#The Answer to Life the Universe and Everything

[greengoblinswifey]

Pining—Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— Luigi’s loved you since childhood but never had the courage to confess. In university, he finally gets close to you, only to watch you with someone else. When your breakup gives him a chance, he lays it all out. Based on this request.

warnings— none! just jealousy, unrequited love(for a bit), friends to lovers, fluff, L bombs.

Luigi had been watching you for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t in a creepy way at least, he hoped not. He just couldn’t help it. You were everywhere, pierced into the background of his life.

From his bedroom window, he saw you sometimes, sitting on your porch, airpods in, completely lost in whatever song from your playlist. He watched you walk your dog through the neighborhood, the pep in your step making you look so effortlessly graceful. And every time you laughed at something your friend said, he swore he could feel the sound settle in his chest, making it harder to breathe.

But you were untouchable. And he was just the guy next door.

Going to an all boys school meant there were barely any chances to talk to you. A few stolen glances when you were outside, a quick “hey” if you happened to make eye contact while passing by—nothing more. He wanted more. He wanted to know what made you smile like that, what songs you always had playing in your airpods, if your hands were as soft as they looked.

He was down bad.

So when fate, or maybe just sheer dumb luck reunited you in university, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He saw you across the quad one day, laughing with a friend, and his heart nearly stopped. He thought about pretending he didn’t see you, that maybe if he just turned and walked the other way, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself. But then, as if the universe had been waiting for this moment, you turned.

And you saw him.

“Luigi?”

You said his name like you were surprised he was real.

His breath caught. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A smile spread across your lips, so bright, so familiar. “Oh my God, it’s been years! I can’t believe you go here!”

And just like that, you became friends.

Well. Sort of.

At first, it was almost painful. He could barely look at you without his face turning red. Every time you sat next to him in the library or playfully pushed him during a joke, he had to remind himself to breathe. You made it easy, though. You didn’t treat him like he was some awkward mess. You talked to him like you had always known him, like he belonged in your world.

The problem?

You had a boyfriend.

And he hated the guy.

Not because he was jealous—okay, maybe a little—but because he could see it. The way your laughter didn’t quite reach your eyes when you talked about him. The way you sometimes hesitated before answering your phone. The way you deserved better.

Luigi wasn’t stupid. He knew he had no right to feel this way. But when he saw the way that guy held your waist like you were just another prize, when he saw you wipe at your eyes after an argument over the phone, it took everything in him not to step in and tell you that you didn’t have to settle for that.

Then, one day, you didn’t.

You showed up at his dorm, puffy eyed and exhausted.

“We broke up,” you said, voice shaky.

And even though he had been waiting—waiting for this moment for what felt like his whole life, he didn’t smile. He didn’t celebrate. He just opened the door wider and let you in.

That night, he let you cry. He let you rant. He let you fall asleep on his bed while he sat on the floor, watching over you like he always had from afar.

And then, slowly, things shifted. You started spending more time with him. The laughter came back, the light in your eyes started to shine a little brighter. And for the first time in years, he let himself hope.

One evening, as you sat together on his dorm bed, scrolling through your phone, you sighed. “I feel like I wasted so much time.”

“You didn’t,” he said.

You turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Oh? And why’s that?”

His fingers curled into his shirt. He knew this was the moment.

“Because,” he said, voice steady, “you were always going to end up here. With me.”

Silence stretched between you. His heart pounded.

Then, you smiled. Soft, like how he always wished you’d smile for him.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think so too.”

Luigi’s heart was beating too fast. Too hard. He could feel it against his ribs, hammering like it was trying to break free.

You were still looking at him, eyes soft, waiting.

And he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I—God, I need to say this,” he blurted out, running a hand through his curly hair. His leg bounced anxiously. “I’ve liked you forever. Like—forever. Since we were kids. Since before I even knew what it meant to have a crush on someone. I used to see you walking your dog, and I’d just stand at my window like an idiot, hoping you’d look up. I’d see you with your friends and wonder what it’d be like if I was the one making you laugh. And then I got to university, and you were here, and I thought—” He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I thought maybe it was a sign or something. But then you had a boyfriend, and I had to j-just sit there and act like I was okay with it, like I wasn’t dying every time you said his name.”

You blinked, lips slightly parted, taking it all in.

“I—” he exhaled shakily, rubbing his hands over his face. “I love you. I’ve loved you for years. I just never thought I’d get the chance to tell you.”

His breath was uneven, nerves twisting inside him, and he was just about to start apologizing, maybe even backpedal, when you moved.

You swung your legs over him, settling onto his lap. His breath hitched.

Your hands smoothed over his chest, right where his heart was trying to beat out of control. He swore it skipped when you finally spoke.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

His lips parted, eyes wide. “You—?”

You smiled, pressing your palm a little firmer against his chest. “Yeah, Luigi. I do.”

For once, he was speechless.

You tilted your head, searching his face. “Breathe, Lu.”

He let out a shaky exhale, his body finally beginning to relax under your touch. His hands came up hesitantly, resting on your waist.

And then, finally, finally, you kissed him.

It was slow, warm, and when your fingers slid into his curls, a soft sound came from his chest. Years of waiting, wanting, hoping—it all melted into this single moment.

You pulled back to press your forehead against his. “Everything’s okay now.”

He nodded, exhaling softly. “Yeah,” he murmured, lips still brushing over yours. “Perfect.”

But then he gently cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he studied you, his eyes filled with something deep and unwavering. “I wanna do this right,” he admitted softly. “I’ve waited so long for you, and I don’t wanna rush anything. You deserve more than that. More than me just jumping in without thinking. I want to take my time with you. I want to do everything the right way, because you—” He paused. “You mean everything to me.”

Your heart swelled, your fingers tightening in his hair as you kissed him again, slow and sweet.

“I want that too,” you murmured against his lips.

Luigi smiled, pulling you impossibly closer. “Good,”he whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And just like that, the story he had been waiting to write finally began.

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fluffbruary Fic] Marriage of Inconvenience

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: G Word Count: 2414 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2025, Selkie AU, small town meet cute, meet weird maybe, cafe owner Hob, Selkie Dream, more examination of the rules of selkie lore than I ever intended

Notes: 'Coat' and 'Accept' right next to each other immediately suggested this idea and then it evolved a bit along the way, as these things always do. Help, I only wanted a cute fluffy one-shot and now I have a whole 'nother universe to play in.

Fluffbruary 2025 prompts: Day 8: train | zenith | road Day 9: accept | icy | ornament Day 10: coat | grimace | paper Day 11: bench | cottage | tough Day 12: backwards | feign | recognize (Yes I've temporarily skipped day 6 and 7; they've been bundled in with the 14th)

Summary: Hob is delighted to see the pretty stranger coming back to his cafe, but he has no idea how his life is about to change

On AO3

"Wait! Please!"

Hob turns at the call to see the beautiful dark-haired guy he'd noticed in the cafe earlier that day jogging down the road toward him, hand raised, clearly waving at him. He pauses in locking up the cafe's front door, silently thanking whoever's in charge of his luck today.

"Can I help you?" he asks, once the guy's close enough they can speak without yelling. He's got his friendliest smile on, willing to hear out whatever this guy has to say. He's just as pretty as Hob remembers, and he's not at all mad about seeing him back again.

"I left. I left something. Property. One of my belongings, when I was here earlier." Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Pretty draws himself up, catching his breath. "I had hoped. To reach you before closing, to see if it is still here."

"Of course, no problem." Hob un-flips the bolt that he hadn't yet pulled the key out of and unlocks the rest, pushes the door open and steps inside.

"Thank you." The guy follows him in, eyes darting to the table where he and his group had sat this afternoon. "My sibling assured me they had my coat when we left, but they did not."

Hob perks up. "Black coat, fur trim?"

"Yes." The guy turns his gaze on Hob, intense and hopeful and oh, but those are some devastatingly blue eyes. "You have seen it?"

"Yeah!" Hob smiles, delighted he can help this pretty stranger after all. "Another customer brought it up to the counter, said it'd been left. I put it up in our lost property in case the owner came back—and here you are! Let me grab it for you."

"No, wait—it would be better if—"

But Hob has already ducked through the door marked 'Employees Only', misses the note of alarm in the guy's voice. He opens the cupboard where lost property is stored and carefully pulls the lovely black coat with its silky fur trim off the hangar he'd put it on earlier, drapes it neatly over his arm and heads back to the front of the cafe. "Here we are!" he says merrily, holding out the coat to his guest.

The guy looks almost disappointed as he takes it with careful hands. "Thank you," he sighs, with relief that somehow also sounds like resignation, and Hob can't help frowning a little.

"Is everything okay? It's not ripped, is it? Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, if it got torn in our care I'll gladly pay to have it mended—"

"It is not. Damaged," the guy interrupts firmly. "It is in excellent condition and was clearly cared for while in your possession. For which I thank you. My husband."

What.

"S-sorry? Your what?" Surely Hob did not hear him correctly.

"My husband," the guy repeats, quite clearly. "I lost my coat. You have returned it to me. You are now my husband."

Hob bursts out laughing. "Right, okay, you're a selkie, then?" He's grown up in this quaint little coastal town, he's heard all the stories; obviously this guy is having him on, a little jest. Surely.

"Yes." The guy's answer, though, is completely serious.

It occurs to Hob he may inadvertently have gotten drawn into this poor fellow's break from reality. Either that or he is an extremely deadpan comedian with a terrible sense for when the joke's gone far enough.

"Selkies aren't real, mate," Hob says carefully, not unkindly, confident in the obvious truth of the words no matter what tales his gran used to tell.

With a sigh, the guy puts on the coat that Hob had returned to him and abruptly, instead of a beautiful pale-skinned dark-haired man, there is a pitch-black seal with shockingly blue eyes on the floor in the middle of Hob's cafe. He starts backwards, not believing what he is very definitely seeing.

The seal shimmies, twists, and then the pretty stranger is standing before him again, swirling the coat back off his shoulders.

"Holy fuck." Hob steps, stumbles backward, sits heavily on one of the stools at the counter. "Okay. Okay, give me. Just a tic." He blinks, stares at the guy, his brain replaying the transformation he'd undeniably witnessed. "You're. Really a selkie. Okay."

"Yes. And now, you are my husband."

"But that's ridiculous! There's no way anyone can possibly think my giving you back your coat constitutes a legally binding marriage!"

"Not on land, perhaps. It is a long-standing tradition among my people."

"But…why? I mean. Surely you don't want to be married to me, to be married to any stranger simply because they were kind enough to return what's yours? How is that any better than being bound to someone who steals your skin?"

"Nevertheless. It is the tradition."

"It's not my tradition!" Hob is feeling more than a little panicked here. Certainly the guy is very pretty; certainly Hob had been of half a mind to ask for his number if the opportunity presented itself but marriage is a very far cry beyond any of that.

What the hell. Seriously.

"Generally. It is considered. Far preferable, to be married to the human who would freely return your skin than the one who would steal it and lock it away." The guy has primly perched himself two stools down the row, leaving a single stool between them.

Considerate, Hob supposes, not to crowd him while he's having his worldview rearranged. Points in Mr. Selkie's favor.

"That makes sense, I get that," Hob says at last, "but why does it have to be marriage at all? Is it strictly tradition, or is there some kind of magical binding going on when humans get hold of your coat?"

"It is. Both, to some degree. You touched my coat, held it, with intent toward me. That leaves a signature, a link between us. In losing something so integral to my existence, I incur a debt to the one who would willingly return it to me. Even without the traditional label of 'marriage', I am now bonded to you in some degree.

"I'm sorry, but that sounds like a shite arrangement for you."

"Yes. It could be."

"So…do I get any say in the matter? Can I release you from the obligation or something? Or. Or is there maybe. Some other way to honor the 'debt' than marrying me?"

"The marriage—the bond—it occurred when you offered my coat and I accepted it back. It is the traditional way. It is already done. I apologize for being so objectionable a spouse."

"Objectionable—I don't know you!" Hob can't keep his voice from rising, feeling just a little hysterical by this point. "And you don't know me! Fuck sake, you—I don't even know your name! And you're just gonna move into my little cottage on the beach with me so we can live happily ever after?!"

"Ideally, yes." He blinks. "My name is Dream."

That's. Okay. What. Hob shakes his head, equilibrium lost. "Has this ever worked out for any selkie you know?!"

"In the old stories? Sometimes. I am the only modern selkie I know who has been foolish enough to be tricked into leaving my coat behind." There is bitterness in his voice now and god help him, Hob's starting to feel a bit of sympathy for the guy.

"Seems a very cruel prank for a sibling to play," he offers. "And you're extremely calm about this whole oops-forced-marriage thing. Tradition be damned for just a second; does it not upset you even a little?"

The selkie—whose name is Dream, apparently—looks at him with those soulful blue eyes, contemplating. "Truthfully, I welcome the promise of escaping my parents' household. Even in so outdated and risk-prone a way as this. They would at least recognize the validity of such a claim—" He straightens abruptly, eyes widening. "…oh. Oh. Perhaps. My sibling. It is perhaps not a prank, after all."

Hob cannot for the life of him keep up with this conversation. "Wait. Wait. Escaping your parents? How old are you?" He looks a young thirty-something, certainly, but what the hell does Hob know about actual selkie physiology, really?

"Well past the age of majority, in my culture and yours. My parents are very traditional in most respects. Their children remain part of their household short of marrying out. My sibling, who found their way to a marriage some time ago, appears to have orchestrated one for me, as I have no prospects at home."

"So, what, your sibling lied about your coat and left it here so you'd get stuck with whoever picked it up?"

"I am beginning to think so, yes."

"Bit daft a way to go about it?"

"Ours is…a complicated relationship."

Hob casts a disbelieving glance at Dream; he can't help it. "What if you'd wound up bound to some creep?"

"I have no guarantee that you are not, as you say, a creep."

"What? No! I'm not, I promise! And again, why would you accept being married when that's the case?!"

"The bond exists regardless, whatever sort of person you may be." Dream shakes his head, black hair fluffing with the motion and despite everything, Hob is still deeply struck by how pretty he is.

"You are dead serious about all of this, aren't you," Hob says, resignation creeping into his tone.

"It is tradition." Dream gazes at him, assessing. "But I would choose to trust the circumstances of my sibling's meddling, in any case." He blinks at Hob, a slow, considering look. "If my husband will have me."

"Hob. My name is Hob Gadling. Short for Robert." Hob can hardly believe he's even thinking about agreeing to this madness, and yet. Here he is. "Sooo, what happens to you if I reject this marriage? You go home in disgrace? You wander the human world abandoned and alone? You die because I broke the bond?"

"The bond will not break simply for being rejected." Dream looks away. "If you spurn me, I will leave, but I will always feel the draw back to you. I would face ridicule and disdain, should I return home, for allowing my coat out of my possession and failing to honor the bond formed by its return. I am already deemed a misfit; such disgrace would only confirm it for those who care to pass judgment."

"Like your parents."

"Yes." He looks resigned to the misery.

Hob's heart thumps, decision made. And okay, yes, maybe he is being a little bit stupid about this, a little too-much-too-fast like usual, but he can't just send Dream away to all that. "Can I perhaps offer a compromise, then."

Dream tilts his head, attention on Hob, listening.

"How about. We go on a date. Can we try a date first?"

"A date."

"Yeah. Y'know. Two interested people meet up, have a meal, do an activity. Learn more about each other, see if they click?"

"I am. Familiar with the concept, yes."

Oh, but that dry snark is so attractive to Hob. He forces his brain to stay on subject. "I'll even—my cottage has a guest room; you can stay there unless you'd rather book a room down the street. I'm willing to get to know you and see how it goes, okay?"

Dream blinks at him, primly flabbergasted, and Hob is delighted to have finally gotten the upper hand in this conversation. Heaven help him, he's starting to like this weird selkie man already.

"Look. You've got circumstances you want to escape. You accidentally got bound to me. Doesn’t have to be a traditional marriage if it's not agreeable to us both. Been thinking about taking on a housemate, anyway. You'll suit. Don't need you to keep house for me or any of that rubbish from the stories; I'm a full grown man who's been looking after himself for years. We'll share chores. You can explore your options for a life on land. Find a job, or something, if you like."

"And what of the bond already between us?"

Hob shrugs. "We can leave romantic possibilities open, if you want to. Like I said—let's try a date. Let's learn a bit about each other. We'll learn plenty living under the same roof already, I'd wager. If romance doesn't feel right, we'll focus on building a friendship. But either way, I'm not going to leave you homeless and rejected and abandoned on land. Let's start from as reasonable a place as the situation allows and see what happens." He offers a smile, warm and sincere. "What do you say?"

Dream is still watching him, intent and contemplative; after a moment, he inclines his head with gracious old-school formality. "I. Will. Accept your compromise, Hob Gadling."

Oh, his full name in that voice, that is dangerous. Hob is still very much interested in dating the guy; he's pretty, he is thus far not a complete arse, and weird as this conversation is it's given Hob a little glimpse of who Dream is as a person and he'd like to learn more.

Which he will have ample opportunity to do, it seems.

"Wonderful!" Hob beams. "I was heading to the shops after locking up here; you're welcome to join me."

"I shall," Dream decides, with the tiniest hint of a smile, and that's it—Hob is officially smitten.

God, but Jo is gonna roast his arse to kingdom come when she finds out about all of this.

Grocery shopping seems entirely too mundane a task to contemplate after the last several minutes but his refrigerator at home is not going to magically restock itself, is it.

He doesn't think selkies have that kind of magic, either.

He isn't going to ask.

He tries very hard to ignore the little voice in his head telling him he's being incredibly stupid. It's not like he doesn't know. Marriage, then cohabitation, then getting better acquainted? That's very much coming at the whole thing backwards.

That other little voice in his head, though, the one that tends to speak for his gut instincts? That one says he's made the right call, backwards or not, as he strolls down the street toward town center with his new selkie husband-slash-housemate trailing beside him and sees the contented little smile still wreathing those rosebud lips.

He hasn't gotten where he is in life by listening to the first voice over the second.

He's not about to start now.

= Started: 2/8/25 Drafted: 2/11/25 Posted: 2/12/25

This is where I stipulate that I don't know how official-traditional the whole 'giving a selkie back their coat means you're married' thing is. I've run across it a few times but usually in like. Tumblr posts and amateur fiction more than compendiums of mythical creatures or collections of folklore and the like. Regardless, it suits my purposes here.

[bloodywankers]

tw; yandere, implied dub-con, unwanted pregnancy, forced relationship, ooc, unedited

yandere reo | very ooc | 1.5k words | bluelock masterlist

“You’ll never have to work a day.” He said, eyes pouring straight into your own and a self assured tone just about anyone would falter to. If he was a stranger you might have hesitated to believe his words, assumed him to be a scammer of some sort but you knew him well enough to know his offer could very well be possible. Especially when his family amassed enough wealth to make even the concept of money virtually worthless.

As you looked around trying to calm your nerves you noticed how much more shabby your clothes looked, compared to his suit that fit well enough to have been sewn straight onto his body. Your skin was much more rough looking compared to his and your eyes adorned in dark circles as a result of sleepless nights.

“All you have to do is say yes.” He continued, a small smile on his face as he slid an envelope towards you. You had done everything in your power to avoid him, you weren’t friends or even acquaintances of any sort anymore. If anything you were waiting for him to break out laughing at the slightest sign of your acceptance, revealing this all to be a sick joke or the result of a lost bet. But for him, this was the day he had counted every second to reach.

/

While Reo Mikage focused on enjoying himself throughout his university years, with employment practically secured at his family's company the moment he graduates, you were famous for the opposite. [name] the straight A student who wouldn’t miss a lecture even if disaster struck, the one that barely spoke and rarely if ever attended any social events.

At first, it was curiosity, you were brought up in a conversation and Reo couldn’t help but want to know more. Then it became a habit, to locate you in the lecture hall unconsciously, to anticipate your voice when the professor took attendance or to ask in advance if you were going to attend any extracurricular. He couldn’t help but notice your little habits and become further enamored each passing day.

It was still an innocent love but it was all tainted in filth that one night, a club activity that got extended into a group dinner with alcohol flowing as in any gathering of students, Reo felt tipsy but it was nothing compared to you who was flushed red even though you refused most drinks. Maybe it was the drunk courage that led him to corner you outside where nobody could see. His lips landed on yours and before he could process what he was doing, he felt a rush surge through him as he was sure now, sure that the emotions rushing through him were much more than a passing fascination.

Mikage Reo was the type of man that just passed life by, he was just an empty shell with nothing inside. Things like money or sex didn’t mean much to him but right now a mere kiss had him salivating for more like an animal in heat. That night he did something he knew he shouldn’t have and dragged you to a hotel room. He knew you would barely remember any of it and like a coward he took advantage of it. It would be a rough start but he could handle it, he would get you to accept him once morning came. But as the premature rays of sun peeked through the curtains, he felt the empty space beside him where he was sure you laid.

/

“Why don’t you look at what’s inside that envelope first, I’m sure that’ll answer all your questions.” He said, gesturing towards the inconspicuous brown envelope, the sly smile on his face growing ever-wider.

Reo found himself crawling back to you like a crippling addict even after that night. Still searching for you in every room he entered and uninterested in anything unless it pertained to you. If only you hadn’t disappeared soon after that night, leading to his obsession growing exponentially beyond anything that could be controlled.

“This…” the tone in your voice had changed, it was no longer hesitation stemming in confusion but rather a mix of fear and disgust. And yet, he wanted more. Reo could see the revulsion in your gaze as you looked up towards him with your brows knitted and lips formed in a thin frown. All the effort he went through to track you down felt worth it. “I hope you’ll seriously consider my offer, if not for your own sake then for our child’s.” The paternity test in your hands wrinkled as you shook uncontrollably.

/

Your mind had gone blank when you woke up with a splitting headache and a discomfort between your legs, almost jumping in surprise to find the dreaded man lying next to you still fast asleep. You knew well that nothing good would come from someone like you associating with him so you left before he could wake up, ran back home and locked yourself in there until your friends came knocking a few days later. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them so you pretended it never happened and buried yourself in work instead.

When he approached you afterwards with a confession full of confidence, as if you accepting would be the most natural thing on Earth you could do nothing but stare at him with disgust. Screaming profanities one after another. You hated his kind, the careless rich kids that thought they could get anything they desired. “I’m not an object you can obtain by throwing money at me!” Those were your last parting words to him, the ones that rang in his head even today. His wide eyed expression brought at least some satisfaction to you that day. You couldn’t report him for your own sake so even this small victory was welcomed.

However, as if the universe were laughing at your misfortune, you were presented with the positive pregnancy test in your hands weeks later. Maybe the test was faulty—that’s what you comforted yourself with as you sat in the doctor's office. But not only were you pregnant, you would have no choice but to carry the pregnancy to term as it was far too late to get an abortion. That’s when the reality of your situation truly sunk in and you broke down for the first time. With nobody to rely on and unable to continue your studies due to your deteriorating health, you ran away from it all. You told yourself it would be temporary, just until the baby was born and then you would return to your studies but you couldn’t give your baby daughter away to someone else. Even when she was the spitting image of her father your heart broke thinking of what she would have to go through in an orphanage so you kept her, slowly finding new happiness in your daughter's smile.

Reo could barely compose himself once you rejected him. Following a monotonous routine as his sanity and reason hung by a thread. All he could think about was how he would make you pay until you begged to be his. But his parents put a stop to it, sending him abroad where they hoped he would change but his every thought was still consumed by only you. Finding out you had a child upon his return was enough to make him rebound into his obsession even worse than before, especially when she resembled him so much.

/

“The paternity test was just a formality, you can tell with just one look that she’s my daughter. Anyways just pack any essentials and get ready, we’re leaving this dump.” It was almost as if he was talking to himself with how he didn’t even bother to get a reply from you.

“I’m not leaving and neither is my daughter.” You had grown protective over your baby, a bastard like him didn’t deserve her.

“Let’s not make this any worse than it has to be, [name]. We both know you can’t afford to take care of a child on your own. What will you do when she grows up and asks why she doesn’t have a father, hmm? What about when she asks why she can’t have the things other kids have? Or when she wants to do extracurricular like kids her age, or when she wants to travel or go out with friends. Or what about when she—.”

“I get it, you can stop now!” You interrupted as tears streamed down your face, you had once again regressed into an inconsolable mess and in front of the man you despised the most to boot. You knew well you couldn’t give her the life she deserved.

/

Your daughter liked her father, almost as if she had known him from birth. It stung a little when her first words were ‘papa’ and when she would run to him before even looking at you but you could make peace with that, she’s just a child after all. What you couldn’t stand was your now husband, Reo. He had only gotten worse as now he seemed to think he had free reign to do as he pleased with you. He had made such a big show of only doing this for ‘his’ daughter but, to your detriment, he seemed much more interested in making up for lost time with you.

[chwrrylace]

─── ❝ NIRVANA ❞

SUMMARY ; Phainon and Mydei finally embrace their long-denied feelings, sealing years of longing with a single, undeniable kiss

PHAINON & MYDEI x fem!reader. (separate)

CONTENT ; mutual pinning, kissing, idk

WORD COUNT ; 🤷‍♀️

A/N ; potential ooc since its my first time writing for them

── .✦ 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍

𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐔𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 shifting lights, its skyline painted in the gentle glow of bioluminescent flora and neon-drenched pathways. The distant hum of life, muted laughter, and the quiet ripple of water beneath floating platforms created a symphony of serenity—one Phainon had never taken the time to appreciate until now.

Tonight, the stars felt closer than ever.

“You shouldn’t linger alone,” a voice murmured, warm despite its caution. The familiar timbre sent a shiver down Phainon’s spine before they even turned to meet your gaze.

“You found me,” Phainon said, a ghost of a smile playing at their lips. “Of course you did.”

You exhaled softly, stepping closer. The glow of the city reflected in Phainon’s azure eyes, casting them in an almost ethereal light. The two of you had danced around this moment for longer than either of you dared to admit. Conversations stretched just a little too long, gazes lingering beyond what could be dismissed as casual, touches that felt like promises neither of you had yet dared to keep.

“I always find you,” you admitted. “No matter how far you run.”

Phainon chuckled, though there was something wistful in the sound. “And yet, I wonder—do you truly know what you seek?”

The air between you was charged, electric with unspoken words and stolen glances. You had spent years circling each other, bound by duty, by circumstance, by the cruel joke of time itself. Always close, never enough. Until now.

“I do,” you said, with the kind of certainty that left no room for doubt. “Do you?”

Phainon hesitated. Not out of uncertainty—but because they had known their answer long before tonight. Before Amphoreus, before the stars bore witness to your inevitable gravity.

They reached for you then, hesitant fingers brushing against yours. A silent question. A quiet surrender. You answered by closing the distance, letting your foreheads touch in a moment that felt more intimate than anything else ever could.

The city pulsed around you, yet in this moment, the universe had never been quieter.

“You don’t have to run anymore,” you whispered.

Phainon let out a breath, one they hadn’t realized they had been holding for what felt like a lifetime. Their fingers tightened around yours, an unspoken promise taking shape in the space between heartbeats.

“I know.”

And when they finally closed the distance between you, it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was the silence between heartbeats, the space where everything else faded.

── .✦ 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐄𝐈

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐔𝐒 flickered like distant stars, their golden glow casting soft ripples over the tranquil waters below. Mydei stood at the edge of the city’s elevated walkways, the hum of civilization a quiet murmur beneath the steady beat of his heart. He had always found solace in the night, in the spaces where silence spoke louder than words.

“You always disappear when the celebrations begin.”

Your voice reached him before you did, familiar, grounding. Mydei didn’t turn immediately, letting the words settle in the air between you like an unfinished melody. Then, slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, and there you were—bathed in the warm glow of the lanterns, looking at him the way you always had. As if you saw him, truly.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “And yet, you always find me.”

You stepped closer, careful but unrelenting, as though you knew this moment had been waiting for far too long. The weight of unspoken confessions lingered in the space between you, in the fleeting touches and sidelong glances you had exchanged across years of companionship, of battles fought side by side, of emotions too tangled to name.

“You don’t have to keep running,” you murmured. “Not from me.”

Mydei’s fingers curled at his sides, his pulse a steady rhythm against the chaos of what he felt. For so long, he had kept himself at a distance, believing that some things—some feelings—were too dangerous to claim. But you had never wavered, had never once stopped reaching for him even when he made it impossible.

And now, here you were. Still reaching.

A slow exhale left his lips. “I know.”

Then, tentatively, he lifted a hand—brushing against yours, the simplest touch igniting something deep, something inevitable. The city’s glow reflected in his golden eyes as he met your gaze, steady and unguarded for the first time.

“You’ve always known, haven’t you?” he whispered, a hint of amusement threading through his voice.

You smiled. “I have.”

The distance between you disappeared, and when your lips finally met, it wasn’t just an answer.

It was everything that can never be exchanged with words.

© chwrrylace — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[softtdaisy]

the right one - Charles Leclerc

summary. charles never forgot himself for letting you go. when arthur lose you, he is the one who has the heal your broken heart this time.

words count. 4,313

what to expect. it's the second part of the other one. I guess you can read it separately but some things might not make sense (specially the glue part). inspired by congratulations from Hamilton. mention of cheating, everyone is so sad in this story I'm sorry (im not) and arthur is terrible boyfriend

a/n. can you believe i told @monzabee about this fic in December 2023??? and it's finally out after all this time. I'm so happy I finally did it and gave these two another part, they deserve love and happiness.

F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

When he first heard them, Charles didn’t want to believe the rumors.

For the winter break, he decided to go on a road trip in Italy with his best friends. For multiple reasons, he chose to get rid of any type of social media. Charles needed a real break after the season that had been more difficult than he thought it would. 

Also because a part of him still hasn’t gotten over you.

It was too difficult to see Arthur post pictures and stories with you all the time. And if he couldn’t escape it, nor you in the paddock during the season, Charles decided to leave all his bad feelings behind for a few weeks.

No matter how hard he tried these past months, Charles couldn’t get rid of his love for you. If he ignored you during the end of last season, even if he had your glue everywhere with him, he wanted to be nicer this year. 

Not like he had a choice if he wanted to keep a good relationship with Arthur, who still had no idea about what happened between you and Charles. He also wasn’t completely stupid: he knew it could look bad on him if he kept ignoring the photographer around the paddock. 

And it would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss you. Sure, a part of him was still aching when he was making you laugh and smile, thinking he couldn’t have the privilege to see that every day for the rest of his life because you chose Arthur over him. But he tried to be more mature and accept that if this was the best he could have, then he would appreciate it.

This was also one of the reasons why he couldn’t believe the rumors when he heard them. There was no universe in which someone would purposely hurt you.

The first time he heard about the rumors, it was because some friends from Monaco sent him a text. “What’s going on with Arthur? Is it true?” Charles was more than confused. What could be true about his brother? He didn’t want to sound stupid to ask them but still didn’t want to put his social media back on his phone.

So he turned to Joris. Because that man knew everything that there is to know. And because he knew that his friend would never lie to him. This explained the embarrassed expression on his face when Charles asked him if he knew anything about something Arthur might have done.

“You sure you want to know?” he asked him. Charles understood that something serious was going on. Even when the truth was ugly, Joris never asked him if he really wanted him to be honest. Not when Ferrari was not doing great, not when fans criticized him, not when everyone had something to say about his private life. But he didn’t hesitate a single second and agreed to hear the truth.

“Apparently…your brother cheated on his girlfriend.” Charles’ world went silent for a few seconds. That couldn’t be true. He couldn't believe it. People must be wrong and bored and choose to create drama because of the off-season. Right? 

“Actually…” Joris continued. “It’s not really a rumor since Arthur basically admitted it.”

It was a damper. 

Charles left for a few weeks, and his brother decided to ruin everything he gave up his own happiness for?

“Is it true?” He sent Arthur. No explanation.

“Yes.” He only answered.

It took Charles only a few hours to come back to Monaco. On the plane back, he opened his social media again, answered some comments and messages, and shared some Ferrari stuff. And looked at the mess Arthur created.

“Let’s review…” Charles started. As soon as he arrived, he asked Arthur and Lorenzo to come with him in the living room to discuss. They all stayed at the family house to deal with the major crisis. From what he learned, paparazzis were going around Monaco to catch any of you: Lorenzo, Arthur, and especially you. The victim of all this mess. 

Charles still hasn't seen you, though. Lorenzo’s girlfriend took you for a ride away from there, knowing Charles was coming back and that there would be a confrontation between the brothers. You didn’t need to hear about all that again. You knew the story. Well, you knew some parts of it. You refused to hear Arthur’s explanation. 

Charles knew it was for the better, but he still couldn’t wait to see you. Scared of how you would be. Scared of how he will react too.

He finally took a big breath before continuing. “This girl pretended to be pregnant with your child. And instead of just saying that you didn’t have sex with her, you said she wasn’t the one you slept with?” He chose his words wisely, taking the time to say everything correctly. Even if there were no good ways to talk about this situation.

“I panicked! What should I have done?”

“Don't say anything!” he screamed back, slamming his hands on the table. “You should have just shut your mouth and not said a fucking thing.”

“Charles…” Lorenzo warned him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He sighed and apologized, trying to calm down. His brother was right; there was no use being aggressive against Arthur. The harm has been done and couldn’t be undone. But when he gave his baby brother a look, he couldn’t handle it. Arthur looked like he didn’t understand why Charles was so angry. Like he couldn’t see the real harm in this. “Or better, you shouldn’t have cheated,” he added. 

Everything stopped around the three brothers. “Charles!” Lorenzo repeated, louder this time and with a more authoritarian tone. Like there was back in childhood when he had to play the big brother between the two younger brothers fighting for the same car. 

Except this time, it was for the same girl.

Charles knew he had to calm down and play it more cleverly. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, trying to think of a way to say things more nicely without making Arthur turn on him. He didn’t even know how he could do that: he was so mad at his brother for doing such a stupid thing.

“Aren’t you supposed to support me?” Arthur asked with a disdainful voice that made Charles look up immediately. He couldn’t even find the right way to answer this. Maybe Arthur could feel the disappointment, which is why he looked that angry. He was never the Leclerc who disappointed the family.

Lorenzo had a lot of pressure as the big brother, the one that had to be a model and perfect at any point. Charles had the celebrity pressure; being the most famous Leclerc, he had to behave perfectly. But Arthur? Everybody saw him as the baby, never accepting any bad decisions from him. Or even when he did, he was forgiven immediately.

He was not used to having people being mad at him. You were, which was already a problem. But Charles was too, and that he couldn’t handle. This explained why Arthur went upstairs silently. Well, as silently as he was, hitting the staircase loudly. 

Charles let out a loud sigh when Arthur disappeared. “You two need to talk.” Lorenzo told him, to which he agreed without the desire to deal with that right now. Instead, he started talking with his more reasonable brother about their holidays. He knew Arthur needed some minutes to calm down.

He needed them too.

He only decided to go upstairs when he saw the car parking in front of the house. You were back. 

And he couldn’t face you right now.

— 

“Thank you for coming.” Charles stopped what he was doing after that sentence. He had finally gone to see Arthur after you came back home. He waited just a minute to hear your voice, even if he couldn’t see you. He had no idea if he should accept some good or bad feeling from hearing you. He was torn between the fire that lit up again in his heart from your simple words and the hurt of knowing he was only there because of his and Arthur's bad decisions.

After he entered his brother’s room, the one he assumed you shared with him, they both stayed silent for a moment. Charles was dealing with his social media when Arthur finally decided to speak. 

And Charles was more confused than he should be. What did this mean? He turned around to look at Arthur. He was still standing next to the window, watching you outside talking with Lorenzo’s girlfriend. There was something on Arthur’s face that Charles didn’t like. Almost like he couldn’t understand why you came back. Why were you still around? Like he was waiting for you to go away after what happened. 

“I don’t know how to deal with that. I needed you here.” 

This time, it was Charles that couldn’t truly understand what was going on. Actually, no, he can. He loved his baby brother with his whole heart and would have done anything for him. To protect him. To save him from whatever situation he put himself into. But now, looking at him with the whole situation going around, Charles realized something. 

Arthur knew. He knew that Charles would have always come to his rescue. Sacrifice things for him. Do anything for his brother’s happiness before his. And that’s what he was expecting from today too.

“No.” Charles first said, mostly for himself. But it made Arthur turn around too, curious. For the rest, it came out more confidently. Like a part of him had been waiting for ages to finally say these words. “I’m not here for you.” 

He heard Arthur’s nervous laugh, and he took a step back. He wasn’t even scared of his brother; it would have been stupid for many reasons. No, he was more scared of his own mind right now. He still couldn’t believe he said it. Out loud. What he was thinking from the start.

You became his priority. 

You had been for so long. 

But Arthur didn’t let him go away with him and took this step forward and some others. “What do you mean?”

“You fucked up, Arthur.” Charles started, pointing at the window. Pointing at you. “You cheated on your girlfriend. She was willing to give up everything for you; she already did in the past. And you thank her like that? By sleeping with some other girl you don’t even know? Do you seriously think that’s what she deserves?” 

Arthur looked at him blankly. With just a smirk. Not a fun or laughing one. No, a mean one. One that Charles had never seen on his brother. It was almost like he was discovering a new face for his baby brother. And the worst was yet to come.

“You still love her.” Arthur said with an emotionless voice. And it was a real hit in the heart for Charles. He never thought that Arthur knew about his feelings. Sure, he had never been more discreet when it came to his heart. And the way he went from praising you to ignoring you during the weekend said a lot. Maybe the worst part wasn’t much that Arthur knew about his feelings. It was that he knew and let Charles sacrifice himself for him. “I should have expected it. She’s hard to forget, I guess.”

“You’re going to learn now.” Arthur laughed at this answer because it was the truth. He played, and he lost. Just like Charles did last year, technically. If Charles gave up, Arthur lost at his own game. The game over wasn’t the same, except for the fact the lost prize was the same: you. You and your heart. You and your beautiful smile were maybe gone for longer than it should have been.

Charles couldn’t handle it anymore. The more he stayed in this room, the more he was getting hate for his brother, and it was definitely not the family dynamic he wanted. So he walked to the door, ready to leave. Or to finally do what he wanted from the beginning. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Charles turned around one last time to look at his brother. But Arthur wasn’t looking at him. He took his place back, near the window. Watching you. From there, it looked like he was trapped in some kind of prison. One he was to blame for being in. But maybe the real story behind this was that he was the watchman and you were the prisoner. At least for now.

“Why did you let me date her?” 

“Sometimes you love someone so much you accept to put their happiness before yours.” Arthur gave him one single look. One that said everything that needed to be known. He wasn’t the one Charles gave up his happiness for. He did it thinking it was the right decision for you.

— 

When Charles went outside, you were still there. Alone this time. You sat on the swing seat, your eyes locked on your own shoes, not giving any interest to the environment around you. Charles’ heart broke a little at this sight. The sun wasn’t supposed to stop shining on the people around it. You weren’t supposed to stop being this joyful person. 

Even if he tried to walk slowly and not scare you, you jumped when Charles sat next to you. “Sorry,” he immediately mumbled. You offered him a small smile while he was trying to find a good seat. Ironically, he was making it move even more and making it harder to sit.

You were the one holding on to the structure to slow the movements. “I’m not great at this.” He laughed nervously. Charles didn’t know how to act around you. It wasn’t easy most of the time. But now it was even harder. They never teach you how to act around the woman you loved and let go, but even less when this same woman got her heart broken by your brother. 

“Thank God you’re better behind the wheel,” you replied, now looking straight in front of you. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You felt guilty. Sure, this whole situation wasn’t your fault; nothing could ever make you think that. But you hated that Charles had to comfort you now. After what happened between you last year, it didn’t feel right. Or fair. 

Charles shrugged, purposely hitting on your shoulder while doing it. “Well, you’re not seeing him when I sit in the car.” You turned your face to him and couldn’t contain a laugh when you saw his proud expression. In the dark, his smile was the small light you needed to not break down. It made you feel like there was still hope out there.

So when Charles stopped smiling, naturally a tear fell from your eye. “I’m so stupid,” you sighed, playing with your fingers. Immediately, he grabbed one of your hands and started playing with them too. You remember how it was something you did to him back then, when there was still something building around you. When he walked out of the car, he wasn’t very proud of what he did.

You both had the same habit of playing with your hands to avoid eye contact and focusing on something else. 

You also both had the same habit of grabbing each other’s hand to help ease the anxiety. 

“I never thought Ar…he would break my heart like that,” you confessed in a quiet and broken voice. A voice that was like a knife right in Charles’ heart. “You said it yourself, he has a pure heart. So why did he change? What did I do wrong?” 

You started crying again. And Charles was fighting to not break down too. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that he was the one pushing you into Arthur’s arms. If Charles didn’t cause the pain, he was the triggering factor. If only he had been more selfish and kept you for himself, this wouldn’t have happened.

He got up, making the structure move again, but this time you didn’t have the strength to hold it. But the swinging didn’t last long. Charles immediately kneeled in front of you, grabbing your legs to stop you from swaying. And once you were stable, one of his hands moved to your face softly. You didn’t hesitate a single second before cuddling against it, even if it meant your tears would now fall on his fingers. If you didn’t want to share your pain with him, that was all Charles was asking. To take it with him so you would feel less hurt.

“You have nothing to do with Arthur’s mistakes, ok? I hate to say that, but I was wrong. I really thought he would treat you better than…” He stopped for a second, closing his eyes to consider what he wanted to say. But he was tired of holding back his words. “Better than I would. I never imagined he would do that; otherwise, I would have never pushed you in his arms. You deserve better, ok?” 

You were absorbing every single word he was saying. Trying to remember every millisecond of his monologue so you could recite it before going to sleep that night and all the following ones when you would remember giving your heart to the wrong brother. 

“You deserve the world.” Charles pursued. You watched as he put a hand in his jacket pocket to get something. “And I hope one day you’ll find the strength to open that glue too and accept the help from someone to heal your broken heart.” 

He handed you the glue. The very same glue you gave him for his birthday. You weren’t quite sure Charles had healed his heart; he wasn’t sure himself. 

The fact he kept it this whole time—more than that, that he had it with him tonight—was the forward thrust you needed.

You thanked him silently, with a smile that he understood immediately. Charles stayed like that for another minute, brushing away the tears that were still falling and caressing your knee in the softest way you’ve ever felt.

Then he sat back on the swing seat, with more precaution this time. For the next ten minutes, he tried to change your mind by speaking of the last season and what was coming. You didn’t speak much, except for some reactions here and there. The conversation wasn’t the real distraction in the end.

It was seeing Charles so full of life, something you’ve waited to see since you’ve met him. Deep down, you took it as proof that a better future was coming.

“Let’s go inside.” Charles offered after noticing the shivers in your body grow bigger. “I can escort you to your room.” He knew that you were staying in the guest room. It wasn’t hard to guess anyway, as all the brothers took their own room, and there was no way you would be sleeping with Arthur that night. 

A part of him wished he could comfort you to sleep anyway. 

Especially after you grabbed his hand to follow him inside. So lightly that he could let it go easily if he didn’t pay attention. But enough for him to feel the contact of your skin together and feel the heat growing in him. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered to him, closing the door. Charles hated how he only noticed now how your makeup had actually been ruined through the day.

___

Charles was taking his shirt off when he heard slight bangs on his door. He was clearly not expecting anybody, especially not now and not in his family house. 

His mom was already asleep; Lorenzo was never the type to come when the doors were closed; Arthur still hadn’t come back from what he knew. So it didn’t leave many possibilities.

As he could expect, you were the one behind the door when he opened it. Charles found it sad that you were still wearing the same pajamas you probably brought for your holiday: an old shirt that he recognized from Arthur’s wardrobe and a short that was showing too much leg for his own good. 

But what made him even sadder was the expression on your face. If he thought you looked sad earlier, it was nothing compared to now.

“Do you mind if…” You didn’t even finish your sentence before your voice broke down. Charles moved aside to let you come in, giving a look in the corridor to make sure you were alone. Even if he didn’t have to explain himself if anybody saw you. 

He would never let you be alone in the situation. Nor ever, now that he thought about it.

What he didn’t expect was that the moment he closed the door, you would fall in his arms. You didn’t show much attention to him except for accepting the one he gave you earlier. But you were the one who initiated it. Compared to now.

“I'm so tired of this, Charles,” you mumbled against his naked chest. The first thing that came to your mind was how you never felt more safe and comfortable than right now, in his arms. Not even Arthur could make for his big brother natural reassurance. 

It was something that has always been true about Charles. People, friends, members of the team, family, and anyone who needed to feel comfort knew they could go to Charles for this. If he felt like he wasn’t always finding the right words, it seemed to work enough for people to feel better when they left.

Maybe that was always true about him too. People never seemed to stay.

“He’s not planning on coming back, and he left alone here, in your family house? What am I even supposed to do here by myself?” You started again, sounding angrier now. “I can’t fucking sleep in his bed because it makes me sick. Sleeping in the guest bed makes me feel bad because I don’t belong here. I feel bad because he’s not here. But he’s the one who fucked up. Why do I feel bad? Why do I feel guilty? Charles, I…”

Every word you said was like a knife in the heart for him. Hurting more than the punches you were hitting on his chest.

With each hour passing from this morning, Charles felt worse about the decision he took months ago. He should have never let you go. He would have never treated you this way. 

When you broke down, Charles held you harder against his chest. He was humming, trying to calm you down. His head was above yours, and at some point, he naturally started kissing your hair. He was trying to create a peaceful bubble where you would feel at ease. Less sad.

“You can sleep here,” Charles offered in a whisper. “I don’t mind.” 

It wasn’t until you were lying in his bed that you asked the question. Charles’ idea was to let you sleep in his bed and for him to sleep in the guest room. At least you didn’t risk Arthur coming at night, and he could deal with his brother. It never occurred to you that you would ask for the situation to be different.

But you grabbed his hand after he moved the sheet up your chest. “Would you…can you stay with me? Please?” 

Charles looked at you with confusion but also hope. A hope that lowered over the months but that never died. He replied with a simple nod and sweet smile. A reassuring one. In a home where you probably felt unwelcome, even if it wasn’t entirely true, Charles wanted you to know you were at the right place right now.

So he didn’t waste another minute and went to lie next to you. The boundaries were pretty obvious with each of you sleeping at the end of the bed and with a gap between your bodies. While you were facing the wall, he was on his back, trying to organize the mess that had been that day. 

Right when he closed his eyes to try to sleep, he felt the mattress moving. He couldn’t resist giving you a look. You were now facing him with your eyes open. “Charles?” you whispered. 

He was obviously awake, yet you were scared of disturbing him. But he gave you that smile. The one he only had the secret. The one that opened the door to his life, his head, his heart. 

“Will it be ok?” 

You knew he would understand what you meant.

When you met Charles, he was so heartbroken that he chose to put all the good things in his life aside because he felt like he didn’t deserve to be happy anymore. And even if his anxiety was still a battle he had to fight every day, it got better. A few months ago, he probably would have ignored you because he would have thought it wasn’t his place to comfort you. To be the good person in your life.

But there he was, sharing a bed with you. Thinking that maybe tomorrow could be better. And that two days later could be even better.

He knew.

That was why he took your hand, the one resting on your pillow next to your face. He held it until you chose to intertwine your fingers together. A contact you both needed. To heal the past and the future.

Charles moved to lie on his side, facing you. And with his thumb brushing your skin, he gave you the only thing you needed to hear that night.

The only thing he also needed to say. 

“It will. I promise."

[4zahara]

## | Rocket Science

←Previous. Masterlist. Next→

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: English is not my first language. Shorter chapter because it was a last minute thing. I thought it'll be more interesting showing how things will be going in the future(present)—since the serie is basically Jason and reader's past. I'll be back sooner this time, I promise♡

Few times has Tim Drake felt like he was being played with like when it came down to family.

Actually, scratch that.

More people he cared to count had tried playing him for a fool and failed as to say this is the worse he's felt. This time around was different just to emphasize the absurdity his life was sliding into.

Yes, he was benched until recovering.

No, he couldn't refuse it.

No, he wasn't sulking.

"So bed rest for how long now? Alfred 's gonna breath over your shoulder for a while. Believe me. Been there, done that." Dick Grayson has been here, allegedly, trying to cheer him up. But personally, the acrobat should reconsider his chances as a cheerleader if he thought Tim could laugh off a concussion, bruises all over and his tingling ribs.

"You've been beaten by a 6 ft something dude on bright yellow leggins?" It was only half sardonic. His brother's had an extravagant life.

"The answer will surprise you."

Dick's presence wasn't very comforting under the particular self deprecating light of asking himself 'who he was really here for?'. However, the man actually managed to pull at the corners of his brother's lips to get a scoff. It was better than nothing.

"Well..." Tim said, leaning further back into tiny wall of pillows with a smirk, "We could always just call (Name) and have her deal with The Red Hood," His voice carried a teasing edge with a grin that lingered for a second longer, hanging in the air like a fading echo.

Dick didn’t laugh. Tim hadn't expected him to. But not even a chuckle or eye-roll at the idea of this rather skinny, 5 ft something woman going up to a Crime Lord to whoop his ass?

No sarcastic comeback, no snort of agreement, just that small, almost imperceptible shift: the stiffening of his jaw, the subtle crease between his brows, and the way he suddenly became very interested in side eyeing the floor.

Nothing to match the usual rhythm of their banter.

Something wasn't right already and Tim couldn't catch a break from one drama to the other.

Fuck the weighted, hollow kind of silence that didn’t fit but always followed him.

He could have brushed it off really, chalking it up to stress or whatever. That just wasn't like him though.

Replaying his own words in his head could only do so much, and the kick of the joke got stuck on the tip of his tongue, but was like stone in water regardless.

Eyes drifted to Dick’s hunched shoulders, noticing how his movements were precise but mechanical, like he was trying too hard to stay focused. It wasn’t just annoyance. It wasn’t about the mess. It wasn't about his strained relationship with you—where chats were exchanged probably once every few months.

"Did (Name) block you again or why are you sulking?"

"I'm not sulking." The grin Tim shot back was more habit than genuine amusement, his brain already shifting gears beneath the surface.

Dick’s response was quick, too quick, the kind that snaps out like muscle memory instead of actual thought. His voice had that tight edge to it, the kind that tries to masquerade as casual but doesn’t quite land right.

Okay, Tim thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. Not just weird. This is “something’s definitely up” weird.

"I should be the only one sulking,"

"Who are you? Bruce?"

Dick wasn’t looking at him. Still staring at the floor like it held all the answers to the universe. His fingers drummed absently against his knee, a restless little rhythm that had no business being there if everything was fine.

Tim let the silence stretch, just a little, leaning into it like he was daring Dick to fill it. But when nothing came, he cocked his head.

"Wait," Tim said slowly, voice softer now, like he was testing the shape of the thought forming in real-time. "This isn’t about her blocking you—"

"I wasn't blocked."

"—This is… something else."

Dick shifted then, barely noticeable if Tim hadn’t been watching like a hawk. A quick inhale through the nose, shoulders straightening.

"Don’t overthink it, Tim."

Wrong move. Dick should've known better. Telling Tim not to overthink was like telling water not to be wet.

Fair enough, everyone surrounding him was an overthinker, but that was more his environment's fault than his own. Then, the nagging feeling of a wider picture he was not privy to, creeped in. It was on. There was nothing better to do.

Tim sat up straighter, the teasing grin completely gone now. His mind raced, connecting dots that hadn’t even looked like dots before.

"It’s not about me. It’s about her." His eyes narrowed. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Dick’s jaw clenched. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for Tim to catch it. His gaze flicked to the window, like the skyline outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

And that’s when it hit Tim.

It wasn’t the joke itself—it was who he’d joked about. The Red Hood. Jason.

Tim’s breath hitched slightly. Like acknowledging a fact that had always been then, yet pushed aside, the realization creeped in like cold fingers wrapping around his ribs.

"She doesn’t know, does she?" Tim whispered, not a question, more like a statement dragged out of him.

No answer.

Tim’s chest tightened, equal parts disbelief and frustration rising like a tide. "She doesn’t know Jason Da Vinci is alive."

Dick finally looked at him then, and not-quite-guilt-but-almost etched into the lines around his eyes, buried in the tense set of his mouth.

"It’s complicated, Tim."

"Complicated?" Tim’s voice cracked, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Dick. This changed everything."

"I know that!" Dick snapped but not really. Just raised his voice louder than intended, his own frustration bleeding through now. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Of course I know. But it’s not that simple. It's the whole problem, in fact. Jason… he’s not the same. And I didn’t—" He stopped himself, words hitting a wall.

Tim stared at him, heart pounding.

"Yeah," he muttered bitterly. "That much s'obvious." The youngest focused alone on the last word.

Tim let out a slow breath, trying to push past the initial frustration, but it was like trying to wade through knee-deep mud. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

Had he known this a while back he probably wouldn't be struggling right now.

Maybe.

"How—" He stopped, rethinking his words. "How does that even happen, Dick? And, what about Bruce? Shouldn't he have been the one to tell her?"

Dick's lips pressed into a thin line and he shook his head. Something closer to exhaustion, was probably gnawing at him and probably had been long before Tim stumbled into it.

"Bruce has regrets, but he had already made up his mind by the time I heard about it. And Jason was already supposedly death, again. What was I supposed to tell her?" Dick’s gaze was heavy now, meeting Tim’s.

“Clearly he's alive.”

“Yeah, but what were the chances?” Another deep breath to calm down. "Listen. B only saw so little of how it impacted (Name) back then," Dick muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And yet he still thought—hell, I agreed—it is for the best not to call across the world if we were just where we started but worse." His voice trailed off, but Tim didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Tim had only seen glimpses of it, filtered through the distance between them when he took on the mantle of Robin, but even that had been enough. The grief had hollowed you out, twisted something inside your in a way that felt eerily familiar. You lost an anchor in a world that already demanded too much from them.

"We don't want her to spiral. To relapse and cut everyone off again."

"‘Cause that worked so well so far. And mind you, she never cut me off."

And it wasn't completely true. At the time he had had to adapt fast into being Gotham's newest Robin and didn't notice the months in which he heard nothing from you when communication was already low.

"It would break (Name)," Dick admitted, quieter now, like saying it out loud made it harder to carry. "Looking at you and knowing."

There was a sour taste at the back of Tim's throat. "So the plan is just… never telling her while Jason is out there playing vigilante roulette with Gotham’s criminals?"

"She trusted you because you weren’t us. You weren’t tangled in that mess. Not like me. Not like Bruce." He let out a hollow laugh, devoid of any real humor.

Tim saw that statement for what it was. His brother could be very persuasive with undertones alone when he wanted to push.

Jason wasn’t ready.

You weren't ready.

If you hadn't met already, then the only one who search hadn't gone looking for his family ties.

There was more—the truth under all the excuses Tim hadn't asked for. It surprised him if anything how much of a word vomit had a simple joke divulged into.

Just his luck.

Just his family.

Chest tight, fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to rest, for once, sleep it off. But instead, he exhaled sharply, leaning back against the pillows, feeling even more drained. Feeling less like the original problem mattered anymore.

"I’m not going to tell her," Tim said quietly, and Dick’s head snapped up, relief flashing in his eyes before Tim added, "But we're so dead if she ever finds out."

Dick swallowed hard, nodding slowly like his neck was made of rusted hinges.

Minutes passed in strained silence before Dick finally pulled out his phone, staring at the screen like it was a live grenade. His thumb hovered over the contact name for far too long before he muttered, "You rest, I'll go for something to eat."

Tim didn’t argue. He knew Dick needed an excuse to leave. He was probably gonna call her and this was the best he came up with.

One could only wonder how long has Dick been holding everything related to you to himself.

As Dick exited the room, Tim had already pulled out his own phone, fingers moving almost without thought. He hits sand before second-guessing it.

You may be strained from the family, but not Tim.

Somewhere across the world, a phone buzzed to life in the middle of a starred night.

A message, a call and fifteen after, a flight was booked.

[clumsydolly]

Rending of the Morningstar

The Fall - Pride's perspective

The Fall from grace after the Celestial war.

Warnings⚠️: Kinda angsty! A tiny bit gorey with mentions of blood! A tiny bit of body horror nothing too much though! Probably spelling mistakes.

This took me awhile cause I didn't know how I wanted to do it so I hope everyone likes it!!

The sky split with the echoes of battle, the once-radiant Celestial Realm now drowning in the shadows of war. Blood-divine and unholy alike-stained the clouds, the scent of burning feathers thick in the air.

Lucifer stood amidst the wreckage, his breath ragged, his body broken but unyielding. His brothers had fallen. His sister's body pierced by arrows and limp as she fell along with the rest of them.

The rebellion was lost.

And then came the pain.

Not the sting of Heaven's judgment, nor the wounds left by the blades of his former kin. This pain was deeper, an agony that surged from within, twisting through his very soul like a viper uncoiling from the dark.

Something was wrong.

Lucifer's breath hitched as the first tear split across his back, his entire body seizing as fire erupted beneath his skin. It clawed up his spine, digging into his ribs, gnawing at his very essence as if trying to break free.

No, not trying.

It was succeeding.

A scream tore from his throat, raw and ragged, stopping even the angels in their pursuit. His vision blurred, his fingers grasping at nothing as his body arched against the unseen force tearing him apart. The sound of rending flesh filled the air, followed by the sickening snap of bone-his bone-his wings.

Two of them-ripped away, stolen, claimed by something that had never existed before.

Lucifer gasped, his head snapping back as he felt it move, felt it emerge. His body was not his own anymore. His suffering had taken form, his fury made flesh, his torment given life.

From the wound in his back, he was born.

A shadow darker than the abyss itself peeled away from Lucifer's body like a beast slithering from its dying host. Clawed hands stretched outward, stained with the blood of his own birth. His form was demonic, twisting between beauty and horror, as if the universe itself recoiled at his existence.

Lucifer staggered, his breath shallow, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. And then-he saw him.

The figure knelt in the wreckage, his golden hair damp with sweat, his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady breaths.

Lucifer saw his own face staring back at him.

No-not quite his own. The eyes were different, sharp and unyielding green fury, burning with something raw and unformed. A flicker of recognition passed between them, but there were no answers -only confusion, only shock.

The figure moved first. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out his fingers brushing against Lucifer's own, searching for something solid, something real to hold onto.

And Lucifer, despite everything, did not pull away.

Then came the voices.

"There!"

Lucifer snapped his head up, eyes narrowing as the glow of angelic spears pierced through the battlefield haze. The enemy was closing in, their faces hard with divine judgment. They had seen his moment of weakness.

The war was already lost, but the slaughter was not yet finished.

Lucifer gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet, but his body would not obey. His balance-his very essence-had been shattered, thrown into disarray by the impossible birth of the being at his side.

The angels moved as one, spears raised high.

Lucifer braced for the final blow.

But then-a hand grasped his own.

He turned sharply. The golden-haired figure-his creation, his twin, his son, his brother, his curse-was gripping him tightly, his expression unreadable, but his actions clear.

He clung to Lucifer.

And Lucifer, without thinking, held on just as fiercely.

The spears struck.

.....

But never hit their mark.

The force sent them both backward, the battlefield tilting, the edge of the heavens rushing toward them. For a fleeting moment, they hovered-suspended between two realms, two fates.

Then, together, they fell.

Lucifer did not know what awaited them below, only that the golden-haired figure-the being who should not exist-was falling with him, still clutching his hand as if he feared letting go.

And for reasons he could not understand, Lucifer let him hold on.

He had known this would happen.

From the moment the first blade was raised against him, from the instant Michael had turned to face him with sorrow hidden behind his unwavering resolve, Lucifer had known. It had all led to this.

He knew the moment he went against God.

But knowing did not make it easier.

The wind roared in his ears, a deafening howl that stole even the sound of his own thoughts. The sky above—the sky that had once been his home—grew distant, shrinking into something cold and unreachable. The gates had closed. The light had turned its back.

And they were falling.

Falling.

He had never fallen before. He had always been above, always risen, always ascended. His wings had once carried him higher than any other, had shone brighter than the first dawn. Now they were burning, blackening, unraveling feather by feather as divine wrath remade him into something lesser, something unworthy.

Something damned.

Lucifer did not flinch. He did not cry out. He did not allow himself the weakness of regret. But he felt it. He felt it deep in the hollow of his chest, in the weight pressing down upon him like chains forged from the very laws he had defied.

He did not look back.

Not back at the pearley golden gates.

Instead, he looked ahead—downward, toward the abyss that yawned beneath them, toward the fate he had chosen, the fate that had been forced upon them. Around him, the others fell, his brothers- his true brothers, his only brothers. Their cries were torn away by the wind, their once-radiant forms shifting, warping. The touch of Heaven had been stripped from them, leaving something raw and new in its place.

And then, there was him.

Lucifer turned his head slightly, his red eyes narrowing as he took in the being at his side.

Satan.

(Something he would be named by the demon king himself in just a couple more moments but right now he was nameless.)

His own creation, yet not. A fragment of himself, yet something separate. He had been born not in Heaven, not of light, but of war. Of loss. Of pain. Of fury. Of wrath. He had come into existence not through the will of their Father, but through the sheer force of Lucifer’s grief, his rage, his wrath, his suffering. He was fire given form, fury given breath.

And he hated him.

Lucifer saw it in his eyes—eyes so much like his own, yet filled with a loathing wrath that burned just as fiercely as the flames consuming them. He did not need to ask why. He already knew. Satan did not see him as a savior, as a leader. He saw him as a failure.

Lucifer did not deny it.

Because it was true.

He had fought, and he had lost. He had promised freedom, had spoken of a future where they would no longer be bound by blind obedience. Or at the very least a lighter punishment for his sister that made one immature mistake. He had believed himself invincible, the Morningstar, the one who had shined brightest among them all.

And yet, here they were.

Falling.

Not as victors.

Not as gods.

As exiles.

And she was gone.

Lilith.

Her name burned through him like a brand. He had fought for many things, had spoken of justice, of choice, of freedom—but she had been at the center of it all. His sister. The first to fall. Not by exile, not by choice, but by force.

By slaughter.

He could still hear the sound of the arrow piercing her flesh, still see the way her body crumpled, the way her light faded. He had not caught her in time. He had not saved her.

And now, she was falling, too.

Lucifer's eyes flickered downward, searching through the chaos, through the countless forms plummeting toward the abyss. He saw her—motionless, her body limp, her wings torn apart by the same divine fury that now twisted his own, except her's were still white and bright but covered with blood from battle, her light dulling fast. The arrow being the center piece of her form.

Something inside him cracked.

He had lost her.

No, he had not just lost her. He had failed her. He failed her and his brothers.

His rage ignited, burning through him like an inferno. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as the transformation continued to overtake him.

It was not just his wings that burned. It was his very being.

The light that had once been a part of him—the radiance that had made him Heaven’s brightest star—was stripped away, leaving something darker, something sharper in its place. The heat seared through his veins, reshaping him, warping him, twisting him into what they had already condemned him to be.

His form cracked. His skin scarred and marked. His wings—no longer celestial—shifted into something monstrous, something built not to rise, but to rule below. Horns tore through his skull, curling like a crown of damnation. The remnants of his halo melted into his flesh, carving golden scars across his face. His fingers twitched, his nails elongating into claws.

He was no longer what he had been.

None of them were.

They were changing, all of them. Their celestial forms were no longer their own. Their grace was gone. They were becoming something else.

Demons.

Lucifer did not resist it.

He let it consume him.

Because if Heaven had no place for them, then Hell would.

The abyss rushed toward them, and Lucifer did not fight it. He embraced it.

If Heaven had cast them out, then they would make their own home. If they were no longer angels, then they would become something else. Something greater. Something stronger.

He would not weep for what was lost. He would not mourn the heavens that had abandoned them. He had spent too long looking up. Now, he would look forward.

Lucifer closed his eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of what was to come settle upon his shoulders. And then—

He spread his wings wide.

Let them burn.

Let them fall.

Let them rise again, not as what they were—

But as what they would become.

I hope you enjoyed! This took me forever trying to characterizatie them so I hope everyone likes it! 🩷

As always Reblogs are loved and appreciated!

[olivieblake]

the one where the cannibal sorority tries to decide who to eat for dinner

OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS:

From the New York Times bestselling author of The Atlas Six, Girl Dinner is a darkly-fun novel about power, lust, and eating your fill, as wealthy moms and sorority girls practice a sinister new wellness trend . . . Good girls deserve a treat.

Every member of The House, the most exclusive sorority on campus, and all its alumni, are beautiful, high-achieving, and universally respected.

After a freshman year she would rather forget, sophomore Nina Kaur knows being one of the chosen few accepted into The House is the first step in her path to the brightest possible future. Once she's taken into their fold, the House will surely ease her fears of failure and protect her from those who see a young woman on her own as easy prey. 

Meanwhile, adjunct professor Dr. Sloane Hartley is struggling to return to work after accepting a demotion to support her partner's new position at the cutthroat University. After 18 months at home with her newborn daughter, Sloane's clothes don’t fit right, her girl-dad husband isn’t as present as he thinks he is, and even the few hours a day she's apart from her child fill her psyche with paralyzing ennui. When invited to be The House’s academic liaison, Sloane enviously drinks in the way the alumnae seem to have it all, achieving a level of collective perfection that Sloane so desperately craves.

As Nina and Sloane each get drawn deeper into the arcane rituals of the sisterhood, they learn that living well comes with bloody costs. And when they are finally invited to the table, they will have to decide just how much they can stomach in the name of solidarity and power.

SOME PRAISE (to whet your appetite):

"A book that whets your appetite before devouring you whole. Girl Dinner is cunning, charged, and just as you’re comfortable—a profound shock. Perfect for the era we live in." —Chloe Gong, New York Times bestselling author of Immortal Longings

“A brilliant head trip of a book, Olivie Blake constantly comes at timely topics from new and interesting angles. I can't wait to see what she does next!"—Katee Robert, New York Times bestselling author of Neon Gods

"Whip sharp, nuanced, and highly propulsive. I will be thinking about Girl Dinner for a long time."—Hildur Knútsdóttir, author of The Night Guest

“Girl Dinner is a crackling, tense journey between the ravenous teeth of feminine rage and sorority power struggles. Overflowing with creeping dread. I devoured it and loved every second.”—Chuck Tingle, USA Today bestselling author of Bury Your Gays

"A female-fueled tumbleweed of bloodthirsty seduction. A decadent dive into the dark depths of ambition and toxic relationships. Deliciously addictive."—A. R. Torre, New York Times bestselling author of The Good Lie

“As always, Blake eats! Girl Dinner is truly brilliant—a precise and ruthless novel about the impossibility of being a woman and a mother, it also answers the question of what it takes to win when you start from a losing position. I savored every morsel of this wickedly fun and deeply satisfying interrogation of sisterhood, sorority life, and the true cost of success.”—Ling Ling Huang, author of Natural Beauty and Immaculate Conception

“An exploration of the many hungers of the female heart and the pain behind the drive to be everything to everyone, Girl Dinner shaves pearls into teeth and bites deep. As a woman, as a mother, as a wife, as an artist—I felt this story in my bones.”—Delilah S. Dawson, New York Times bestselling author of The Violence

preorder link, available oct. 21

[little-saw]

miss piggie / cub / ali or uni + more seen here ☆ 6teen yrs old irl, (3 - 5 agere) she/he, do not use they/them to refer to me. 🎀 @chainsaw-erot1sm follows / likes

☀️ -- masterlists | rules | dni -- ☀️

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requests are currently open <3 click here to find all information regarding them.

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. ♡ . * . About Me !! ☆ 🔑

MISC INFORMATION !! ⊹ ˙

Fandoms : the texas chainsaw massacre, black christmas, mia and me, ninjago, marvel, poppy playtime, pizza time theatre, rock a fire explosion. The full list is here ! . . 🧽

Hai! I'm Miss Piggie, also known by like 100 different names, but Miss Piggie is the best thing to call me if we are just meeting ^^ ☆ 🌼

i am, bisexual, transgender, and genderfluid. I am diagnosed with audhd, generalized anxiety disorder, and ptsd. However, I also have symptoms of bpd, hypersexuality and hyperromantism.

im canadian, from a little island called newfoundland. Im in high school right now (graduating next year), and I am planning to go to university to study child psychology ^^ . . ☀️

I have a lovely, smart, kind, and amazing boyfriend. I am ever so happy to call him my mate for life, as well as my caregiver!! His main is @lopsidedghoul (not sfw), but his agere/cg account is @buggyghoul <33 xoxo ☆ 💛

my main hobbies include: singing, dancing, writing, creating, watching tv, hanging out with friends, learning things, listening to asmr, etc.

I am otherhearted, btw ! I identify with : pigs, koalas, ankylosaurus, unicorns/alicorns, and the indominus rex <3 . . 📒

[delilaha]

In another universe, where Ponyboy is a girl, it's not exactly socially acceptable for girls to go around beating up others, nevermind the socs. But that doesn't mean she can't get them back.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

If you asked Penelope Curtis what the worst day of her life was, she'd give you three answers: the night her parents died, the day of their funeral, and the day Sodapop's best friend carried him into their house, unconscious, all but collapsing under his weight.

She remembers it so perfectly; the agonizing groan Soda let out at every poke and prod, the way Penny and Steve practically shouted at each other because they couldn't agree on how to treat him, how scary it all felt because Darry wasn't home to help. And when he did come home, it was still a shit show. She tried to ignore the way he blew up at Steve, how his voice rose with every question and how she just wanted him to stop because Soda's wince kept getting more defined with each syllable. How she had to keep pressing towels to the cut on his temple because it just kept perpetually bleeding, and how it all haunted her dreams when Darry finally convinced her to go to bed.

She made Darry let her stay home the next day so she could keep watch over Sodapop because he couldn't, telling him that she'd deliberately fail all her tests and quizzes that day if he made her go in. Although Penny knew she was only a bother to Soda because all there was to do for him was to wake him up every ten minutes or so, so scared to death that his concussion got the better of him while she was occupied with something else. She remembered when Johnny came a little later that morning, and how he paled when he saw Soda laid up on the couch, knowing that all he could think about was his own jumping less than a year back. He really tried to help Penny out, but it looked like he was about to either throw up or cry, or both, so she gave him two dollars and sent him to the corner store a few blocks away to get another bottle of Aspirin.

She remembered how the gang came over later that day, the house stiff with talks of a rumble from Dally and Steve, Two-Bit's less than effective attempts at cracking jokes, Johnny's terrible nail-biting habit as he stood off to the side, and Darry's tense form hovering over Penny, who was kneeling by the edge of the couch, helping Soda eat some chicken broth and crackers. That was probably the only good part of her day, too, to see Sodapop perked up a bit, just enough to eat. He dozed off pretty quickly afterwards.

That was a week ago. Now, as Penny sat in her eighth period physics class, all she could think about were the events to come. They were supposed to be rumbling tonight, her brother's jumping supposedly being the last straw. She desperately wished she could join them, but let's be honest, she knows she'd get absolutely bodied out there. Hell, she could hardly beat Johnny in a wrestling match, and she's pretty sure half the time he's going easy on her. She's no match for a bunch of 15-20 year old boys and they'd have her down for the count in a matter of minutes, but that doesn't mean she doesn't dream of knocking them out and spitting on their torpid bodies.

Soda wasn't too happy when he figured out he wasn't gonna be fighting, either. He's a million times better than he was when he was first brought home and the days following, but according to Darry, he's healing a little too slowly for his liking. He hasn't been able to go back to work yet, and mostly whenever Penny sees him, he's lounging on the couch taking a nap or watching the tv because it's all he could really do. He still has a slight limp from the massive bruise trailing down the side of his leg where the socs kicked him real good, and his headaches have yet to cease. So Penny was supposed to be keeping company with Sodapop tonight while everyone else fought for him at the rumble.

"How's everything going, guys? Anyone need help?" The physics teacher, Miss Austen, called from the front of the room, snapping Penny out of her deep thought. She whipped her head up, then looked back down at her worksheet in front of her, groaning quietly when she saw she had only answered two questions and filled the margins with doodles. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, grabbing her pencil again, and attempted to answer the third question.

"Need help?" Another voice spoke, and Penny turned her head to see her desk neighbor, Chrissy, had asked her.

"Oh, no, sorry. Just thinking," Penny told her, resting her head in her hand, sighing. She saw Chrissy nod and turn back to her work out of the corner of her eye, and thought that was the end of it, but she continued.

"How's your brother doing? Any better?" Chrissy asked, not looking up from her worksheet.

Chrissy was a nice girl. Well, nice is not something many people would agree with, based on the amount of times she's had detention because of one hallway fight or another, but she was real good at science and always helped Penny when she needed it. Penny noticed Chrissy didn't really open up to many people, but they never seemed to have trouble talking to each other.

"Yeah. He'll probably go back to work tomorrow." Penny responded. Chrissy looked up from her worksheet with a wince.

"Damn, after a week? They must've gotten him good, huh?" She asked, sincerity in her voice. Penny's smile faded and she looked back down at her paper.

"Yeah. It wasn't pretty," She told Chrissy, picking at her nails.

"You know, I remember when my brother got jumped too," Chrissy said, when she suddenly leaned in and said real quietly, "And I don't know how you're not busting at the seams. My brother wasn't half as bad as yours and I wanted to strangle someone."

Penny snickered at this. "Oh, trust me, I do, too. But I'm gonna do something tonight."

"Whaddya gonna do? Rumble?" Chrissy asked, her voice still just above a whisper.

"No. I wish. My brothers would lock me in my room 'till I'm thirty if I ever even mentioned the idea." She mumbled, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know what I'll do yet. I have to think about it."

"You know what kind of car they were drivin'?" Chrissy asked lowly after a moment, still leaned in.

"Uh, a light blue corvette, I think," P thinks she may remember S saying something about a blue corvette when they asked him one night. "How come?"

Chirssy's mouth then turned up into a smile that meant no good. "You could wreck their car."

Penny's head snapped up at this, looking at Chrissy incredulously, thinking she was joking. But her blue eyes held a cold seriousness to them and it left Penny thinking for a minute.

"Sneak out tonight to the rumble. Take a bat with you, find the car, and just go ham on it. No one's gonna hear shit over the fight." Chrissy continued, almost under her breath. Penny nodded, gnawing at her fingernail.

It's true, it could work.

See, recently Darry's been making Soda take a cup of Nyquill every night at 10 to help him fall asleep quicker and longer. It's a remedy their mother insisted on any time one of her kids were sick or hurt and had trouble falling asleep because of it. It worked like a charm every time Darry got hurt from a football game, all the times Penny got sick with a cold or flu, or when Soda got into the usual shenanigans he would as a kid and got himself hurt. And eventually Sodapop was lucid enough to realize that it was hard for him to fall asleep because of the pain, and Aspirins didn't take much of an effect on him. But Nyquill? Oh boy, does it knock him out.

And tonight, the rumble is scheduled to start at 10:30. These rumbles have begun to start later and later because the fuzz are catching onto them more and more. Johnny says sometimes he sees their cars are hanging out by the lot on random nights, and there was a smaller rumble, on the other side of town not too long ago between a few other gangs that didn't include their own, that was shut down within fifteen minutes of it starting by the cops.

So the rest of the gang will probably leave at 10:20 the latest, meaning that Darry'd be home to make sure Soda took his routinely Nyquill, and he'd easily be conked out, or at least close to it, by the time the rumble starts. And then, Penny could strike.

"I like that idea," Penny responded, a smile forming on her lips.

"You just gotta make sure you don't get caught. God knows what'd they do to you if they did." Chrissy advised, and Penny nodded silently. They'd get the cops involved so fast it'd make her head spin, despite the fact they'd have no trouble paying to get it repaired with their mommy and daddy's money. But it's not like they'd jump her, no way.

Right?

Suddenly the bell rang, snapping the two girls out of their conversation with a jolt. They packed their backpacks to go to their last period, and while Penny was hauling her bag onto her shoulder, Chrissy spoke up again.

"But hey, if they do catch you, I was never involved, got it?" She told Penny, with a joking grin on her face. "Good luck if you follow through."

"Sure, Chrissy. Thanks," Penny said, returning the smile. Chrissy swiftly left the room and Penny adjusted the straps to her bag, turning to leave when he accidentally knocked shoulders with a soc girl behind her.

"Oh, sorry," Penny mumbled. The girl didn't respond, but Penny didn't notice the knowing, suspicious stare as she walked away.

—-------------------------------------

"About time, thought we were gonna hafta' go back in there to find you," Two-Bit joked as Penny approached his old, beat-up truck. Steve rolled his eyes, then trudged into the passenger's seat, looking as if he'd been waiting years to finally go home. Johnny stood up from where he was leaning against the truck and gave her a smile. "What were you doing in there?"

"I had to go back to my fifth period class to get my notebook. Sorry," Penny answered, opening the back door and throwing her bag inside, climbing in, Johnny following suit.

"Did anyone say anything about tonight?" Steve asked from the front seat once they began to drive out of the parking lot. Penny almost said something about her and Chrissy talking about it, but stopped herself. She didn't need them to ask too many questions about what they were talking about and accidentally let her plan slip. So instead she just bit her tongue and looked out the window, but Two-Bit spoke up.

"Well, it's fists only, but we knew that. But the guy who was driving the car when they jumped Soda, Scott Whats-His-Face, he's in my math I think, and I heard the guy talking about how excited he was," He said, with an incredulous smile. Steve let out a loud groan from beside him.

"For what, the face pounding he's gonna get?" Steve grumbled, and the other three snickered. Penny had no doubt Steve was gonna mess that guy up. She almost felt bad that he'll have to crawl to his car afterwards, only to find it to be wrecked. But the feeling vanished just as quick as it came and her mouth formed into a smile.

They continued to talk about the upcoming rumble for the rest of the short ride home, mainly between Steve and Two-Bit ranting and joking in the front seat with Johnny every so often giving his input. But Penny kept quiet, listening in occasionally, but mostly thought about her own plans. She thought about what she'd have to bring; a bat, a black hoodie to hide herself, and maybe a blade if things got sticky and someone caught her. But she'll have the bat, so worst come to worst she could just wack the attackers in the head, and they'll already be pretty disheveled from the fight, so-

"Kid! We're here! You gonna come inside or stay in here all night?" A voice spoke, and her eyes snapped over to see Two-Bit twisted around in the front seat to get a look at her. Johnny was looking at her worriedly, and Steve was already climbing up the porch steps, probably not having the patience, but then again, when does he ever?

"Oh, sorry, just thinkin'" Penny mumbled, and Two-Bit huffed. The three of them then climbed out of the truck, and Two-Bit ruffled her hair.

"Always got your head in the clouds, don't ya?" Penny giggled, slapping Two-Bit's hand away.

Once they were inside, Penny was a little surprised to see the couch vacant. That was, until she heard talking coming from the kitchen. She walked into the room, abandoning her bag by the door, as she walked into the kitchen, while Two-Bit planted himself on the couch, and Johnny walked to the bathroom. Penny walked into the kitchen, following her brother's laughter, and was pleased to see him up and about the kitchen, seeming to have something in the oven. She smiled, knowing how better he was feeling. He always liked to bake something when he had nothing better to do, and by the smell of it, it was one of his famous chocolate cakes.

"Hey, there's my favorite little sister!" Soda exclaimed with a beaming smile when she walked into the room, and he approached her, locking her in a light headlock and rubbing the top of her head.

"I'm your only sister!" She laughed, as she tried to get out of his grip. Eventually he let go of her, retreating back to the counter and grabbed a bowl full of chocolate frosting.

"Here, try the frosting. Stevie here said it was too sweet, but I don't think it's sweet enough," He rambled, holding out a spoon covered in chocolate frosting for Penny to try. She took it, almost hesitantly, because nine times out of ten, the frosting he made was so sweet it felt like it would rot her teeth off if she left it in her mouth too long.

"Well, it definitely doesn't need anymore sugar," She said, trying to hold back a grimace. Sodapop rolled his eyes and yanked the frosting covered spoon back.

"Ugh, why is everyone in this house practically allergic to sugar?" He griped, dropping the spoon back into the bowl.

"Nah buddy, your taste buds are just messed up. It's not an us problem," Steve argued back,a mischievous smile playing on his face as he leaned back in the kitchen chair.

"Wow, saying that to your injured, hurt friend, is just... wow," Soda said in an offended voice, putting his hand over his chest. Penny rolled her eyes with a smile, grabbing the pack of cigarettes she left there the night before off the table, leaving the two to argue as she walked out to the porch.

She lit the cigarette as soon as she stepped outside, desperate as she hadn't had any yet. She collapsed onto the porch swing, hardly having taken a full drag yet before the front door opened up again. She turned her head to see Johnny walking outside, who silently sat down next to her. She wordlessly handed him a cigarette, knowing he'd ask, and he muttered a thanks.

"So, you okay?" Johnny asked as he lit his cigarette.

"Yeah, why?" Penny responded, a little surprised at the question.

"You seemed a little zoned out in the car. I know you're tired an' all, with Soda and everything, but just wanted to make sure," He told her, holding his cigarette between his fingers. "Worried about tonight?"

She took a deep drag of her cigarette, wondering if she could tell him about her plans for the night. Johnny's her best friend, she could trust him, right? It's not like he'd be blabbering about it like Two-Bit would. Plus, maybe it'd be good if someone knew where she'd be.

"If I tell you something, you gotta promise not to tell anyone. Got it?" She said somberly, keeping her voice low and leaning in a bit. She knows how easily people could hear onto the porch from the inside of the house; she's heard countless things happen on this porch that she'd love to unhear. Johnny nodded, looking a little alarmed at the sudden seriousness.

"I'm gonna sneak out while y'all are rumbling and take a bat to Scott Lawerence's car." She confided, her voice practically a whisper. Once it was out, she looked behind her to the window to see if anyone was peeking through the blinds, relieved when she didn't see anyone. She turned back to see Johnny staring at her, dark eyes wide and perplexed.

"What... Why would you go and do that? Are you looking to get arrested? Or killed?" He whispered, his face wearing a look that said "are you ridiculous?", but to his credit, his voice stayed quiet.

"You were there that first morning, Johnny, you knew how he looked. I'm not just gonna sit on the couch while the rest of y'all are fighting, I'm sick of it. I'd set their houses on fire if I could." She spat out, her cigarette almost being crushed between her fingers. She took another deep drag, trying to calm herself down. She wasn't mad at her friend, and she hoped it didn't come off as that as she slammed her arm back down from where she was holding the cigarette to her mouth. She was just so fed-up.

"Alright, I get it. And I'm not gonna tell you not to. Just... I ain't gonna lie to you, Penny, if someone catches you or finds out it was you, I don't think they'll be afraid to jump you or somethin'. They're gettin' real risky lately. They messed with a middle class girl a few weeks ago, and she didn't even do nothing." He told her, running a hand through his black hair. Penny nodded.

"I know. I'll be careful." Johnny smiles and nudges her with his elbow.

"You better, or I'll skin ya."

—-------------------------------------

"Alright, you two take it easy. We'll probably be back in forty-five minutes or so." Darry said as he yanked his boots on by the front door.

The rest of the guys were out in the front roughhousing, while Soda and Penny were lazing on the couch. Or, at least trying too. Penny was trying to hide her anxiousness from her brothers, and Soda was sick and tired of being pent up for the past week. He tried his hand at getting Darry to let him fight, multiple times actually, but he was stubborn and still wouldn't let him out of the house. Plus, Darry made him take his routinely Nyquil, because as much as he tried to hide it, his leg and ribs seemed to still be aching, so he couldn't get up to fight if he tried.

Soda lifted his hand to give a lazy wave while Penny verbalized a goodbye.

"I know the two of you are upset you hafta stay home, but don't worry. We'll come back with ice cream." Darry winked, and once he finished tying his second boot, he stood up. "See y'all later," And with that he left through the front door, bounding down the front steps to join the others.

"I think Imma just go to bed, Pen'. This stupid medicine makes me so damn tired," Soda said, pulling himself off the couch and running a hand through his hair. Penny nodded, pulling her legs up to her chest and hugging her knees. Sodapop ruffled her hair as he passed by.

"Goodnight," She called after him, and she thought she might've heard him say goodnight back, but she couldn't be sure.

She waited a couple minutes after the creaking of the wooden floorboards in his room stopped, giving him some more time to fall asleep before she got off the couch herself. She glanced at the clock, seeing it read 10:29; and stealthily creeped down the hallway to her room, being sure to avoid all the creeks in the floor on the way there. Once in her room, she pulled on a black hoodie and went over to her closet, pulling out her father's old wooden baseball bat from the days where they'd play together when he was still around. She opened the drawer to the nightstand on her desk, and pulled out the blade Johnny gave her that night. He promised her that he wouldn't tell anyone anything under one condition: that she carried a blade with her to defend herself if she needed to. She slipped it into her back jean pocket, and tied her hair up with a rubber band, before pushing open the window.

She pulled her hood up and had a leg halfway out the window when she stopped.

Did she really want to do this?

Johnny wasn't wrong when he said that socs were getting more risky with the people they jumped. And neither was Chrissy when she said she didn't know what would happen if they did find her; they're so unpredictable.

But then she thought about the nights she'd wake up to go to the kitchen or bathroom and see Darry asleep in the arm chair in Soda's room, or when Soda was still pretty badly concussed and didn't want to be alone without his sister or brother with him.

So yes. She really wants to do this.

She proceeded to climb out of the window, climbing down onto the ground beneath it and slid it closed, but not fully so that she could get back inside without having to use the front door later.

Penny weaved through the streets quickly, eager to find the car of the guy that fucked up her brother. Once she reached the lot, she had to hide behind various trees to stay out of the line of sight of anyone, even though she doubts she could've been seen thanks to her black hoodie and the darkest colored pair of jeans she had. At one point, she heard Two-Bit's booming laugh beyond all the chatter going on, since they hadn't started fighting yet. Her heart just about leaped from her chest, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he was somewhere among the large congregation of greasers in the lot, the socs having their own cluster across from them.

Eventually, she was able to crawl over to the area where the soc cars were parked. For a scary second, she heard a few socs who hadn't joined the other in the lot talking by one of the cars, and she needed to hide behind one of them for a minute or two, but they were quick to leave and Penny soon spotted the light blue corvette a good twenty feet away. But she decided to wait in her spot for another moment while the boys walked over to their group, before crawling through the lot of cars to her 'victim'.

Once there, she sat up against the tire, breathing a sigh of relief that she made it without getting spotted. She heard the chatter of the people in the lot stop. She peeked over the hood of the car, seeing the guys have some sort of stand off with each other.

She remembers being told countless times what the beginning of rumbles looked like. They'd stand facing each other for a few awkward seconds, staring each other down, until someone grew the balls and pounded someone else in the face. She never expected she'd be able to see it, but somewhere in the crowd there was a sudden flash of movement and in what seemed like less than a second, the fight was on.

After waiting a few extra seconds to ensure no one would notice her, Penny picked herself up and walked to the front of the car, thinking for a second where she should strike first before she whipped the bat into the right headlight, a satisfied smile twisted onto her face as the glass shattered and flew. She did the same to the left one, and slammed the head of the bat into the front of the car, denting the hood and lifting it slightly. She ran around to the back and striked one of the taillights, and kicked the other one out with her foot with a grunt. She kicked the bumper of the car a few times as well, letting out a triumphant laugh as she saw the dents it left behind. She continued to kick other parts of the car, hit the doors with her trusty bat, but refrained from hitting the windows as much as she wanted to. That would make a huge shatter and someone was bound to hear that.

She proceeded to pull out her blade, scratching the sides of the car up and ruining the paint job. She went back over to the front of the car, and let her anger out on the hood, stabbing the blade into it over and over again with swift swings.

Once her arms felt like noodles from doing that about ten times, she kneeled down to one of the front tires and stabbed into that as well, hearing the satisfying rush of air come out when she yanked the blade out. She wasn't sure if it would do terrible injury, but this is the first time she committed property damage on a car, so what would she know? Too bad Dally wasn't with her at the second, he'd know how to do a number on these tires. But either way, the fight was beginning to get more and more sluggish, and she knew she'd need to book it sooner or later or else she'd be in deep trouble.

She stood up and admired her work for a second, before spinning on her heel and running away, not even bothering to crawl away. She ran all the way home, and when she finally reached her window she leaned against the side of the house, catching her breath and willing her heart to stop pounding so fast. After a second, she hoisted herself back into her room with aching muscles, realizing how inviting the idea of going to sleep was.

Her feet landed onto the ground and she let out a sigh, but she soon realized the light was turned on. But... didn't she keep it off?

"Where the hell were you, Penelope?"

[talonabraxas]

“One can ascend to a higher development only by bringing rhythm and repetition into one's life. Rhythm holds sway in all nature.” ― Rudolf Steiner Temple of Zeus - Olympia Talon Abraxas

Everything that is outside in space is also within us. Today man does not yet recognise the complete harmony which exists between the mysterious forces at work in himself, and the forces active outside in the macrocosm; indeed he probably regards that as a fantastic daydream. The ancient Greek could not say what I say today about these things, because he could not penetrate the matter with intellect, but it lived in his subconscious, he saw it, or felt it clairvoyantly. If today we wish to express in up-to-date phraseology what the Greek felt, we must say that he felt working within him the forces which caused thought to flash up, and felt that they were the same forces which organised the rainbow without. That is what he experienced. And he said to himself: ‘If there are psychic forces within me which cause thought to flash up, what is it that is without? What is the spiritual force in the widths of space, above and below, right and left, before and behind? What is it outspread there in space which causes the rainbow to flash up, causes the sunrise and the sunset, causes the glimmer and the glory of the clouds, just as within me the forces of the soul bring forth thought?’ For the ancient Greek it was a spiritual Being who gave birth out of the universal ether to all these phenomena—to the roseate tints of sunrise and sunset, to the rainbow, to the glimmer and the glory of the clouds, to thunder and lightning. And out of this feeling, which, as I said before, had not become intellectual knowledge, but was elemental feeling, there arose the intuitive perception, ‘That is Zeus!’ One does not get any idea, still less any sense of what the Greek soul experienced as Zeus, if one does not approach this experience and this feeling by way of the spiritual-scientific outlook. Zeus was a Being with a clearly defined form, but one could not get an idea of him without the feeling that the forces which cause thought to light up in us are also at work in what flashes up externally, such as the rainbow and so on. But today in anthroposophical circles, when we look into the human being and try to learn something of the forces which call forth in us thoughts, ideas—the forces which call forth all that flashes up in our consciousness—we say that all this constitutes what we call the astral body. In this way, having the microcosmic substance, the astral body, we can give an answer in terms of Spiritual Science to the question we have just put in a more pictorial way, and we can say that as a microcosm we have in us the astral body … we can then ask ourselves what corresponds without in the widths of space to the astral body—what fills all space right and left, behind and before, above and below? Just as the astral body extends throughout our microcosm, so is the universal ether, so are the wide expanses of space, permeated with the macrocosmic counterpart of our astral body, and we can also say that what the ancient Greek pictured to himself as Zeus is the macrocosmic counterpart of our astral body. In us we have the astral body, it causes the phenomena of consciousness to light up; without extends the astrality from which, as from the cosmic womb, is born the rainbow, the sunrise, the sunset, thunder and lightning, clouds and snow. The man of today can find no word to cover what the Greek thought of as Zeus, and which is the cosmic counterpart of our astral body. -Rudolf Steiner

[neillium]

A courple of h2g2 doodles

[seeminglydark]

I had no idea u were 41 ! I'm rlly glad u decided to pursue this

42 now! That ask is a year old, someone sent it to me after I posted that one of the youth I worked with at the time bought me my very first flag cuz he couldn't believe I'd been on this earth for 41 years and didn't have a pride flag.

Doing a lot of things later in life it seems. Never to late to try 🖤

[in-case-i-die-daily]

Book

song: the main character (live at the vermont hollywood, los angeles, ca)

word: 42 / 449

[system32sys-hub]

Hey, 21 notes, this one's a banger! I feel like following up on this because, like I said in the tags, this only scratches the surface.

To put it bluntly, I do not believe that health is a meaningful, useful, or ethical concept. To put it even more bluntly, health does not exist.

We live in a world that moralizes the concept of health to the point where discussions of it inherently cannot be separated from healthism - the idea that health is superior, controllable, or achievable. This mindset is everywhere, from the rudest bigots to the most invested fat liberationists, there is always, always, always the impression that health is mandatory.

From my research and observations, the concept of health is largely a collection of performative behaviours, many of them not actually benefiting disabled, neurodivergent, and fat people, especially those with higher support needs. An example would be exercise, something touted as universally good and enjoyed - a cure-all if you will - being very able to cause harm, especially in the environment that healthism creates; one of obsession, control, and force. The same mentality goes for other "wellness" and "fitness" concepts.

If we understand the idea that we cannot become mentally or emotionally better through obsession, control, and force, then we should be able to understand this for our bodies. Our human experiences are full of variability, and expecting that to just stop at a certain point doesn't make sense.

I think it's imperative that we separate ourselves from the idea of health as a whole. The concept of unhealth cannot exist without health, and the concept of health cannot exist without moralization.

You might be wondering, very naturally, "how do we take care of ourselves, then?" and my answer to that varies heavily.

Life is full of both-and situations. You are the author of your own life, and you can't control everything. Every single person is their own little microcosm of lived experiences, and should be inherently respected... as long as they're not bigoted.

And that very concept is an important facet of anti-healthism; you can do what you want with your body, but do you really want to do something bigoted, including believing in health as a concept?

Okay, I'm gonna put a controversial opinion out here.

I see a lot of people in the fat liberation community focusing on health. A lot of people don't seem to have fully deconstructed the fact that health does not make you morally superior, but more importantly, have not deconstructed health as a whole.

In a world that moralizes health, especially in relation to food and weight, we have to constantly doubt what we are learning about this concept. Can we trust the scientists who made Ozempic to tell us about how inferior fatness is? Can we trust the journalists writing about the "obesity epidemic" to recommend these so called health-boosting foods? So much of the modern concept of health is based off of systemic biases, and ones that we're blind to at that.

My opinion is, health is an incredibly vague, and often unhelpful concept. It is largely uncontrollable, let alone with food and exercise. You cannot diet, exercise, meditate and stretch your way out of marginalization, denial of medication, mobility aids, or surgery. And this is only talking about the people who have the privilege and/or ability to act upon these things.

My recommendation is to instead focus on the individual experience as a neutral one; "I have trouble walking" "My weight affects my ability to breathe" "I cannot process this information". Healthism is not only fatphobic, but ableist, and these two things go hand in hand.

This relies on a social framework of little to no fatphobia and healthism to begin with, but guess what. We can forge that world.

[ms-anthrope-cellaneous]

the only time math makes sense: