’t know how to write it,” you said, dramatically throwing your hands in the air, exasperated.

“Guess who’s gone viral again!” Nathan breezed into the room, flashing you a grin. He played your love interest on City Lights, and the fans went wild for your on-screen chemistry. But the truth was, you two were nothing more than really good friends. There was no romance, just a strong, platonic bond.

“Ugh... please tell me it’s for the right reasons.” You shut your eyes and let your head flop back against the couch.

Nathan tossed you his phone, then leaned casually on the backrest of the couch, Jack scooting closer to get a better look.

“What is it? Another red sauce scandal?” you asked, scrunching your nose at the thought.

Let me tell you something: becoming famous at 17 or 18 leaves you with a digital footprint that you'll wish you could erase by the time you’re 23.

He handed you his phone, showing a new release from Austin, your ex-boyfriend. The song title was painfully obvious—"Still Stuck on You." The lyrics left no room for interpretation, and the message hit you like a ton of bricks. Austin had written another song about you, and this time, he made it clear.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me! This is like the third one this year!” Your mouth hung open in disbelief as Jack, who had burst out laughing, took the phone from your hands and started scrolling through the Twitter comments.

He had been your “boyfriend” four years ago, but only for PR purposes. When you found out he’d cheated, you broke up with him. He begged and cried, and it was pathetic. Since then, Austin had turned your brief relationship into his whole persona. He released songs that were painfully obvious about you, dated women who looked eerily like you, and spent interviews throwing shade, spreading lies, all for attention. The problem? You were skyrocketing, gaining fame in ways he could never have predicted, and he—well, he was still stuck on you.

Your phone started ringing somewhere around the apartment, a FaceTime call vibrating through the cushions. You rummaged through the pillows on the couch, cursing under your breath as you came up empty.

“Seriously, how do you always lose it?” Nathan said, appearing behind you with a smirk. He found your phone wedged between the couch cushions and handed it to you just as you answered the call. As he did, you reached into your back pocket, pulling out a dollar bill and placing it in his open hand.

See, you had a special talent for losing your phone around the house, and your friends turned it into a game. Every time you misplaced it and one of them found it, you owed them a dollar.

“Bitch have you seen it?!” Ashley squealed from your phone, her voice laced with urgency. 

“It's like jumpscare! you know it’s coming but it’s always surprisingly disappointing!” you replied, rolling your eyes.

“Somebody said, ‘Are you writing a memoir or just trying to hit the ‘most dramatic ex’ award this year?’” You all chuckled at Jack’s reading.

“Gotta go, some stylist is calling me. Love ya, bye!” Ashley hung up quickly, going back to her photoshoot, leaving you to shake your head and wish her good luck.

Jack kept giggling at the comments, lost in the chaos of Austin’s latest stunt. Meanwhile, you stared blankly at your screen, the cursor blinking mockingly back at you.

Nathan gave you a playful shove. “You know what’s really offensive? The tempo on that track. It’s like he’s trying to be edgy but doesn’t understand how syncopation works.”

“Hmm, well, what else could you expect? Maybe you should make your own song about it, something with a real sense of rhythm,” You said absently, still staring at the screen, the cursor blinking in a never-ending challenge.

“And you should start writing that, maybe throw in a little revenge of your own,” he said, nudging his chin toward the computer screen with a grin. You frowned at him, your gaze drifting back to the cursor as you considered his words.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You were studying—actually studying—sitting in the mini studio with notes scattered in front of you, calculator by your side, silently frustrated as you tried to make sense of the numbers. Ashley was on the other side of the desk in front of you, pacing and memorizing her lines, back and forth, her voice echoing in the room. Your grip tightened on your pencil, eyes flicking over the work in front of you, when your phone buzzed. Another message.

"We’ve heard about your 'plans,' but it’s hard to take them seriously when you can’t commit. It’s cute to 'explore options,' but at some point, you’ll have to stop playing around and think about your future. Don’t you want to be taken seriously?"

Maybe it was the sound of your phone tapping against the wood of the table, or the way your hand instinctively went to your eyes, trying to stop the threatening tears, that tipped Ashley off. She paused, looking up from her lines, eyes narrowing as she caught the shift in your mood, as she made it to your way, reading the message still open on your phone that had already sunk in, the familiar sting. 

Ashley didn’t hesitate. She pulled you into a hug, still standing while you were sat, one arm wrapping around your shoulders tightly as she murmured, "Fuck them. Seriously. You don’t need their crap." She squeezed you harder, as if to prove the point. "You're better than any of that. Don’t let their bullshit get to you." Her voice was fierce, a protective edge in every word.

The relationship with your parents was complicated, to say the least. You'd tried to make them proud, but it was never enough. Now, more than ever, you’d rebel when you chose to become an actress. It felt ridiculous—like you were still studying against your will, trying to prove something you didn’t even want to.

"I mean, what the fuck will it take for them to take me seriously? A fucking Oscar? Have some damn patience—I’m working on it," you spat, voice shaky, leaning into Ashley as tears threatened to spill.

She sighed, pulling you in a little tighter. “Fuck them,” she muttered, her voice low but firm. “They don’t get it, and honestly, they probably never will. But you’ve got this. You’re doing something they can’t even begin to understand. Don’t let their bullshit get to you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, at least it wasn’t a call. I swear it’s pathetic how every time I get mad, I just cry.”

Ashley pulled you into a tight hug, her voice soft but firm. “Forget about them for a second, okay? You don’t need to study right now. You’ve been working your ass off. Take a break. You’re allowed to feel pissed off without worrying about your grades for a few minutes.” She pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “You’re doing your best, and that’s all that matters.”

With a last shaky breath and wiping away the tears that had escaped, you nodded. Ashley sighed, her voice soft but firm. “Hey, enough with the studying for now. You’ve been pushing yourself way too hard. Wanna get cute and go out for some coffee?” She gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You deserve a break.”

You chuckled, truly this time, and shook your head. "Maybe later. You finish with your lines, and I’ll… go grab some snacks," she nodded, giving you a smile, picking up the forgotten script.

You were still shaken, even frustrated at how powerless you felt around your parents, and how you reacted to your feelings. You cried, and sometimes words became hard to find. You wished you could scream and destroy everything, just let it all out, like those female rage characters, but for now, you were left in silence.

Which gave you an idea.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

That’s how you ended up creating your character—in a fully cathartic, all-nighter frenzy, shaping her with layers of meaning. Like her nickname, “Woody,” a nod to Nathan’s favorite movie, Toy Story—a little inside joke, a quiet way of taking revenge in your own way.

She was everything you weren’t, and at the same time, everything you were.

And then there was her best friend, Austin—played by Jack, of course, since he was a huge fan of the show—who you took every opportunity to be mean to, just for the fun of it.

You’d never admit it, but the line “Austin is not my boyfriend”? Yeah, that had a little extra bite to it. A double meaning, if you will.

　　　　 　　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The producers loved it. The depth of your character, how dark her storyline was. Because if you really want to keep the audience engaged? Give them two characters who are absolutely perfect for each other—but can’t be together.

And when the idea of adding Jack came up, they agreed immediately. What’s better than one City Lights star joining the show? Two City Lights stars.

But they had asked you to keep the secret from everyone, including the current cast. Who you'll be meeting and revealing your characters to in the table reading 

　　　　 　     .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Jack and you were currently at ABC’s costume department, standing in front of a mirror while the costume designer and a wardrobe assistant made final adjustments to your outfits.

“Man, I’m boiling in here,” you groaned, peeling off the red shirt as the wardrobe assistant jotted down notes about the fit. 

Jack, meanwhile, admired himself in the mirror, dramatically flipping back the leather jacket he was trying on. “Do I look tough? Like, would you trust me with your deepest, darkest secret?” He smirked, striking a pose straight out of an action movie.

The costume designer, pinning a hem on your sleeve, barely glanced up. “You look like an extra in a bad '90s biker film.”

“You look like you're about to challenge a middle schooler to a dance battle,” you added, crossing your arms.

Jack gasped, clutching his chest. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

“More like zero intimidation factor” You said from the changing room, a few moments later, you stepped out  wearing a white shirt and black vest, and flashed Jack a playful grin. “So, do I finally look like the child my parents can brag about?” you joked, adjusting the vest slightly.

The wardrobe assistant shot you a thumbs up, clearly impressed with the fit.

“Are you maxing out someone's card again?” A voice asked behind you. 

You turned around to see Matthew grinning. You chuckled, scrambling for a response. “Well… I’m not legally allowed to talk about it,” you said, cringing internally.

Man, you were awkward without alcohol in your veins.

He chuckled, stepping closer to pull you into a brief hug in greeting. You’d already worked together on The Beauty Inside, so the familiarity was there—comfortable, easy, playful even.

“So what are you doing here?” He asked.

“Ummm well..” You turned to Jack with panic in your eyes. Jack, ever the performer, didn’t miss a beat. “We’re actually here to stage a heist. High-stakes, top secret.” He waggled his eyebrows.

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “We’re doing costume fittings.”

Matthew raised a brow, clearly amused. “Costume fittings, huh?” His gaze flickered to the wardrobe racks surrounding you. “For something unannounced?”

You hesitated, your lips pressing into a thin line. “I plead the fifth.”

Jack threw an arm around your shoulders. “She’s under strict secrecy orders, but between us?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It 's big.”

“Jaaack,” you warned, dragging out the 'a' in a clear sign for him to be careful.

“Well, if you’re in it, I bet it is,” he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, clearing your throat. “Soo, what are you doing here?”

“Well, this is kinda where I work,” he said with a shrug teasing. Right. This was where the cast of Criminal Minds did their fittings, although the producers had made sure you were not scheduled together to avoid leaks.

You raised an eyebrow, looking around the room. "Here? In the costume department?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying your confusion. "Yep, I mean, what else would I be doing here? Getting my wardrobe ready for my big role?" he added, his tone mock-serious. “What are you supposed to be, by the way? A real estate agent? I bet you’re just one property listing away from a deal of the century,” he said, eyeing your clothes.

You chuckled again. “No, um… I’m actually a very boring banker,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. Like get a hold of yourself girlie, he’s just a tall, handsome man, with nice hair and curls and pretty eyes, and gentle. Somebody, hand me a glass of water, or wine, whichever is easier.

The costume designer called your name, already holding more clothes in her hands. "We need to finish these adjustments, sweetheart."

You nodded, trying to shake off the distraction. "Right, I’ll be right there."

Matthew smirked, taking it as his cue to leave. "I guess I'll let you continue. Good luck being a banker," he teased, giving you one last look.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Thanks, Matthew," you said, turning toward the designer as he walked off.

Jack, who had been quietly observing from the corner, chimed in with a grin. "Yeah, because nothing says ‘big role’ like a banker in slacks."

You shot him a playful glare. "Oh shut up, Johnny Bravo," you joked, laughing as he dramatically posed in response.

　　　　 　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The producers stood at the front of the room, their eyes scanning the assembled cast. There was a buzz in the air—everyone was settling in, ready for the read-through to begin. After a quick round of hellos and some introductions, one of the producers, a tall woman with a clipboard, stood up to speak.

“Alright, everyone, before we dive in, we have a very exciting addition to the cast today. You’re about to meet someone who is going to bring a lot of depth and intensity to the world of Criminal Minds.” The showrunner smiled at you, saying your names and introducing the new character you’d be bringing to life.

Jack, sitting beside you, was doing his best to keep his cool, but the way he gripped his script gave him away. His knuckles were turning white from how tightly he held the pages, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Leaning toward him, you whispered, “That’s not bubble wrap.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and he whisper-shouted, “That’s Mandy Patinkin sitting right there. Do you have any idea how my mom would react if she were here?”

You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the table. Across from you, Matthew sat diagonally, flipping through the script with a furrowed brow. When he glanced up, he shot you a mock-offended look and mouthed, “Liar.”

You choked back a laugh, quickly mouthing “Sorry” with a small shrug just as the producers began reading.

　　　　 　    .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

The reading session had concluded, and you were chatting with Paget about how much you had loved her in Friends. Meanwhile, Jack was across the room, subtly—well, not so subtly—trying to get an autograph from Mandy.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Matthew making his way toward you, but pretended not to notice, keeping your attention on Paget. You had a feeling he was about to make some kind of remark, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of expecting it.

“You should be careful with her, she lied to me and told me she was going to be some boring banker,” he finally said, warning Paget with a smirk, 

You turned to him with an unimpressed look. “I’ll take that as I’m good at my job”

Paget raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Oh, so she tricked you? That’s embarrassing, Gubler.”

Matthew placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “I was misled! Deceived! Here I was, thinking I had met a perfectly normal, unassuming banker, only to find out she’s infiltrating our world.”

She laughed and patted his shoulder before the showrunner called her, leaving you alone with him.

“Nice shoes, by the way,” he said, looking down at your mismatched Converse—one deep red and the other black, matching your red top.

You chuckled. “Thanks. People keep making fun of me on the internet, saying I must've rushed out of the house.”

He laughed and pulled up his pants, revealing his mismatched socks—one purple with yellow dots and the other blue with bananas. “Well, that’s because they’re boring.”

“Oh God, they’re so cool,” you genuinely liked how bizarre they were.

“Hey, I saw your name on the last page of the credits... Did you write those episodes?” he asked, kind of amazed.

“Well, I um... added some minor stuff, really,” you said, lying a little. “Just to make her more sarcastic and fun… like, I can’t wait to get covered in blood for the shots.”

He laughed just as Jack reappeared, clutching his freshly signed Mandy Patinkin autograph like it was the Holy Grail. “I blacked out for half of that conversation, but I think I played it cool.”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so.” You were about to say something more when a producer called for both of you.

With an apologetic smile, you said goodbye to Matthew, but before you turned around, he called out, “Can I get your number this time, or do I have to wish we get cast together again?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you handed him your number. “I guess I’ll wait for your call.”

“You better pick up. There are some scenes I think will need some rehearsal.” His words made your stomach flip, and a flush crept up your face.

Pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling too much, you retorted, “You better be quick. My schedule is full.” That made him chuckle.

The producer called for you again, and you made your way toward him and Jack, still feeling the warmth of the moment lingering. You once promised yourself to not-date-coworkers. Maybe if those coworkers weren’t so funny and handsome you wouldn’t reconsider your own words.

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If you want to find out more about the CM character click here!

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[hollowed-theory-hall]

Do you have any headcanons for Wizarding stereotypes and social norms?

I love how your brain works! ❤️❤️

Hi, thank you so much 💓. I'm arriving at this ask a little late, but I have a lot of random, small and large headcanons about wizarding culture (in the uk and the rest of the world), and I have a tag for my HP headcanons in general. Many of these appeared in past posts, but I'll try to summarize like 20 headcanons about wizard culture and social norms in the UK (some of them are very based in canon, and others are just vibes):

1. Fashion. I love historical fashion, and I made posts about wizarding fashion in the uk before (wizard fashion, robes vs muggle-inspired fashion, Hogwarts robes). I believe even when we see wizards in more muggle-style suits/jackets, they are still, more often than not, wizard-made and are made with colors and fabrics that muggles would consider weird to put together.

Like, Dumbledore isn't close to the only one who dresses like an eyesore. Even the twins are described wearing some jackets I don't think would pass anywhere in the Muggle world. And everyone is wearing hats, a lot, all the time, especially older generations.

2. Traditions regarding what you do with your wand once you die change between families/location/time period. Like, during, say, the 13th century in England, everyone got buried with their wands, but in the 18th and 19th centuries it was all the rage to keep a wand display of deceased family members at home. (Talked about a bit here)

3. In the UK, most wizards are culturally Christian. Denominations vary, but I believe they have a sort of magical Anglican denomination, which includes some of their own saints and doesn't place a heavy focus on prayer or going to church, and more about community. (I have a whole series about this subject, with the last entry here and the most quote-based entry here)

Similarly, I believe there used to be a chapel at Hogwarts, but it fell out of use throughout the centuries and has been remodeled into something else. I mean, no large castle from the Middle Ages is complete without a private chapel.

4. We know there are a lot of stereotypes regarding wand woods and wand cores ("When his wand’s oak and hers is holly, then to marry would be folly" from pottermore), and I believe there are others.

I'm not the first to note the symbolism between wands and manhood (Lucius losing his wand, short wands associated with a "lacking" character). So, I 100% believe "polishing your wand" is a euphemism for jerking off. Similarly, they probably have sayings like "you know what a long wand means".

Basically, wands are a big deal, and there are a lot of superstitions/stereotypes around them.

5. Because of that, I think some people would boast their wand wood/core, and keeping these facts super secret is seen as you having something to hide. Adding a wand handle to your wand is seen as a way to hide that the wand is actually really short, etc.

6. It's not exactly a headcanon since it's heavily implied by canon, but the first son gets his father's name as a middle name, the first daughter gets the mother's name as a middle name, then younger children get grandparents' names, then aunts, uncles, etc.

7. The legal drinking age is 13 for light alcohol (like butterbeer) or for drinking with parental supervision. For harder alcohol (like Firewhisky), the legal drinking age is 16. (That's the feeling I get)

8. In general, alcohol consumption is seen as healthy and common in the Wizarding World, like it was in the 19th century. The type of alcohol and amount do have social connotations, though. A lot. In terms of class, intelligence, trustworthiness, etc. but drinking in itself is seen as chill and no one really thinks too much of it if it's not extreme (and even then it isn't treated as an addiction). (Talked about here & here)

9. I also think their age of consent is 16 and not 18. (The majority age is 17, so it seems right to me). They could also legally get married at 16, though it's somewhat frowned upon to marry before you graduate. This is a leftover of a time when many wizards didn't stay at Hogwarts for the final 3 years and went on to start with life instead.

10. As I implied, I think it used to be pretty common to drop out of Hogwarts after 5th year. Especially for poorer working-class wizards/witches. This is why you only need 1 passing OWL to keep your wand.

I think NEWTs are treated like higher education of sorts and were/are optional, but like with muggle universities/collages most of the population does study these extra years since many jobs started requir NEWTs in specific fields. Not all jobs, plenty are fine with just OWLS.

It's common to drop many subjects in the final 2 years, like Harry does. He actually keeps more subjects than the average student, who stays with 2-3 subjects for NEWTs at most.

They don't have any universities/academies or that sort of higher education. It's just NEWTS and then apprenticeships/on-the-job training.

11. In general, the number of OWLs the Golden Trio passed is above average. I talked about it here, but the average amount of passing OWLs with grads good enough for the NEWT classes seems to be ~4 per student. Fred and George's 3 each isn't unusual; their brothers are just academically gifted and ambitious. (Bill got 12 OWLs, Charlie is smart, Percy is Percy, and Ron is also really smart. And we don't know anything about Ginny's OWLs, but she must have gotten more than 5).

12. They are very sanitized to violence. We see corporal punishment (Molly chasing Fred and George with a broom) and other violent pranks (F & G melting Ron's tongue with an acid pop, the Mauraders) being seen as normal and acceptable. (Mentioned it a bit here)

In general, their standard for what's considered "bad" violence is different than ours. Anything that is easily reversible with a spell is seen as a little mean but no harm done, or even a little funny. If it's not permanent, it isn't really seen as harmful. When the harm is permanent, that's when it starts being taken more seriously (but even then, it depends on what the damage is, and often it isn't really treated as anything too serious).

13. Also, mental health is not a thing. Trauma is not harm because they don't really consptualise trauma is a thing. They understand when someone's having a "rough time" or if someone's being "overemotional," but they don't have therapy or anything like it. (I always found "mind healers" in fics out of place in their world. The only "mind healers" they'd have are ones for spell damage caused by Obliviate or curses like the Imperius or the Cruciatus). Any emotional/mental health situation is treated by friends/family support if you have good people around you, getting told to "get over it", or alcohol. (Talked about a bit here)

14. The reason Honeydukes has candy for vampires is because vampires are really rare and not seen as savages the way werewolves are. Vampires are seen as exotic, sexy creatures (kinda like veela, just without the magical attraction), and wizards, too, have trashy vampire romance novels. (Talked about this more as well here)

15. It's weird to get a portrait taken when young. Magical portraits are expensive to make since there is like, 1-2 wizards in the UK who do it (I headcanon Dean Thomas grows to paint magical portraits post-series as he is mentioned to draw in the books). So, getting one when you're young means you expect to die soon. It's seen as more extreme than writing a will, and something you don't do without a good reason. It's seen as paranoid and bringing bad luck. As in, getting a magical portrait taken is like asking death to come knock at your door. Hence, why I headcanon Aunt Muriel didn't commission hers yet.

16. Divination as thought at Hogwarts is seen by the majority of the wizarding world as a practice best reserved for wizards/witches who have the talent for it. Like, you have prophecies - seen as rare and mysterious, and you have omens - which is what everyone can learn to do to a degree, but most aren't good at it. There is real magic there (as the centaurs prove) just, not the way Trawlany goes about it. So most wizards treat it as a legitimate field, but one you need a talent for.

17. They're, in general, into astrology. I mean, they study star charts in Astronomy, and the planets' movements is magical in canon (centaurs, certain ingredients need to be harvested in a certain moon phase, etc). So, like, the average wizard could go: "yes, I'm having it tough. You know Mercury is in retrograde," but also, a completely different astrology that is all their own. Like: "When Jupiter is bright, it's a good time for potion making" or something. Along with superstitions that some couples actually take into account when conceiving children, like being born when there is a specific angle between Venus and Mars will make you lucky, or certain plants that predispose you to any Hogwarts house. Like, I'd imagine their birth charts look different from ours, since they pay attention to different things and note them differently. Like, they'd include the angles of various constellations as well, and it'll look different (At least, I'd like to think so).

18. I think they have a lot of little superstitions in general (like seeing a grim). Stuff like, don't propose on a dark moon if you want the marriage to last, seeing a unicorn in the wild is a sign of good luck, professional Quidditch players have lucky underwear they never wash, etc.

19. They aren't prude around nudity. I mean, no one seems to struggle with getting dressed or taking showers with other people in their dorms, even when they aren't used to it (it is something that takes getting used to if you didn't grow up seeing it as normal). There are portraits and talking mirrors that watch you and comment on your appearance in bathrooms and bedrooms, we know many wizards (young Snape, Archie from the Quiddich World Cup) don't wear trousers under their robes (Archie is implied to not be wearing underwear either) and pottermore stated they used to take dumps wherever (though, I think they do have decency around that). Even if we look at the scene before the battle of the 7 Potters, no one considers it weird for them to get dressed in Harry's body. So, it seems nudity or partial nudity around others isn't as taboo or a breach of privacy the way we see it. Especially when it comes to men/boys. (This is part of why no one in-universe sees SWM as SA)

(Which would make sense for a culture stuck in the past. In the Middle Ages, you had bath houses, and families would all sleep in the same room. Sex and nudity weren't as taboo)

20. They think they know about their history way more than they do. I think Hogwarts wasn't built the way they think it was, the timeline of the Peverells and the Founders is all wrong — but no one except a few passionate wizard historians actually know. Everyone else thinks they must know their true history better than muggles because they are wizards (though they don't).

I have a bunch more headcanons that just don't come to mind right now, but I might add them later.

[glowettee]

✰₀.₃ glowettee hotline: how to decorate your room (aesthetically & productively)

hi, angel. welcome back to another glowettee hotline entry. today’s dilemma is one of my absolute favorites because your space? it’s everything. it’s where you wake up, where you dream, where you work/study, where you rest. a beautiful room is not just about aesthetics~ it’s about creating an environment that makes you feel like the best version of yourself. i'm a natural introvert, so if you guessed it... my favorite location is my bedroom, a big reason why every inch is just filled with my personality. posters, collages of images from my pinterest boards, coquette-esque furniture. so i know exactly what it feels like to NEED a perfectly decorated room. so i hope this post can help you <3

✰how to decorate your room (aesthetically & productively)✰

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

first, decide on a vibe. your room should feel like an extension of your highest self. it should feellike you, but still with a set aesthetic to keep it oranized and less disorganized. here are some ideas:

❥ soft coquette: lace curtains, ruffle bedding, dainty florals, balletcore elements.

❥ elegant academia: dark wood, gold accents, stacks of books, vintage details.

❥ clean girl minimalism: neutral tones, sleek organization, a clutter-free desk

. ❥ k-pop chic: pink LED lights, cute posters, plushies, a vanity full of glowy products.

❥ euro girl elegance: chandeliers, ornate mirrors, perfumes displayed like art.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: create a pinterest board with your name + room vibes (e.g., mindy’s elegant academia space). fill it with inspo until you see a pattern. that’s your aesthetic.

remember, you can CREATE your own aesthetic, it doesn't have to be the ones i listed, or ones you find online.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞

before we add anything, we need to take things away. the fastest way to change the energy of your room? remove what doesn’t align with your dream self.

❥ toss out random junk, old clothes, or things that give you “meh” energy.

❥ organize your desk like an it-girl study space~ clean, inspiring, focused.

❥ replace clutter with intentional decor. things like: a candle, a vision board, a chic jewelry stand.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: apply the golden rule~ if it doesn’t make you feel ✨inspired✨ or ✨at peace✨, it doesn’t belong in your room.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐭��𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫 (𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 + 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥)

this is where your space truly becomes you. everything you add should have a purpose: to make your room either (1) more beautiful or (2) more productive.

aesthetic + functional decor ideas

❥ a statement mirror ~ for outfit checks, natural light reflection, & ✨ main character energy ✨

❥ a vision board ~ print out your 2024 goals, dream life inspo, and affirmations. frame it or pin it.

❥ soft lighting ~ warm fairy lights, a sunset lamp, or a delicate bedside lamp to set the mood.

❥ a chic book stack ~ self-improvement books, poetry, or classics that make you feel intellectual.

❥ a perfume tray ~ display your signature scents on a mirrored or gold-rimmed tray.

❥ wall art ~ framed quotes, magazine cutouts, a minimalist gallery wall.

❥ cozy bedding ~ a plush duvet, silk pillowcases, and an aesthetic throw blanket.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: if you’re on a budget, go thrifting for unique decor pieces or DIY things like a gallery wall with printed images from pinterest.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐳𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠)

we don’t want a space that’s just cute~ we want a space that elevates you. structure your room so it guides you into your best habits.

❥ study/work zone ~ a clutter-free desk, a comfy chair, a planner, and all your school or work essentials neatly arranged.

❥ self-care zone ~ a vanity or dresser with skincare, perfumes, candles, and hair accessories.

❥ wellness zone ~ a small area for stretching, yoga, or journaling.

❥ relaxation zone ~ cozy blankets, soft pillows, a diffuser, and warm lighting for reading or unwinding.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: mentally associate each zone with its purpose. when you sit at your desk, it’s grind time. when you step into your relaxation zone, it’s time to romanticize rest. this trains your brain to be more disciplined AND productive without forcing it.

☆ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞

✨ because a perfect room isn’t a one-time glow-up~ it’s a lifestyle. ✨

❥ keep surfaces clean & organized daily (messy room = messy mind).

❥ refresh your space weekly~ swap books, change out fresh flowers, rearrange decor.

❥ open your windows often~ fresh air + natural light change everything.

❥ light a candle, play soft music, and romanticize your space every day.

✨ glowettee hotline tip: every night before bed, take 5 minutes to do a mini-reset. put things back in place, fluff your pillows, and set up your space for the next day’s success.

and just like that, your room isn’t just a room anymore~ it’s a sanctuary. an extension of your most elegant, ambitious, soft-yet-powerful self. a space where you wake up every morning feeling inspired and go to sleep feeling at peace.

i wanted to give you ways to make your space aesthetic but also functional for your self-improvement journey as well. i hope this helps you.

♡ ~ mindy

whisper your worries to glowettee hotline. i’m listening. <3: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[jesncin]

Hellblazer for Kids

I've already talked before about how a tonally authentic Hellblazer middle grade (or YA for that matter) isn't impossible at all once you recognize kids stories can actually cover a wide breadth of heavy topics too. I believe that even a character like John Constantine, whose "origin story" happens in Newcastle when he's more grown, still has stories to tell that precede that event.

Understand that “The Mystery of The Meanest Teacher- a Johnny Constantine Graphic Novel” went for the most commercially safe approach to "Kids' Hellblazer" for a lot of marketing and business reasons (kids horror graphic novels are a tough sell unless tied to a bestseller IP like fnaf/goosebumps, so they focused on humor, an american school setting, a Bailey School Kids or Teacher From the Black Lagoon approach, got a big name writer etc. they also went for the DCSHG approach where they basically shrunk John Constantine into a kid instead of talking about his childhood) but you don't need, like, sex/gore/swearing in order to tell a tonally authentic Hellblazer kids graphic novel.

Here, let me- a published middle grade graphic novel author- pitch you a "kids Hellblazer story" for fun:

John and Cheryl Constantine are sent to boarding school, think an oppressive setting like Miss Trunchbull's school in Matilda but with the whimsy of a haunted location like a manor by the sea. John and his sister have to take care of themselves but also uncover a nefarious occult plot orchestrated by the school principal- like a Series of Unfortunate Events vibe. John leads the charge and gets into trouble while Cheryl foils him as the one who "just wants to be a normal school kid". These two and their bond are the heart of the story as siblings who survived abuse together.

Add in John's ghost baby brother the Golden Boy haunting him as survivor twin angst. John notices the Golden Boy interacting with the ghosts of students who have long haunted the place (like Coraline [we don't acknowledge that author] missing ghost children, they have a terrifying quality like missing eyes or something to give the kids and their parents' nightmare fuel) and investigates.

There will be this overall theme of the principal allegorizing people in power abusing children to keep their systemic power, and framing marginalized people as unsafe to kids. Have a classic Hellblazer character like Ray Monde be a librarian (this will act as Hellblazer purist fans catnip or at least catnip to me) who John considers the only safe adult he can trust. All the kids and even adults spread rumors that Ray is a creep, but he's actually the kindest person there. Miss Honey type but drag queen.

John can have messy queer feelings like having a crush on a bully or whatever and Ray can be a guiding force that helps him figure stuff out. And probably say something gay that will get your book banned (is it a Hellblazer book if it isn't challenging society in some way)? Cheryl gets wrapped up in the occult plot as a victim and John has to save her.

It'll be a difficult read for how it talks about dark and mature topics (grief, abuse, internalized queer self hatred, etc.) while also being adventurous and fun. I can easily make you cry from a story like this.

[centrally-unplanned]

California Crisis: Gun Salvo

I watched the 1986 OVA California Crisis, and it was really good! This anime, if you have heard of it all (which is unlikely), is famous for two things. One is its look:

Which in anime form did not exist before, and has not existed since. When you research “California Crisis” in English the source everyone pulls from is this essay by longtime industry man Fred Patten, and he describes it as “the over-solarized art style most commonly associated with the commercial artist Patrick Nagel, who was very ‘in’ at the time.” I believe him on that being an influence - he worked with the creators after all - and my primary documents from said creators are quite limited; but those that I have never mention him. They certainly were aiming for Americana - but what is causing this unique look is the use of thick, black outlines on the inner shading of the characters (something Nagel doesn’t really do), which producer Yoshikazu Tochihira mentions as a common technique used on vehicles in anime at the time. Given how heavily cars and ‘copters feature in this, I think the look was also sort of its own idea to create stylistic cohesion between the key parts.

I am not going to say it always works - on our main girl Marcia it is sketch, those eyes man:

But for our boy Noera it comes out a lot nicer:

He has less demand to be “typical anime”; bishoujo can’t blend here but surfer bum absolutely can.

You get used to it over time though, and it excels at capturing the idealized West Coast aesthetic. In particular, by being “not anime” it really helps you feel like it is somewhere else than Japan. The OVA is filled with long panning shots of detailed Los Angeles streets and beaches, named restaurants and garbled English menu items aplenty. Our friend Fred Patton - who isn’t a fan - comments that “Animation fans at the time said, only half-humorously, that it looked like the main purpose of the video was for a handful of Japanese animators to come to California and take a road trip from San Diego to Los Angeles for location shots.” But that never happened - this was made on a shoestring budget, and according to the same source as before no such site visit occurred. Instead, reference material was gathered by “searching bookstores, travel agencies, libraries, and even the American Cultural Center”, and it was a lot of work to get the details even half-right from that. Stop spreading lies, Fred Patton! Wait until you get my strongly worded comment on your blog, I don’t care if you passed away 6 years ago (RIP an absolute legend), get your facts straight!

Aided in this sense of immersion is the OVA's second source of notoriety: the absolutely banging city pop soundtrack by pop star Miho Fujiwara. The OP, Streets Are Hot, lives up to the name, straight fire:

And while not as peak, the rest of the OST doesn’t disappoint. Anime Youtuber STEVEM has a video on California Crisis that digs into the music side, as the history of city pop is absolutely his jam; for me I will just comment that it is a little lost now how western city pop was in Japan. Today it is of course “peak Japan” after its 2010’s retro internet boom, but if you listen to pop music from 1970’s Japan you still hear a lot of blending of western musical sensibilities and more traditional Japanese vocal stylings and instrumentation. City pop was one of the earlier genres to fully shed the past and embrace synth instrumentation and modern vocal approaches. And the aesthetic often pulled specifically from California - these are not album covers that scream Tokyo:

All of this is to say that this OVA is not only of its time, but it also embodies its time - a paean to the California Dream of the 80’s Tokyo youth:

Fucking vibes, man, for this alone the OVA really hits for me. Though of course, for all the Americana it is still an anime:

(Which by the way, Marcia rides a motorcycle on the highway and is clearly like 17, so Noera's rejection of an offer of sex here is more linguistic evidence for the bifurcated meaning of the word “lolicon” to refer to both actual prepubescent eroticization but also any preference for “youth” over “maturity” in typologies of femininity, intersecting with the bishoujo boom of th- okay okay, put the gun down, I’ll move on, geez…)

Sadly for California Crisis, its contemporary audience disagreed quite strongly with this being a symbol of the era; it was a huge flop. The OVA was the flagship project of a new anime venture by producer Hiromasa Shibazaki called Hiro Media Associates, and that shoestring budget was some very thin string. Shibazaki was launching his own anime+ magazine at the time, Globian (as seen in the links above), which was used to advertise their works - but towards that goal California Crisis only ever produced a single promotional image, which you see utilized everywhere it is mentioned:

So it just didn’t have the resources behind it to draw in a crowd. And the crowd it did draw in, best I can tell, wasn’t enthused; the art style was off-putting, the plot itself is a bit of a meandering mess, the long panning shots are ~vibes~ yes but also ~budget~ and obviously so, and the ending is a bit of a vague question mark. It was supposedly going to have a sequel, but Hiro Media, and Globian alongside it, closed shop soon after it was released, leaving audiences feeling that it was unfinished.

I won’t begrudge anyone their taste, or pretend it is not a very uneven work. However, I want to redeem the OVA’s core narrative from its reputation; I think it is honestly great, and it absolutely does not need a sequel. So let’s get into the plot - this is a story of a 20-something bar hand Noera, who runs into motorcycle-riding teen Marcia alongside a quasi-sentient UFO orb that just crash landed on earth. It beckons telepathically to be taken to Death Valley, a call which Noera resists but Marcia commits to heart-and-soul. Along the way the military, the CIA, the Soviets, every deep state boogeyman you can think of, all try to stop them, car chases and gunfire akimbo. Our duo bond, eventually they succeed, and the alien gives off a Kubrickian abstract flash of light and then vanishes - roll credits.

Ignore all the details, the mechanics, the CIA, all that shit. Puzzling and unsatisfying when you are watching it as a 17 year old, sure, but you are smarter now, you can separate the wheat from the chaff. Instead, why does Marcia want to follow a random alien orb into Death Valley?

Hilarious levels of on-the-nose buzzword dropping, oh sure. But behind that? Marcia is a teen, looking for meaning. She watches TV, reads books, dreams of being a hero, a protagonist, and this is it - the call of adventure! She is being offered the slot of main character and she isn’t going to turn it down. She literally name-drops Close Encounters of the Third Kind as part of her motivation, she is story-brained. When you first hear this line, you are like Noera, you eye roll it. But on reflection there is nothing more American than being the center of the universe - it truly is the American Dream.

But Marcia is not the main character of this story - the singular promotional image is lying to you. Noera is as well, and he has wisdom she doesn’t. Noera lives in the city fringe on a low wage service job, driving a beat-up Chrysler he presumably maintains himself. A blue collar man of habit, a himbo before it was hip. He follows Marcia to protect her, he casually rejects her post-car-chase adrenaline-rush-induced sexual advances. And, while they are escaping the military by hiding in a bar, he runs into an old high school friend Jack - who happens to be one of those military agents!

We have been seeing this guy the whole OVA, running the entire alien hunt operation. Top of the class, super genius, going places. Noera is unphased, and he and Jack reminisce about gags and girls from the old days. Noera congratulates his friend for “getting out” of his hometown, as it were, and then plot-duty calls, Jack’s real life calls, and he has to leave. As he does, Noera calls out to him, “Come visit me!":

And Jack leaves without saying anything:

Because it isn’t highschool anymore, right? This guy is in the Big Leagues, he isn’t gonna schlep out to some podunk bar in Long Beach because a dude he used to help do his geometry homework offers him a dri-

Oh, nevermind! Because none of that shit matters, right? We are all just dudes, let’s share a beer.

Marcia stares unaware through the entire scene by the way:

This is Noera’s “culminating moment” for his story, and she doesn’t track it.

Chasey chasey fighty fighty Death Valley journey and Marcia delivers the orb, she wins, with Noera’s help she saves the alien. And so it pulses out a sparkly rainbow, something that could maybe be interpreted as a thank you, and then leaves - giving them absolutely nothing to show for their efforts. Marcia is left on a panning shot, shocked and disappointed, holding a now broken piece of useless glass. She was never the main character of anything. She just ran an errand.

This is such good American Dream commentary! It ends the way all stories about the American Dream end - with it being a sham. Because it is. It’s all narrative, all marketing, all the outside trappings of something disconnected from the inner reality. Since this isn’t a midcentury novel but an anime OVA, the trappings of success aren’t a detached suburban home and 2.5 kids - it's being the hero of an action adventure epic. But fiction is fiction no matter the genre. Marcia doesn’t get that yet - but Noera already did before the VHS tape began to play. And Marcia’s budding realization is paralleled with Noera's own showcase of the socio-economic dilemmas that more typically define the genre - success doesn’t change who you are or what you need.

Once you step back from the sci fi spycraft stuff - which admittedly trails off - and see the themes, the ending is perfect, a sequel would totally ruin this. This is the best 80’s anime OVA commentary on the American Dream done through an otaku lens around. Definitely beats all the others in that category, for sure. Totally.

Anyway if you wanna fight me about my hot take meet me at the Waffen SS bar in 1980’s LA where I will be getting the shit kicked out of me for yelling my center-left political opinions while tipsily standing on the bartop:

All that research and I still have no explanation for this shot.

[juliasmesmerized]

Conversations with You

pairings: Josh Washington x F!Reader, Chris Hartley x Ashley Brown (Until Dawn) type: fluff, too deep into the friendship, mutual pining, subtle flirting vibes intended: nervous - The Neighbourhood for the best experience: read part one of this dribble and use word replacer II as y/n will be used. (i can also make a you / y/n-less version, but i just prefer seeing my name for DR purposes) word count: 3091 part 1 | part 2 | part 3

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say." Josh smiled at her comment. He knew she believed in him. She definitely would believe in everybody in the group when it comes to things they're good at.

She laughed back as the match began. Their hands are all on the keyboard controlling their respective characters. y/n's specific character had her focus on one of her teammates, whoever is most probable to benefit from her presence. to boost their damage and keep their damage consistent. The other support would focus on the rest of the team, mostly Chris, to keep them alive. The other damage dealer creates an ice wall and a one way beam of ice, which means the soldier Josh picked would be the best to support.

He chuckled when they saw the second damage dealer being incompatible with y/n's choice. "Guess you're now truly stuck with me, ms. Support."

She smiled to herself at the fact she'd be with him, but she decided to tease. "I hate it."

"Sure you do." Josh focused on the incoming enemies as he bantered with y/n.

The battlefield was located in Germany. Chris's character was in the front pushing the enemies back under a bridge between two buildings, and Josh was on top while y/n hid behind the wall in order to stay alive; switching between the damage boost beam, being blue, and the yellow healing beam. Chris is the type of guy who shuts up to focus, and he was focusing as hell with the entire team in front of him. Josh and y/n had it quite literally easy.

Still having the blue beam stuck to Josh while he decided to relocate to be behind Chris, y/n sighed. "I kind of regret my choice of character now."

"Oh, why?" There was a little inkling of concern in his voice, but it wasn't a long match to begin with if they don't allow the enemy team to secure the area.

She expressed her feelings begrudgingly. "This is my first game with you both and I have nothing to show for it as this support is literally brainless to play, until you have the entire enemy team running to kill you. Then it's a wild goose chase to fly to your teammates and safety." y/n only remembered her side goal of beating the crap out of these two after joining it.

Josh assured her, he was glad it wasn't anything actually serious, or he wouldn't have known what to do. "It doesn't matter if this is our first game together, we'll have plenty more for sure. You do help the team a lot, regardless of actual kills."

y/n proclaimed in excitement. "Great! Then I'll beat your highest score and get more kills." Almost ready to flex her non-existent muscles, until she realized she was only faced by a screen.

"Can't wait to see-" Josh was cut off.

Chris screeched on the other side. "JOSH!" The second damage dealer and support died and there was only Josh, Chris, and y/n on the map currently. "STOP FLIRTING AND HELP ME! WHERE ARE YOU GUYS? THERE ARE TWO SUPPORTS AND ONE DPS AFTER ME!"

y/n flew to Chris as soon as she could get him in her field vision and Josh used the running ability to get to him faster. "You're a big guy, Chris, you can handle them. We're coming."

She spoke up as soon as the beam connected. "I'll try to heal you up, bring your shield up. When you got enough health, I'll damage boost you to help with attacking against them." Chris obeyed and slowly walked back as his shield was up.

Chris weighed his options and shared his opinion on the current situation. "We gotta wait till the rest of the team comes back. They're also going to regroup."

Josh decided to weigh himself in to allow them information they may have not caught. "y/n, after healing him, come with me. I have my ultimate."

"That's great! We'll just have to wait for our team then so I could be taken care of while y/n's away." Chris cheered, feeling the tide could be pushed against the enemy team.

y/n decided to demonstrate the difference between them newbies and her knowing her way around the map. "Do you know where we could go to catch them off guard?"

Josh took a second to think as he was attacking the enemy team to push them back from Chris as he was being healed. "I was thinking atop the area Chris was?" She linked her beam to Josh signalling that it's time for them to go.

She walked ahead to a secret passage way into a building that led them behind the enemy team. "No, we could actually get behind the enemy team and use Chris and the rest of the team as a distraction."

"Smart thinking, doctor." Josh referenced her character choice in complimenting her.

Josh was getting ready by hiding behind a building along side y/n's character. She still spoke up to prove her superiority. "Mhmm. You can finally see the difference between you and I. I can think of things you wouldn't imagine!"

"Hold your horses, we'll see when you play DPS or tank." Josh pressed the key to use his ultimate, and walked into the battlefield behind the enemy team as she instructed. A full team kill thanks to y/n's boosting and Chris already damaging the entire team.

"Sure." It was long strung from y/n. She took a breath. "As if that wasn't from my critical thinking." y/n sarcastically kept a monotone voice.

Josh began to tease her, but he decided to go a little farther than what he usually would. "I couldn't have done it without you! I will kiss and worship the ground you walk on, you mastermind! What could I do without you, my dear princess?"

She decided to answer without thinking. "Hardy har. That wouldn't even be enough after I scored you the play of the game, lowly peasant." If she let his words sink in, she'd go against his earlier comment and she wanted to be special in his eyes. If staying strong during his playful flirting and jokes means that, then so be it.

Behind the screen, the facade, she was on the brink of shutting the game off. The winning message showed on all three of their screens. Chris began to chuckle and went to message Josh after that comment. Y/n's cheeks flushed and she grabbed her phone straight away.

y/n: AAAAAAASSSSHHHHHLLLLEEEEYYYYYY Ashley: WHAT? y/n: HE CALLED ME PRINCESS? Ashley: HUUUUH? IM GONNA TALK TO CHRIS RIGHT NOW

"Oh, hold on guys." Chris absentmindedly spoke as he closed his microphone. y/n absolutely knew what that would be about.

"Do we wait for him or let the queue going?" Josh almost sounding like he'd peek into her door to ask this.

She thought about about it as on one hand, he could come back super quickly and we'd have found a match, but on the other he could take long and he'd have to reap the consequences of being away. "That's a hard question, I guess the game has been going harder on people who get away from the keyboard in a match. Let's wait for him."

Josh, as if a light bulb came on, put two and two together. "Right, I remember reading that update."

"Mhm." She hummed back, still thinking of their earlier conversation and what Ashley might be doing right now.

Ashley: He'll be you guys' wingman and leave y/n: what? Ashley: I'm making him hop off and sit with me to tell me everything he knows about Josh

y/n jumped at the sound of Josh speaking up, as if he fucking knew what Ashley and herself were up to. "y/n." It's fucking as if he was right behind me as he spoke as soon as i read ashley's message. She thought to herself. Eerie as fuck. y/n: DONT LET HIM LEAVE ME ALONE??? Ashley: oh I heard him call you since Chris put down the headphones Ashley: thisll be interesting y/n: oh my god Ash

"Yes, Josh?" y/n responded, trying her best to separate her current nervousness and his conversation with her.

"Chris told me something a bit back that really had me thinking." He spoke while taking breaths and thinking his words over, which makes his argument more stretched out than it has to be.

y/n responds, waiting for more. "Right..."

Ashley: Im having him explain what Josh is telling you right now y/n: i don't love the fact you guys are talking about us while hearing us Ashley: Im doing it with love I promise y/n: liar ure especially NOSEY Ashley: what can I say? WHAT CAN I SAAAAYYY???

He continued after he trailed off last time. "Yeah, I used to pump him up all the time to speak to Ashley and confess to her, right, and now he's saying I should listen to my own advice." He sounds oddly genuine, something the group doesn't see from the playful flirt.

"Okay?" Still not seeing his point, y/n doesn't comment much.

Josh still puzzled about it, genuinely unsure how to move with his friend's words weighing on his mind "The problem is, I don't get what he means? I go for everything head on. Chris has been busy with Ash and I wanna give them space to adjust, you know."

"You do, but I don't think Chris meant it in that sense. It's sweet you allow them space for them, by the way. Not a lot of people would notice those little things." She spoke up, now mirroring his realness as she realized he was being serious. He seldom opened up about anything at all, and she jumped at the chance to support him.

Ashley: chris says ur right. y/n: what the fuck Ashley: he says he didn't mean it in that sense and josh misunderstood him y/n: omh yall nosey asses i swear Ashley: teehee js ur friendly neighborhood wingman and woman

Josh was kind of taken aback at her comment responding to his question; completely glossing over her compliment. "What?"

y/n explained herself. She placed her hands on her face as she sighed at his emotional immaturity. "Josh, are you inadvertently telling me you like somebody? What you told Chris is really specific to context of love, and if he's telling you the same then you're now in what used to be his boat?" How could somebody be that flirty and that beloved by many girls that he rejects be so oblivious to themselves. Her thoughts were rushing, but she knew she had to focus.

Ashley: HE SO DEFINITELY IS YOU HIT THE NAIL IN THE COFFIN y/n: IS THAT ASH TALKING OR CHRIS CONFIRMING Ashley: oh i told chris to explain later, i wanna hear this. Ashley: update: chris is snickering at joshs stupidity i think he knows that we know that you know ur right y/n: im killing you both istg

Josh sounded a bit over it. "I think I'll call it a night."

"W-What?" y/n stammered in confusion, she was expecting being on for a very long while on this game.

"Chris isn't coming back, if he takes this long then it means goodnight for us all." Josh decided to excuse himself with Chris's impromptu leave.

She didn't know how to explain herself without being vulnerable with him. "Josh-" y/n could see her phone buzz multiple times, but she ignored it to focus on his voice. Her eyes are on the screen, but unfocused.

Josh pushed her away, as he often does with people anyway, keep your friends close from a safe distance. "Forget it."

She blurted out. "No it's fine, I get it."

"What?" Josh's jaw tightened.

"You could be the best person for advice for a certain situation, but literally when it comes to yourself, you are unbeknownst yourself. You helped Chris get her, now it's time somebody helps you. If you try at it without support, you might just lose her." She didn't even know what she was letting slip, but she went with the flow.

Josh groaned. "Goodnight, y/n."

"If that's what you'd like. Goodnight." y/n didn't want to push him, she knew of him well enough that it wasn't safe to temper with him when he declines. He knows himself best, pushing him will make things worse.

Ashley: NOOOO MY RADIO ROMANCE DRAMA y/n: its the fact u listened to all of that Ashley: of course I would what if he confesses to u right then and there y/n: huh Ashley: oh yeah after all of that u think he doesnt like u? y/n: we cant js assume that Ashley: ok im asking chris

As Ashley stopped typing, presumably to speak to Chris, she grabs a box of cookies her mom ordered to her dorm. They travelled without her as per usual, so she's stuck in the university dorms for the break. At least she get free food and free time away from people. A message notification popped up on the top part of her phone and her phone buzzed on the table. It was Josh.

Josh: sorry for cutting you off like that y/n: no harm no foul josh im sorry for pretending like i knew Josh: ironically its the fact you were so correct that made me upset y/n: oh. sorry? Josh: im not here to ask for apologies

She took a bite of the cookie in her hand, and since she was typing with one hand, she was unbearably slow. Fortunately, Josh was also slow in his replies. He was probably thinking through every word sent to her beyond this point. Josh: do u think u could leave ur dorm and we could walk for a bit? i think ill take u up on ur offer to talk things over y/n: sure, its a bit late tho u sure? Josh: yeah ill keep u safe dw, im the one who brought u out anyway. y/n: alr sounds like a plan.

She took out a pair of jeans and a fuzzy jacket. The cold weather of the outdoors was not welcoming of anybody used to the warmth of the indoors. It could be snowing, she thought to grab a few more things that would warm her up including a hot coffee. A 'bzzzzzz' sound filled the room as she changed into the improvised outfit. 'Beeeeeep.' She picked up the drink and took it with her.

Y/n stepped outside and walked out of the dormitory walkway to find Josh sitting in the common room.

He stood up and looked at her. "You ready to go?"

"Yep. Let's go." She nodded and walked right behind him.

He was wearing a flannel with a vest. The flannel was pulled up to his forearms. She spoke up. "You are oddly under dressed for the weather."

His hair was messy, he definitely ran his fingers through it whenever he reached a dead end in his thinking. She could imagine him sighing to himself and playing with it to try to take his mind off of things, messing it up further unintentionally. When she came to, they were now outside on university grounds. The place was gated and open for students during all hours of the day.

Josh looked down at the snowy ground and placed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah I didn't really think it through."

y/n smiled sweetly at him, she knew him to be rash at points where he needed to decide on something. "That's alright, here-"

"Truth is!" Josh perked up, cutting her words like a knife and louder than he initially wanted. Causing her to stare in silence, her eyebrow raised. She'd never be upset at somebody cutting her off once in a while, we all have our moments.

Josh cleared his throat and took a moment before deciding to go through with it. "Truth is, you caught my eye a while back. Chris figured it out first and then he became my confidant in this... weird situation." Y/n's mouth went agape, thinking of saying something, but she closed it to listen to him first.

He continued, still looking away from her. Focusing on his surroundings was his best bet in saying all of this. "He tried his best to convince me, but we were friends for a while, it's best to stay that way. I liked our banter." Telling his therapist his woes was already pushing it enough. This was ten times worse and she could tell.

"You joining us without me knowing you would had me appreciating your presence a lot more." She focused on him, his words, his stature, his walk, and most importantly his mannerisms. She knew he had to let this out it seems evident.

He took a shaky breath and y/n took her scarf off. "It made me need to think. If the people around me knew, then I needed to have a reason for it all."

Once he stopped to breathe, she lent him the scarf. He accepted reluctantly, but appreciated the gesture. He whispered a "thanks" and wrapped it around his neck. He closed his eyes to focus on its pretty scent for a moment. "I started regretting all the times I played with Chris alone. I hated thinking this way because of a lot of things. You getting my situation immediately caused my thoughts to go on overdrive."

She caught him between his breaths, now regulated from the warmth of her scarf. "Josh." y/n stopped in her tracks.

He walked a few steps before realizing she stopped, and turned around to her. "Yeah?"

y/n contemplated her words, but since he already confessed at this point, she had nothing to lose. "The reason how and why I joined you guys tonight was because I wanted to get closer to you. You were special from the moment you entered my life." Once he heard her reciprocation, his eyes focused on her moving lips.

"The amount of times you made me nervous-" Her voice, music to his ears, was stopped by his lips meeting hers. He placed his hands on her cheeks to lift her head slightly up. The cold was quickly replaced by imminent warmth. As much as he wanted to be reckless with her, have sloppier kisses, touch her in places that allow him to explore her curves, he didn't like the idea that they were outside. The kiss was short but desperate, she realized he was waiting for this for a long time.

i wanted to end on part two, but i feel like this def needs a third part. im now going to read this with my word replacer. i love this MAN I NEED HIM NOW. id really appreciate opinions on how the characters were written, i never really wrote fanfiction seriously till now. i usually write original work hidden in my endless google drive lol. thank you for reading!

[regular-samdragon]

More tfa Reverse au sketches and rambles. Here's the first post for the initial info on all of this

I dont exactly have a plot idea for this au yet, just mostly silly interactions between the characters. I'm still a little lost on what to have the decepticons doing in this. I have some slight ideas though, just might change up some details later

It makes sense for the decepticons to also be humans in this au. The initial idea I had was that Megatron owned the corporation that paved the way for technological developments in the city. Of course, Megs isn't the scientific mastermind behind it all. He just happens to own the company. Starscream and Blitzwing act as the head scientists, and Barricade is head of security. Starscream is constantly trying to think up ways to take over the company himself while the others are content to keep working under Megs. After all, he doesn't restrict them on how ethical their experiments have to be.

Sumdac himself, I haven't quite decided on yet. The lot that Ratchet's and Prowl's establishments are located in definitely has more than one store, so one idea I had was for Sumdac to stay human and own an electronics repair shop. Perhaps he misses Sari's initial landing, but the gang ropes him in when she ends up needing specialized repairs. Or, alternatively, he could be Sari's cybertronian dad, stuck back home and worried over how his daughter's first mission is going. Although he wouldn't be super involved in the au if I went with that idea.

Swindle is the owner of the local pawn shop, also in the same lot. He rarely seems to ever show up to work, leaving the shop closed for several days in a row. Sometimes even for weeks. It's a wonder to everyone how the pawn shop still manages to make a profit when Swindle is constantly on his 'overseas trips'. Bee and Bulk have swapped plenty of theories on what they think Swindle really does for a living, such as being a secret agent, or his store being a front for secret military experiments.

Thinking more of the lot they all work in, I'm calling it the Tower Plaza. Sort of drawing off the idea of Sumdac Tower from the show, and yeah a little inspo from OK KO I have to admit. The Tower Plaza gets it's name from a tall, abandoned clock tower that stands as the icon of the area. The clock hasn't worked for years but no one can afford to own or repair the building. This ends up becoming Sari's main hiding place. Bulk and Bee help her to spruce things up inside, making her a real home away from home. There's even a big basement door she can hide out in when Meg's men start poking their noses around.

Speaking of Megs again, his goal in this au would primarily be to capture Sari and have his scientists reverse engineer her for their own advancements in tech. Pretty much exactly what Sumdac did in the show with Megatron himself. Although while Sumdac had empathy for Megs when he was found to still be alive, Megs in this cares not what happens to Sari in the process. He doesnt see her as a living being (yet), and mainly just wants to advance his company for even higher profits.

And thus comes the conflict between the Tower Plaza gang and uhhh whatever I end up naming Megatron's company as.

Smaller notes:

•Folks on discord helped me out to find the PERFECT alt mode for Sari. That is, a Folland Gnat fighter aircraft. It's small and speedy and just really fits Sari's vibes

•Bee personally takes it on himself to teach Sari as many human curse words as possible. Orion nearly has a heart attack the first time he hears Sari swear

•Bee is also the one who came up with nicknames for everyone. Although Bulk is the one who came up with 'Bee' for him

•Orion was a second lieutenant before he was discharged

•Orion doesn't like to talk to anyone about why he was discharged from the military. Uncle Ratchet knows it involved another lieutenant and an intelligence officer, both friends of Orion. He doesn't know anything past that.

•Cybertron is not at war in this au, meaning the factions of autobots and decepticons don't actually exist. The need to hide the Allspark was more to keep it away from other alien races who would like to steal and misuse it

•Sari is only minimally trained for combat scenarios. With the occasional battle while on Earth, she asks Prowl to teach her some hand to hand combat. After an incident where she nearly took out a building, they now train far out in the woods

[scottoro-ramblings]

Dungeon Meshi World Map

The map is largely based on the fantastic map by Ashen_Onion of Reddit, with me checking their sources in the Adventurer's Bible to confirm. It basically contains everything we know in canon, and as you can see our information is pretty strongly concentrated in the Eastern Continent.

Given that the story takes place entirely on one tiny island (excluding a few flashbacks), this is actually pretty impressive! But it still falls a bit short if someone is, for example, trying to write a TTRPG setting guide that could take place anywhere on this world.

With that in mind, let me present my brand new

Expanded Dungeon Meshi World Map

Fully based on my personal headcanon and general vibe for each region; this map adds markers and names for major cities, notable dungeons, and mage academies for every continent. It also is intended to be closer to an in-universe document, so details that are only really relevant to character backstories like character birthplaces and sealed dungeons are ommited.

I'm planning on making a political map, little descriptions of notable locations, and dungeon breakdowns for all 21 dungeons, eventually so stay tuned for that! In the meantime I've included some rambling details on things I've added below the cut.

Several of the dungeon names are based on classic D&D adventures. Let me know if you can spot any of them!

Anhk Mouru is the largest city in the world, populated primary by dwarfs. The Adventure's Bible says the southern continent has the largest dwarf city, and that island in the strait between the two halves was seemed the prefect place to set it. I picture it as halfway between Istanbul and NYC, though yes the name is a Discworld refence.

Which the exception of the eleven universities, all of the magical academies reference mythological and folkloric witches. I choose Befana Academy for the canon magic school because the old gnome instructor gave me similar vibes to the kindly witch, and Italian vibes for favorite elf!

A few names in the Eastern Archipelago are ripped straight from the Journey to the West! I also put the names in Chinese characters as I imagine them having a shared writing system (just like how most of East Asia used Chinese characters before developing thier own systems) despite several local languages being spoken.

All the noted ruins except for Utaya are remains of the ancient Ogre Empire, which I am imagining once ruled the majority of the world before they collapsed.

I also have no idea why the large island of the northern continent is described as completely uninhabited in the adventure's bible. I went back and forth on it being a inhabited by another demi-human race we haven't seen, or it being a magical wasteland like the exclusion zone around Utaya. I felt that either would have been important enough to be at least mention in official sources, so just decided to keep it vague. Might change that later so let me know if you have a preference.

[somehow-a-human]

GO Filming Tidbits - Lens Filters

After reading through this lovely article, which Neil shared and specifically mentioned, has many secrets in it, I was definitely drawn to the descriptions of the different filters used to characterize people and locations in the show so I decided to do a little digging on them and their effects! I think it's so interesting to give characters their own filter, a lens for which we're seeing the world through their eyes! So let's take a look at the three filters mentioned in the article below:

Tiffen Bronze Glimmerglass - Bookshop Scenes The bronze tint provides additional warmth, and softens skin details and blemishes, it gives a slight reduction in contrast for a more ethereal image appearance.

The bookshop scenes look warm, & hazy. You might think of the look as a bit of a sepia effect. There are soft halos around light fixtures and the filter provides a warm toned pop to yellow, gold, and orange colors. This filter is really helping give the bookshop its cozy, safe, and welcoming vibe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tiffen Black Pro-Mist - Hell This filter reduces highlights and lowers contrast, softens wrinkles and blemishes, and creates a soft quality of light.

Very similar to the Bronze glimmerglass, the Black Pro-Mist filter provides scenes with a very intense 'hazy' effect, but we're missing that warm tone that you see in the bookshop. It makes hell seem cloudy, like maybe you haven't quite wiped the last bit of sleep from your eye, or the air is just so thick and gross that its visible. Fitting for hell. We also see the effect when demons attack the bookshop, and whickber street becomes a green hazy hellscape.

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Tiffen Black Diffusion FX - "Crowley's Present Day Storyline" Diffuses strong light entering the lens and produces a glowing effect, the resulting image appears soft and ethereal, there is little loss of clarity or detail and the image does not lose saturation.

This filter was the most interesting one to me for sure. First of all "Crowley's Present Day Storyline"? Why not just Present Day Storyline, or Crowley & Aziraphale's Present Day Storyline, or Whickber Street's Storyline? I know we're already questioning timelines and narrators so that wording definitely made me raise my eyebrows. The effect keeps the shots very saturated, compared to the others we've been introduced to, and very clear, but there is still a magical ethereal quality to the picture. I think the effect is painfully obvious in Episode 1 scene of Shax and Crowley meeting on the park bench. No shortage of people have pointed out how saturated this scene is, and now I think I know what filter to thank by name.

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[sepublic]

Titan I think I just realized that this specific bit of crew art from S1A that always stuck out to me for its indescribable, already-nostalgic, beautiful and mysterious vibes was referenced in the architecture of Police Precinct 206/the hospital in Latissa. Given it was done by location designer Sam Bosma, of course this art has such elaborate architecture and of course he incorporated it into another location, maybe it was always the plan in fact!

And it’s the second time that Bosma’s art has alluded to something that I missed out on! First within the art, and then within the show! The first time was in the hiatus for S1B where I was going full Gravity Falls analysis mode, looking for motifs and trying to predict on what the appearance and character of Belos (then known as Bellows due to subtitles, before Dana corrected it after S1B’s trailer released) would be like since I was intrigued by the mention and implications of him in Covention. And so I speculated the most obscure background details as foreshadowing his look, only to be off. I also saw this crew art during this time period. Eventually the trailer for S1B dropped and I was disproven all along.

EXCEPT!!!!!! Right beneath the owl at the top of this architecture is Belos! It was there in our faces all along as I’d hoped and I missed it!!!! And now once again it’s happened, but in reverse; I didn’t notice something from the show was in this art. Now I failed to realize something from this art was in the show through S2, namely this entire, orb-like structure! When someone pointed out the Belos connection to me in the year before S2, I did recall speculating if it foreshadowed other things, such as his mysterious endgame with the Day of Unity.

Namely, the orb looked like it could be the Demon Realm’s planet, and that magic was being funneled upwards to something angelic, celestial, because I speculated on angelic and celestial beings during the wait for S2. And while they weren’t angelic, we DID get the cosmic Archivists, whose draining spell funnels magic upwards from the people of the isles and into the moon…!

We even have this overhanging roof built around the ground, around the source of the magic, as it’s funneled upwards into something above the structure…!

Mayhaps this is actually the third time Sam Bosma has foreshadowed things here. God I love this piece it’s so powerful to me and feels so gentle and in awe of the world and it gave me nostalgia despite the show just starting. It was all the beginning of something truly magical where there was still so much more to know and explore and the exciting mystery behind it, this early era of the show and the lead up to it.

[galamalion]

┈ ✧.* 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary﹕you experience a shameful hangover after you night out at the baratie, then go get breakfast with your new friends. how could anything bad happen at breakfast?

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕3.1k

┈ ✧.* chapter ii﹕drunken memories

Your first night at the university was a rough one.

Upon waking up in your bed—and thankfully not the street—you immediately felt sick. You threw your blankets off and looked around the room, standing up to see Vivi and Nami still lying in bed, the latter looking rather worse for wear, tossing and turning with her blankets.

You threw open the door to the bathroom and sprinted inside, leaping across to hunch over the toilet to puke your guts up. Your stomach was never the strongest, and unfortunately neither was your alcohol tolerance. Speaking of, how much did you drink? You only got a small glass of wine to fit in with the Italian vibe, and you hadn’t even drank half of it! But—oh, that’s right, Nami was there. 

A memory—or rather, memories— came flooding back in an instant, all of Nami ordering small little fruity drinks. She insisted you tried all of them, ‘just a sip!’ she said. Well, all those little sips clearly did a number on you.

“Damn you, Nami…” you grumbled, stumbling back to bed.

After exiting the bathroom, you picked up your phone from your desk, noticing it had been charging. Did someone do that for you as well? It would have struck you as kind if you hadn’t been hungover. All you could think about was your pounding headache and upset stomach.

Before inputting your password, you noticed you had a text from one ‘Mr. Prince,’ a name and number you hadn’t recognized. 

| Mr. Prince: Hello Sleeping Beauty!! &lt;;333 | Mr. Prince: I hope you slept alright, you got were pretty smashed after Baratie  | Mr. Prince: but not in a bad way!! in a super cute tipsy kind of way!!!! | Mr. Prince: Also it’s Sanji!! I put my number in your phone so you wouldn’t be confused or anything!! | Mr. Prince: Luffy saw and also put his, and then Usopp wanted to put his, and then Zoro decided to put his…… | Mr. Prince: Anyways, just text me when you wake up Sleeping Beauty, just want to know that you’re safe!! <333 ^3^

Were you really the drunk one in this situation? You were pretty sure you hadn’t even spoken to him, only remembering his flirty attitude and writing him off as a playboy. But if the name in your phone was anything to go by, he seemed more like a Prince Charming-esque character. 

| You: i’m ok | You: thanks :)

You hoped the smiley face would help you sound like less of a prick. It was hard to be friendly after years with no friends, and you were doing your best to adjust to the sudden change. 

Before returning to bed you chugged a glass of water for your nausea and headache, praying the pain would go away after your short nap. Nami and Vivi would probably be awake by then too, giving you an even better reason to take this nap. And maybe your dreams would be more pleasant than your current state of consciousness. Nausea doesn’t follow you into sleep, right? Right?

“‘m not drunk…” you mumbled, staggering out of the restaurant with your new friends in tow. 

“Come on, ____!” Luffy begged, trying to drag you down the sidewalk. “It’s time to go home!”

“No use arguing with a drunk, Luffy,” A voice chimed in, slowly getting closer to your location.

“This isn’t home~” you hiccuped, “‘is college!”

“Alright, let’s go…” the voice spoke, leaning down near you. “Arms around me, darling.”

You felt yourself being hoisted up, and despite your drunken flailing, your front fell firm against a solid back.

‘Smells good…’ you thought, laying your head on the warm structure before you.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” the voice whispered to you. “Just keep everything inside and we’ll have a wonderful conclusion to this wonderful night.”

“Yer’ warm…” you mumbled, snuggling your head into their neck. 

For a moment you were able to focus, seeing the bright lights of downtown flicker all around the streets, as well as the blonde head of hair directly in front of you. It looked soft, like that Chinese cotton candy stuff you’d heard about. What was the name again? Would his hair taste like it? No, better not to try now…wait for later, when he’s not looking.

He? Oh, that’s right, Sanji’s blond. Or did he have red hair? You were having a difficult time remembering. But you did know he was a flirt, and not a good one. It wasn’t gonna work on you, even if his hair smelled delicious…

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind, and their constant thrum slowly lulled you into sleep, head still resting on Sanji’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, that happened,” you mumbled drowsily, half asleep.

The conclusion of your dream-memory had roused you awake, your muscles slightly achy after only an hour of sleep. You really were that drunk, and not the ‘cute tipsy kind’ like Sanji said. But college was supposed to be a learning experience, and last night you learned the valuable lesson of watching your liquor.

You hoped Sanji didn’t take your drunken rambles the wrong way. But you didn’t voice all of your thoughts, just that he was warm! He didn’t know that you thought he smelt good. Unless your sniffing was really loud…

Oh God, what if you were sniffing him really loudly? At that point he probably just thought you were weird. But he called you a cute drunk, right? That meant something! But then again, you hardly knew him. And yet you had his number!

Your obsessive pondering was interrupted by another text, and from Sanji no less. Was he going to confront you? He seemed so pleasant in his last texts, what more does he have to say?

'Just stay calm, stay cool, and stay casual,’ you breathed, ‘if you pretend like you don’t know, maybe he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know!’

| Mr. Prince: HI | Mr. Prince: GOOD MORNING | Mr. Prince: WANT 2 GET BRAKFAST?

‘What the fuck?’ you thought, quickly typing a response.

| You: breakfast? | You: also why are you typing in caps lol | Mr. Prince: IT LUFFY STOL SANJI PHONE RUNNING

‘Well that explains it,’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

| You: didn’t you also put your number in my phone?

A moment passed without a text back, leaving you anxious for Luffy’s safety. Sanji wouldn’t hurt him too bad, would he? You soon got your answer through another text.

| Straw Hat: Hi this is my phone want to get brakfast? | You: lol brakfast? | Straw Hat: Ya you want? | Straw Hat: Zoro and Sanji and Usopp and Chopper too | You: chopper? | Straw Hat: New friend!!  | You: nice, can vivi and nami come? | Straw Hat: Ya!!!!!!!!!!!! | You: will be there soon! | Straw Hat: Attachment (1) Image

The picture in question was of Luffy holding a much smaller, cheerful boy who looked to be about 13, but if Luffy just met him, he had to be a college student. Unless Luffy kidnapped a local child, which you wouldn’t put past him. Luffy looked worse for wear despite his classic grin, having a large bump on his head and a very angry Sanji behind him, mid scream.

You giggled at the image and got out of bed, preparing to wake Nami and Vivi up. But after standing up, you noticed that both of them were gone. Did they leave without you? How long were you asleep for? It was just a small nap, you woke up in the middle of the night, after all. They probably thought you were weird after that night out, saw you still asleep and snuck out without alerting you—

“Good morning, ____!” Vivi’s voice called out as the door swung open.

You jumped backwards at the sudden intrusion, subsequently tripping over your feet and falling flat on your butt.

“Oh my gosh,” Vivi rushed over to you, “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d still be in bed! If I had known I would have—”

“What’s done is done, Vi,” Nami stepped into the room, “one apology is more than enough…”

You glanced up at Nami, noticing her familiarly sour expression.

“Hungover?” you asked.

“Hungover,” she sighed, fumbling over to her closet to change.

“I made some tea for Nami to help her,” Vivi offered, picking up the small pot of hot tea. “If you would like a cup, I can pour you a cup!”

“Thanks, Vivi…” you smiled, accepting the fresh cup from her. It tasted sweet, with just a slight tingle of mint within the brew. Even if it didn’t cure your headache, at least it tasted good.

“Hey,” you stood up from your spot on the floor. “Luffy texted me and asked if we wanted to get breakfast with the guys again. Are you guys cool with that?”

Nami immediately sprung up as if she wasn’t hungover two seconds ago. 

“Sure! Anything to get to his brother!”

“How about you, Vivi?” you asked.

“I would love to,” she replied gracefully.

With that matter settled, the three of you prepared for the day and left together towards the dining hall.

The three of you entered the dining hall, grabbing breakfast and reconvening at one of the numerous tables. You didn’t see Luffy and company when you walked in, and you didn’t see them after sitting down either. Maybe they were at one of the outer tables?

| You: u here luf? Delivered 9:34 | You: earth to luffy? Delivered 9:39

Memories of Luffy’s carefree nature danced in your head, and with that in mind you decided to text a different member of the party. One with more sense. The question, however, was who?

Despite your pleasant conversation with Zoro, you felt like he might leave you on read, and not because of his stoic attitude, no. He gave you an archaic vibe, like your grandparents asking you for help sending a text. So he was off the list.

Usopp was your best bet, but after careful consideration you decided against it. You hadn’t had a conversation with him, and despite his seemingly more mature attitude—at least compared to Luffy—he gave you a cowardly vibe. 

And that left Sanji. The most sensible? Maybe, maybe not. But, you were nervous to text him. The texts he sent you made you feel tiny butterflies in your stomach. It wasn’t his flirting that caused that tickling, it was the care he put into contacting you. He didn’t have to text you, but he chose to.

You felt stupid, like the kind of childish stupid where you have a crush on the kid who lets you borrow their pencil. But you were older, more mature. You knew not to read into every little message and movement of a person. So you could text Sanji, easy peasy!

| You: hey sanji, u guys at the dining hall? Read 9:39 | Mr. Prince: I’m sosososo sorry my Princess!!! | Mr. Prince: We let moss head lead us to the dining hall and we got lost ;o; | Mr. Prince: Lesson learned!! heading over asap!!! ^3^

“Alright, looks like they’re on their way,” you sighed, looking up to your friends.

“Are you kidding me? They’re the ones who wanted to meet!” Nami grumbled, “what gives?”

“According to Sanji, they let Zoro lead them here, but then they got lost.”

“What the hell? Their dorms are, like, fifty feet away?  How the hell do you get lost?” Nami scowled.

“I believe that’s a question for Zoro,” you replied, taking a bite of your toast.

Ten minutes later and your rag-tag crew of misfits barrelled into the dining hall, almost knocking over a dozen students on their way in.

“____!” Luffy called out, heading spinning around as he searched for the three of you.

“Over here,” you yelled, raising your hand up.

You should have realized the consequences of your actions sooner, as Luffy hurled himself at the three of you at full force. There weren’t many options to ensure safety, besides cover your heads or duck under the table, which you and Vivi immediately did. 

Nami, on the other hand, stood up and pulled her fist back. Luffy was going too fast to avoid her punch, and knowing how powerful Nami could get when she was angry, there was no way he’d be able to tank it without injury.

It passed by in slow motion, you and Vivi peeking up to see the collision, Usopp yelling in fear, Zoro and Sanji running to try and stop their friend, and the remaining student population watching in horror.

And just like that, it was over. Luffy laid on the ground, utterly defeated by Nami’s strength. A small bump arose on his head, slowly growing in height.

“Jeez, Nami,” you coughed, “nice…shot?”

“Thanks!” she giggled, flexing her surprisingly muscular arm. “I like to keep people on their toes. If you two ever need a strong-arm, just call me, ‘kay?”

“A-alright,” you stuttered.

Why did you stutter? You weren’t scared of Nami, were you? No, this wasn’t fear, it was more like awe. But not the kind you feel when you see someone do a card trick. More like when—oh, dear. The butterflies were back, fluttering around in your stomach, bouncing off the walls of your intestines, scattering through your body and hitting all of your nerves—

“Luffy!” Usopp and a boy—Chopper, if you remembered correctly— screamed, rushing over to cradle the body of their companion.

“You killed him!” Usopp declared, pointing an accusatory finger at Nami.

“Actually, he’s alive,” Chopper chimed in, “he’s just sleeping.”

“He’s what?” Nami and Usopp deadpanned.

Luffy shot up like a zombie rising from the grave, earning a shriek from Usopp. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long yawn.

“Oh boy, what happened?” Luffy asked, looked around at the crowd of spectators before he landed on you. “Hey, ____!”

You gave him a small wave, trying to keep your horrified expression hidden behind an apprehensive smile. Before you could get a word out, however, Luffy was quickly sent back into the ground by a punch from Sanji and Zoro.

“You idiot,” Zoro growled, “way to cause a commotion.”

“You scared my lovely ladies!” Sanji hissed, turning to flash a reassuring smile at you three. “I hope you’re alright, my Princess!”

“I just wanted to say hi to ____…” Luffy croaked, eyes falling shut.

“Oh my God, he’s dead!” Usopp wailed.

“Nope,” Chopper reassured, checking Luffy’s pulse. “He’s just asleep again.”

“Again!?” Zoro and Sanji yelled, staring shocked at their sleeping friend.

Vivi slowly uncovered her head, looking at Luffy, “Maybe we should stop hitting him…?” she offered.

The two men huffed, stuffing their hands in their pockets.

“Perfect,” she sighed, doing her best to smile. She turned towards Chopper, who was doing his best to tend to Luffy’s injuries. “And what is your name?”

Chopper looked up, startled before stuttering, “C-Chopper, miss! I’m a medical student who is staying on the same floor as Luffy!”

“A medical student?” Nami asked, “but you’re…”

“I know, I know,” Chopper sheepishly grinned, “I was able to skip a couple grades when I was younger, so…”

“Wow, you must be smart,” you blurted, peeking from under the table.

“N-not really!” Chopper reassured, “I just know a lot of medical stuff! I had a teacher when I was younger…”

“Meat…” Luffy muttered, drooling in his sleep.

Zoro sighed, “Well, you heard the man, let’s get some grub.”

“He didn’t mean you, idiot,” Sanji argued.

“The hell?” Zoro barked, turning to face Sanji.

“Now now,” Usopp interjected, separating the two men and walking off with them, “I think there was wisdom in Luffy’s words…”

The three of you—not including a sleeping Luffy and attending Chopper—sat back down, saying nothing for a minute as you all processed the events that occurred.

“Well,” Vivi finally said, breaking the silence, “I’m grateful that our friends are quite energetic! Back in Alabasta, I would have been escorted to a bunker if this happened!”

“I’m glad you got something out of it, girl,” Nami groaned, eating a tangerine slice.

“I kinda get Vivi,” you replied, finishing off your slice of toast. “It’s an exciting change of pace compared to my life before.”

“Alright, I get it,” Nami mumbled, “maybe you two have a point…”

Suddenly, Luffy arose from his slumber, awaking with a cry.

“Meat!” he howled, rushing to the lunch line.

The four of you watched helplessly as Luffy ran over the entire line of students, piling his plate full of meat, so much so that there wasn’t room for anything else, much less more meat.

“Do you think every meal will be like this…?” Chopper whispered, horrified by the display of gluttony before him.

You stared at your table, seeing Vivi’s intrigue and Nami’s curiosity. Then you turned to watch Zoro and Sanji argue, a moment away from turning into a full on fist fight. Finally you looked at Luffy again, seeing the joy in his eyes as he not-so-carefully maneuvered his giant pile of food.

“I can’t say for sure,” you sighed, a smile gracing your face, “but I’m hoping they’ll be similar to this.”

“Look!” Luffy shouted, slamming his plate onto the table. “They let me have all of this! Isn’t this place great?”

“I doubt they let you, Luffy,” Sanji said, approaching the table with Zoro. “More like they were powerless to stop you.”

“Shishishi!” Luffy chuckled before diving into his mountain of meat.

Before long the dining hall’s aura returned to normal as students resumed eating, only glancing at your table occasionally.

‘Probably to make sure they’re at a safe distance,’ you thought, finishing your food.

But after a while the chatter once again died down, only a whisper being passed along tables as an odd air filled the hall.

“Well,” Nami huffed, “you five took so long that we’re all done with our food, so you better hurry!”

“Go get more, then,” Zoro retorted, earning him a bump on the head.

“That’s a good idea!” Luffy cheered, “let’s all go get more food after—”

A small black blur zipped across the dining hall, barely scraping by the top of Luffy’s head and bisecting his plate of meat. You all turned towards the source, shocked at the blatant murder attempt, with hundreds of witnesses no less. But Luffy was furious, standing up and turning towards the culprit.

“What’s the big idea!” he yelled, clenching his fists.

“Oh, come on now, Luf! That’s no way to greet somebody!” a voice called out, stepping through the crowd of students, wearing the most ostentatious outfit you’d seen during your time here and carrying a hockey stick, clearly his weapon of choice.

You watched as Luffy’s fists unclenched and his expression changed to one of brief confusion, quickly morphing to one of insurmountable joy.

“Ace!” he cried out, sprinting away from the table.

“Ace?” Chopper questioned.

“The hockey player?” Sanji gaped.

 “The brother?” Vivi asked.

Ace grinned, tucking the hockey stick behind his shoulders.

“The one and only!”

tag list: @sylum , @dimplewonie

[linkons-most-wanted]

Decoherence reaction 💫🍎

I had my gems and stamina saved, so of course I had to get both memories immediately and watch them today 🥺 There will be spoilers below but Tumblr mobile doesn't respect the "keep reading" content break so I'm gonna try to make sure this is long enough and spoiler-free before the break. 😅

While I kinda wish the event had a mini game, I love how beautiful and thematic it is. Having moments in the main timeline that sort of quietly mirror the myth timeline is always just, yes, yum.

Alright, from this point, DECOHERENCE SPOILERS BELOW.

Okay, first off, this myth is so sci-fi and I LOVE that we're getting something futurey! I also love the medieval and fairy tale vibes, it's just great to get the variety and I think Caleb's such a good character for it.

Science!

First off, the name of the myth Decoherence, specifically references the concept from Quantum Mechanics. I'll dig deeper into it and get the verbatim quotes as I add the myth to my lore database, but for now, recall how the experiment summaries mention issues of quantum entanglement between them and planet-ending consequences if their energy is allowed to resonate too much. Caleb mentions an "interference module", and in quantum physics, Decoherence describes when "interference effects are artificially or spontaneously suppressed". Note here that "interference" in quantum mechanics means that one particle can affect the other. So, poetically, decoherence describes the way that the modifications are preventing MC and Caleb from being together.

Creation and destruction

But it goes a layer deeper. MC and Caleb's power is "from the same source" and their powers are Destruction (destructio) and Creation (creatio) respectively. Creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin, and many religions and belief systems venerate both gods/concepts of creation and destruction. For example, part of what Yin & Yang represents is creation and destruction.

Notably, the "energy signature" of Caleb in CN is 新生 which is more directly translated as "rebirth". I think this is a notable nuance because then both A-01 and X-02 have had "rebirth" energy, which foreshadows their rebirth into the main timeline. I trust the localization in tha I agree that "Creation" is clearest in setting up these themes, but I think it's worth noting that it can also be understood as "rebirth", especially since MC specifically mentions feeling a "sense of rebirth" (iirc during her vision at the end, but I'll have to double check).

Primordial chaos

So, what is the shared source of creation and destruction? Primordial Chaos itself. Creation and Destruction cycle around each other, sustaining life as we know it, and whenever they are truly combined, all that can exist is the infinite void but also infinite potential. I'm pretty sure it's early in this myth that MC/A-02 mentions thinking that she and Caleb are perhaps destined to always orbit around each other--this is a reference to the cycle of creation/destruction, which is also explicitly mentioned in the excerpts from the Philosian history book.

And not only that, but when MC and Caleb have their shared fate of destruction at the end of the Loneroad Together kindled scene, we see a celestial phenomenon begin at their location--something akin to a star exploding. But then MC has a vision right after of new stars being born, and a voice saying "let's go home". So, we see that when Creation and Destruction are united, the world ceases to exist--but the cycle still continues and the world is reborn from the chaos/void again.

It's subtle, but I think this supports the idea that the writers are setting us up to see Philos and Earth as a time loop. By having the events of Philos be in the "future" but also happen "before" the main timeline, you set up the idea of a loop/ouroborus. Caleb/X-02 "remembers" earth but is also heading to earth. The main story also has specific mentions of the Traceback II being caught in an "endless loop" as it attempts to get to Earth.

Power exchange

What I also think is so beautiful about this story is that both MC and Caleb here are vessels for that power. Either can hold the power of creation or destruction--it's not specifically gendered. Though Caleb ends up carrying the more "taboo" power of destruction, he started with the power of creation, and it's specifically because he had that creative, compassionate power that he decided to take on MC's fate of carrying the power of destruction.

We're in this together

On a very personal level, I love that this iteration of MC refuses to let him die by himself. She understands that their fates and their powers are fundamentally interconnected. It's absolutely no criticism of the story, but both of Zayne's myths and Xavier's Shooting Star myth have this theme of the LI abandoning/leaving MC in order to save her, and ugh, it kills me. (They made me cry, they're such good stories, but whyyyyyy) So I loved that MC here was like "absolutely not, what kind of life will I have if I lose my only friend?"

Comparing to other myths

Overall, I think this myth was exactly what we saw on the wrapper. Especially with one of the Kindled moments being pretty clearly the end of the story and them dying together (I say this as someone who's very familiar with the tropes here, not that it should have been obvious to everyone) I got the setup and the arc that I'd expect.

It's an interesting contrast to the other myths, which I felt like kept me guessing more. It may just be the bias of tropes I'm familiar with, or that they kept the story more straightforward here (but it's still very impactful, don't get me wrong).

Notably, we now also have both Sylus's and Caleb's myths seeming to depict Philos's end-of-days, which hints at parallel timelines and perhaps that the 6th LI's Philos myth will also be apocalyptic.

What's in a name?

I immediatley had the sense that something was getting lost in translation when MC names Caleb in the first part of the myth. In EN, they decided to have her basically come up with an anagram that took me like, waaaay too long to figure out: "Calming, encouraging, bright... Caleb".

In CN she just says the name, 夏以書, Xia Yishu. (In simplified CN it's 以昼, Yizhou, per the wiki.) Notably, 夏 (Xia) is the character for the adjective form of summer (!!!) which relates to that being such a key theme for them.

以昼, the simplified CN name, translates as "daytime", literally "by day". (書 can also mean "day" but it has more alternate translations so the machine translation struggles with it)

So, as she stands out in the daytime summer sun for the first time, she names him, "Summer Day" 🥹 Just.... MY HEART.

Brother, where art thou

Saving the best for last--when I first finished the myth, I was surprised there weren't any brother/sibling references. Then I went "hmmm I bet there" and sure enough, here's how Caleb introduces himself to MC the very first time he talks to her:

CN: 我是X-02,你的哥哥。 MTL: I am X-02, your brother.

哥哥 of course being gēgē, i.e. "older brother".

When they're talking about why he wants to take her places, he says this:

CN: 哥哥就是要帶妹妹去她想去的所有地方。

MTL: The brother wants to take his sister to all the places she wants to go.

妹妹 being mèimei, i.e. "younger sister"

Notably, the CN also mentions the AI can only "strip keywords" it knows about--the EN is a little more vague, I think Caleb says it can only "erase memories" it knows about. So, the CN sets it up more clearly that the AI system gives her the two keywords to erase. And those are X-02 and... you guessed it... gege. Brother.

So towards the end when in EN he asks "what does 'friend' mean to you?" yeah, he's asking "what does 'brother' mean to you" 🥺

What I especially like about the brother/sister titles in this myth is that they're clearly symbolic--they're from the 'same source' but they weren't raised as 'siblings' in any meaningful way. (neither of them really had a childhood to speak of.) There's instead this more interesting question of, "with this intensity of love/bond, are we family? what does that mean to us?" and that's a theme that runs throughout their relationship. Notably, I'm of the opinion that couple is a family--so I love the way this theme explores naivety, love, devotion, etc.

Final thoughts (for now)

I'll be eagerly awaiting Farewell Dreamscape as we progress through the event, and will probably have more thoughts when that's out!

For now, I'm looking forward to diving deep into Homecoming Wings as I add it to the lore resource and looking for all the connections there.

Until then...

...Let's go home. 💫💕

[dragons-and-ages]

I am well aware that I’m delusional, but here’s how Varric-mancers can still win in 2024

But he’s not a companion.

Yeah, so? While he may not be an active companion, he appears to be taking an advisory role. Perhaps he’s a liaison between the Veilguard and the Inquisition remnants. If he is an advisor, that wouldn’t preclude him from being a romance option. See: Josie and Cullen.

But BioWare is going to kill him off.

ngl this prospect scares me.

I’ll admit that he is giving one-week-to-retirement vibes. But maybe he’s just tired of being in the field after so many years. He’s getting older; He doesn’t need to be slogging through the muck with us when his most formidable weapons are pen and paper.

But if he was going to be romanceable, he’d have been an option in an earlier game.

Not necessarily. Again, see: Cullen. It took three games for Cullen to be romanceable, which made sense! Cullen, as a character, was very much NOT mentally in a place that he would be open to romance in DAO and DA2. I’d argue the same for Varric, which I’ll get into below.

But it makes more sense for Varric to romance Hawke.

It’s true that Hawke and Varric are besties. Varric is clearly ride-or-die for Hawkes of all flavors. Varric has also known Hawke longer than any of the other protagonists. However, during those formative years in Kirkwall, Varric was very much still stuck on Bianca. (And let’s not deny that Hawkes of all flavors are also messy). Varric built an intentional wall between himself and Hawke or, you could argue, between himself and the character, the Champion of Kirkwall. See, Varric is a writer and he has a way of idealizing and romanticizing life and the people around him.

Being the teller of the story allows him to be in some kind of control.

Ok, but Varric couldn’t romance the Inquisitor.

That was even more implausible than Hawke. Again, Varric seems to see the people around him like story characters. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, is this big, potentially tragic, hero figure. DAI takes place over a shorter period of time than DA2, and while you may be able to build a friendly relationship with him, there is still clearly a wall there. Not to mention, he’s still comfortably pining for Bianca until the ‘Well, shit’ quest.

But Varric is in love with Bianca.

Bianca Davri. Gorgeous and brilliant dwarven woman voiced by Laura Bailey. It’s hard for my bi ass not to love her on those points alone. She has an amazing mind and is the only surface dwarf ever to be nominated for paragon status because of her inventions. She and Varric had a romance and were forced apart by the Merchant’s Guild before she was betrothed to a guy in the smith caste. And in the years since, the two of them have kept up a secret correspondence. Tell me all of that doesn’t smack of tragic storybook doomed romance. Of course Varric was stuck on her. Not to mention, he has carried around one of her inventions ever since; one that he named after her.

I think that, in the years since they were forcibly separated, Varric built up an idealized version of Bianca in his mind. You can see he does that to a certain extent with everyone. He separates himself, the writer, from the characters. Sometimes an old hurt is safer than opening up again and Varric has been safe and comfortable with not entering into a new romance. And there’s always that sliver of hope, fed by secret letters, that he and Bianca could be together in the end.

But then ‘Well, shit’ happens in DAI and Varric walks away angry with Bianca after it is revealed that SHE is responsible for leaking the location of the red lyrium. I think (I hope) that this event has shattered the idealized version of Bianca that lives in Varric’s mind. I don’t know how much time has passed since DAI, but I hope that that revelation has started a chain reaction where Varric has reevaluated his relationship with Bianca and is finally ready to put that chapter behind him.

And here’s where my batshit delulu theory starts:

I propose that Bianca the crossbow breaks early on in the game. This would be symbolic of Varric moving from active companion to an advisor status. It’s a sign to Varric that it’s time for a change. On the romance front, it’s the final nail in the coffin of his pining after Bianca.

Rook and The Veilguard are a smaller group than the Inquisition. Stakes are still high, but there’s not this strange reverence for Rook like there was for the Inquisitor. And the group is small and intimate, not a massive, world changing machine like the Inquisition was. I can see Varric being surprised, but cautiously open to flirting overtures from Rook.

It has been so many years since Varric has really allowed himself to love and be loved. It’s been too long since he allowed himself to be a part of the story rather than telling it. He’s getting older now, maybe it’s time to let that chapter close and really try to live and love again.

It has the potential to be a very mature, slow burn, beautiful romance and I know I’m deluding myself but I want it so bad.