#I may or may not have had a

[nerdyvocals]

Steady, Steady

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/F

Fandom: Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies (TV)

Relationships: (past) Lydia/Summer Stock Girl, (briefly) Cynthia Zdunowski/Lydia

Characters: Lydia (Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies), Original Characters, Cynthia Zdunowski, Mr. Vaughan (Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies), (Mentioned) Floyd, (Mentioned) Arthur

Additional Tags: Angst, First Kiss, First Love, Period-Typical Homophobia, Gay Awakening, First Breakup, Kinda?, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Panic Attacks, vomit warning, Author poorly explains the Stanislavski System

Language: English

Stats: Published: 2023-06-23, Words: 4,961, Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

They say you never forget your first love. That's not always for good reason.

(Or, a Lydia character study.)

Title from 'Steady, Steady' by The Crane Wives.

Notes:

Should I be writing my research proposal? Yes. Did I write this instead? Also yes.

(Also shout out to '(this night's a perfect shade of) dark blue' by ytsson for putting 'The Importance of Being Earnest back in my head.)'

Mind the tags, there is a slight emetophobia risk toward the end, as well as a description of a panic attack, and, of course, 1950s homophobia.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Lydia was thirteen the first time she went to summer stock. Her parents had so far entertained her love of theatre by allowing her to participate in school plays, but it had taken a semester of begging for them to allow her to apply for summer stock theatres, plus an additional month when she revealed she had gotten accepted to a theatre camp in the northern-most corner of the state, in a forest that straddled the state line into Oregon. Of course, being an only child meant she was the favorite by default, and there was little they wouldn’t indulge for their rising star.

This camp was catered toward junior high students, teaching them the ins and outs of the professional theatre world, beginning with an audition and technical workshop and ending with a production the campers put on themselves (with the help of the college-age counselors—the actual summer stock employees).

They were to put on an Oscar Wilde classic, The Importance of Being Earnest, and Lydia had been awarded the role of Miss Prism. It was at dinner that night, after the casting announcement was made, that she met Katherine Thompson.

Of course, she knew of Katherine. How could she not? She was a year older, a returning camper, and the daughter of a veteran of the camp. Everyone spoke very highly of her.  She was tall, with dark eyes and light hair that never seemed to have a strand out of place, despite the oppressive summer heat. She carried herself with a confidence Lydia admired and aspired to. And it was with that confidence that she plopped herself down across from Lydia at the picnic table, offering a hand in greeting and a slightly gap-toothed smile.

“I saw your audition. Not bad, for a first-year. You had an excellent stage presence once you got passed your jitters. Between you and me,” she offered a conspiratorial wink, “You’re about the only one of the new batch with any real promise.”

She had this way of speaking that drew Lydia in. She flushed, flattered even though she couldn’t really tell if she was being complimented or insulted. She took the offered hand in her own shaking fingers, thanking the other girl, voice wavering over her name.

Her hand was smooth and soft. She smiled at Lydia’s stutter. “Please,” she replied, “My friends call me Kitty.”

(Continue reading on AO3!)

[kiddokori]

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[hinamie]

to moving forward

[glassiskies]

so…um. how are we feeling good omens fans

[locusfandomtime]

compilation of all the iconic insane mumbo jumbo posts

wanted to get them all in one place. feel free to add

[lesbianjamies]

Why did you do it?

[pcktknife]

she could stand to be a bit more sharky

[egophiliac]

(looks at upcoming card releases)

I'm in danger :)

[ritualvirtuality]

for books this is about the printing date of the physical object you have! not publication date!! dont count things that only incidentally have writing on them (like a record sleeve, a box for something, an engraved metal object, or a photograph with a caption on it) but you can count associated materials if the writing is the main focus (like a booklet with the record, instruction booklets in a box, sales receipts or certificates for other objects, or a diary which the photo is pasted into

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

The ring was small and silver with a single emerald embedded in the metal.

It wasn’t something flashy, it probably cost less than the smallest gem from his vault all together.

But it was perfect.

Which made it so heartbreaking to turn it down.

“Dick.. you know me so well.. I wish I could take this ring, i really do.”

Dick was still on one knee in the little apartment, but he put the small box down on the floor as he asked.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Danny let out a bitter chuckle,

“The US government.”

[mintjeru]

香港人 miku!! 🇭🇰🇭🇰🇭🇰

open for better quality | no reposts

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[dreamaboutwhathappens]

what a year the past seven months have been

[hinamie]

thank u canon plant nerd megumi for my life

bonus:

[mmelolabelle]

Adar had to die because if he, Gil-Galad and Elendil were all in Middle Earth at the same time there would have simply been too much Dad Energy ™️ for the populace to handle. They would have defeated Sauron through sheer “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” force alone.

[mostly-imagines]

I Missed My Funeral

jason todd x reader

aka you learn what happened to jason

warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort

You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.

Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.

It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.

Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.

You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities. 

Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.

“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual. 

You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”

His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”

“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.

He goes still. 

You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”

He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”

He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.

“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.

You nod.

“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”

You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.

His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”

You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that. 

It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.

His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”

Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.

You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part. 

“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”

Oh.

You can physically feel your chest sink.

That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people. 

You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to. 

“How old were you?” 

He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.

Oh.  

You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.

But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?

He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”

He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go. 

He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.” 

“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”

It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”

While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.

“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”

He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…

He does remember the other part.

You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up. 

“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”

“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.” 

The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.

His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”

You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”

You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.

You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose. 

There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family. 

You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.” 

You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.

He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.

You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”

He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.

You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”

He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.

It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.

You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”

He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”

He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.

Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.” 

You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.

“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.

“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”

You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”

“The robin suit.”

You pause.

“That robin suit?”

He nods.

…what

for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well

🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮