#so she can just... exist... through her other lives

[cheftsunoda]

hii, i have an idea for Kimi where he has a girlfriend that lives in another country but for his graduation she surprises him there even though he thought she was still in her own country

fairy godmother max— ka12

smau + blurbs

yn and kimi have been together since they were fifteen—growing up side by side, even as life started pulling them in different directions. now, with yn living in another country and kimi chasing his dream in formula 1, time together is rare, and the distance is harder than either of them expected. when kimi’s graduation day arrives, he assumes it’ll be just another milestone, another event she’ll have to miss. but what he doesn't know is that yn has a few surprises up her sleeve…with the help of a certain world champion.

fc : darianka on ig

(a/n) : i was waiting to post this until after kimi graduated and he officially has so yay kimiiiii!!!

—

yourusername

nyc📍

liked by kimi.antonelli, carmenmmundt, franciscagomes and 1,125,007 others.

yourusername : forever in love with the big apple but forever missing my boy 🤧

—

view 187,005 other comments.

georgerussell63 : real question is…when is the reunion and who is gonna tape it? uncle georgie needs a good cry

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : dunno when it’s gonna be but I’ll have someone film just for you george

liked by georgerussell63

↳ yourusername : in the mean time i can just send you those depressing ads with the dogs if you want

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ georgerussell63 : NO.

↳ carmenmmundt : the last time he watched one it took me 2 hours to get him off the couch

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

maxverstappen1 : i will send air-max to you rn if it means my child will stop being depressed

liked by kimi.antonelli and yourusername

↳ yourusername : thank you for the offer mother goose but sadly i have a shoot tomorrow

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : well whenever you need it, it’s yours

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : can we all just start calling max mother goose?

↳ maxverstappen1 : no. yn is the only one who has that privilege. everyone else runs the risk of getting throat punched.

liked by yourusername

kimi.antonelli : how am i supposed to focus on anything after you posted this 🧍🏻‍♂️

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : sei così meravigliosa😻

liked by yourusername

↳ kimi.antonelli : forever missing my girl, come home to me pls.

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↳ yourusername : omg i miss you so much. love you to the moon and back😭😭

liked by kimi.antonelli

franciscagomes : the prettiest angel in the world 😍

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : keeeeeeks! it was so good to see you last week. i missed you sm

liked by franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : was literally the highlight of my trip! love youuuuu

liked by yourusername

carmenmmundt : I think it is safe to say that we ALL miss you. So get back to us ASAP!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : trying my best carms 😁

—

The screen lights up with his name just as you’re about to crawl into bed.

Kimi 💙 wants to FaceTime…

You smile instinctively, heart tugging even before you swipe to answer.

“Hi,” you say, and there’s a warmth in your voice that only exists for him.

His face fills the screen a second later — hoodie on, hair slightly messy like he’s been running his hands through it, eyes heavy with something unspoken.

“Hey,” he murmurs. And just like that, it’s quiet. The kind of silence that wraps around your chest and squeezes.

You can tell. He’s trying to be fine. But the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes tonight.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods once. Then again. “Yeah. Just… I don’t know. I miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you too.”

He leans back on his pillow, the phone angling just enough to catch the posters on his wall and the edge of his desk, cluttered with school papers and notes. “Graduation’s in a few weeks and everyone keeps asking who’s coming. And all I wanna say is you, but I don’t even know if you can be here.”

Your heart cracks just a little. “Kimi…”

“I’m not mad,” he says quickly, like he already regrets bringing it up. “I know you’re busy, and the flights suck, and F1 weekends don’t exactly stop for me to wear a silly cap and shake someone’s hand. It’s just… I want you there. Really bad.”

You don’t say anything at first. Because what is there to say? You want to be there too. More than anything. But your schedule’s been insane, and between time zones and obligations, it’s all starting to feel like you’re stuck behind a glass wall you can’t break through.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you tell him honestly. “I swear, I’m looking at flights every day. I want to be there more than you know.”

He nods, eyes flickering down like he’s trying to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not even about graduation. It’s just… I’m tired of missing you. Tired of this screen being the only way I get to see your face.”

You swallow hard. “I know. Me too.”

“I’d give anything just to have you next to me right now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Even if we didn’t talk. Just to know you’re here.”

You press your hand to your chest like that might hold it together. “We’re almost there,” you promise. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Promise?”

You smile, aching and real. “Always.”

He lets out a shaky breath and leans in just a little closer to the camera, like if he tries hard enough, he might reach you through the pixels. And you sit there, both quiet, both hurting, but both still trying—because that’s what love looks like from miles apart. Not perfect. Just worth it.

—

You scroll past the name twice before your thumb finally hovers over it. Max Verstappen. You haven’t called him in weeks — not because anything’s wrong, but because life has been busy, chaotic, distant. Still, he’s always made it clear: “For you and Kimi? Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll send the damn jet if I have to.”

And tonight… you need the jet. The phone rings once. Twice. Then you hear his voice — scratchy, tired, but still very Max.

“You’re alive,” he says. “Was starting to think you ran off to join a cult in New York.”

You laugh under your breath. “Hi, Max.”

“Hi,” he echoes, but softer this time. “What’s going on?”

There’s a pause. Not because you don’t know what to say — but because saying it makes it real. Your heart is already in Italy with Kimi, counting down the days to his graduation, to seeing his name called, to the one moment he’s been dreaming of since he was a kid. And you can’t miss it.

“I need to call in that favor,” you say.

There’s a beat of silence. Then a low chuckle. “I knew this day would come.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “I’ve checked every flight, every connection, and nothing gets me there in time. He keeps pretending it doesn’t matter, but it does, Max. I have to be there.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Say less. The jet’s yours.”

Your throat tightens. “Really?”

“Really. I’ll have it waiting. You just tell me where and when. And YN?” His voice softens. “You showing up? That’s going to mean everything to him. You two… you’ve got the real thing. I’ve always known that.”

You blink fast, suddenly overwhelmed. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Good. Then we’re even,” he teases, a smile clear in his voice.

You shake your head, heart full. “I owe you.”

“Just send me a picture of his face when he sees you. That’s payment enough.”

And just like that, the plan’s in motion. Because sometimes, the people who love you don’t need explanations — they just show up. Or, in Max’s case, they send a jet.

—

You pace your room, nerves buzzing in your stomach like bees. Max has already confirmed the jet — it’s happening. You’re going. But there’s one more call you have to make before you start throwing clothes in a suitcase.

You scroll until you find the contact saved as Mamma Antonelli 💕 — because that’s how she insisted you save it after the first summer you stayed with them in Bologna. She picks up after two rings, and before you can even speak, her voice lights up.

“Tesoro! It’s been too long! Kimi told me you’ve been busy with work — are you eating? You always sound tired when you’re not eating.”

You laugh, heart swelling instantly. “Hi, Mamma. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Mm-hm. I don’t trust you. But I love you anyway,” she teases. You can already hear the clatter of dishes in the background — Sunday dinner prep, probably. “To what do I owe the honor?”

You sit on the edge of your bed, smile slipping into something more serious. “I… wanted to tell you something. Actually, I wanted to ask something.”

“Oh no. Are you eloping?”

You snort. “What? No!”

“Okay, okay, just checking. Then what is it?”

You take a breath. “I’m coming to Kimi’s graduation. Max is sending the jet. I haven’t told Kimi — I want to surprise him.”

There’s a pause, and then— “Oh, mio Dio. You’re going to make me cry.”

You smile, a little watery. “I couldn’t miss it. He’s pretending he doesn’t care if I’m there or not, but I know it matters to him. And I just… I need to be there. For him.”

You hear rustling in the background, her calling out something in rapid-fire Italian. Then Kimi’s dad gets on the phone, his voice warm and familiar.

“She told me. You’re coming.”

“I am,” you say, smiling into the phone. “But don’t tell Kimi. Please.”

“I would never,” he promises. “He’s been sulking around like a lost puppy. This will knock the wind out of him — in a good way.”

“He’s going to freak out,” you whisper, grinning now.

“He’s going to cry,” his mom adds in the background.

You laugh. “You really think so?”

“We know so,” they say in unison.

“Okay, then,” you breathe. “Let’s pull this off.”

“We’ll be waiting at the airport,” Mamma says. “And then we’ll get you hidden before he even arrives. We’ll make it perfect.”

You hang up a few minutes later, cheeks aching from smiling so hard. Your chest is lighter now — filled with excitement instead of guilt. This is happening. You’re going to be there. And Kimi? He has no idea what’s coming.

—

The jet is sleek and quiet, and somehow still feels completely surreal. You’re strapped into the soft leather seat with your hoodie pulled tight over your head, window shade half-closed as the engines hum beneath you. You can’t stop checking your phone — triple-confirming the flight path, re-reading texts from Max, and replaying the plan in your head like you’re about to perform a heist. And just as the jet begins to taxi down the runway…

Kimi 💙 is calling…

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“No, no, no, not now,” you mutter, scrambling to answer before the noise gives anything away. You slide down in your seat, like somehow that will make you less suspicious.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady and definitely not like you’re ON A PRIVATE JET.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “What are you doing?”

You blink at the window, watching the airport disappear into motion. “Um. Just… heading somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” he repeats, a soft laugh in his voice. “That’s vague.”

You gulp. “Work stuff. Last-minute thing. Super boring.”

You can hear the smirk. “That why you sound all nervous?”

“I’m not nervous,” you say quickly. Too quickly. “Just tired. Early morning.”

“It’s like… 3PM where you are.”

Shit.

“Time is fake,” you blurt. “It’s a construct.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Kimi laughs, low and warm, and somehow that makes everything worse. “You okay?”

“Totally. Totally fine. Just lots going on. Meetings. Presentations. Jet lag.”

You wince. Jet. Wrong word. Terrible word.

But Kimi, bless his oblivious heart, doesn’t react. “Well, I just wanted to hear your voice. I know things have been hectic.”

Your chest aches. “I’m really proud of you,” you say, suddenly emotional. “I know graduation is coming up and you’re probably pretending it’s not a big deal, but it is. You’re amazing, Kimi.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I wish you could be there.”

“I know,��� you whisper, holding your breath so you don’t ruin everything. “Me too.”

Another silence. Then. “Okay. I’ll let you go. Call me later, okay?”

“Promise,” you say, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” he says, before the line goes dead.

You exhale, head dropping back against the seat. Somehow, you didn’t blow the surprise. Barely. And now, you’re flying toward the one person in the world who has no idea you’re about to show up and change everything.

—

The jet touches down with barely a bump, sunlight flooding through the window as the plane slows on the runway. Your heart is pounding, fingers drumming nervously against your thighs. You can’t believe you’re actually here. In Italy. For him. As the cabin door opens and the warm air hits your face, you quickly pull out your phone. There’s only one person you need to call first. Max Verstappen.

He picks up on the second ring.

“You landed?”

“Just now,” you breathe, already smiling. “Max… thank you. I know you always joked about sending the jet, but—”

“I wasn’t joking,” he interrupts casually. “I’d do it again. And again. You two are disgusting and adorable and give the rest of us hope.”

You laugh, a little choked up. “Seriously. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Like I said…all I need is proof of his reaction. I want to see the exact moment his brain breaks in half.”

You grin. “Done.”

“Good. Go get your boy.”

You hang up just as you spot them — Kimi’s parents, waiting just outside the private terminal with barely contained excitement. His mom is the first to see you.

“TESORO!” she yells, rushing toward you with open arms.

You barely have time to drop your bag before she’s hugging you so tightly your feet actually lift off the ground. “You’re here! You’re really here! Oh, mio Dio, he’s going to collapse.”

“I missed you too,” you laugh into her shoulder, overwhelmed in the best way.

Kimi’s dad pulls you into a hug next, his hand warm on your back. “He’s going to lose his mind,” he says with a proud grin. “He’s been pretending he doesn’t care, but he’s been moping around like a ghost.”

“And now,” his mom adds, wiping tears from her eyes, “you’re going to walk in and ruin him. Perfectly.”

“Thank you both,” you say, heart full. “For keeping the secret. For being part of this.”

“We’d do anything for you,” his mom says, cupping your face. “You’re family.”

And as they lead you to the car, laughing and chattering about the plan, your heart feels light again.

—

You’re crouched behind the kitchen counter, holding back a laugh as Mamma Antonelli calls out, “Maggie! Tesoro, come here for a minute!”

Tiny footsteps echo down the hallway, quick and full of purpose.

“What?” Maggie’s voice is high pitched and dramatic in the way only ten year olds can manage. “I’m making Kimi a card! And I used the fancy markers!”

“Just come, piccola,” Mamma says, smiling wide as she stirs a pot on the stove. “I have something to show you.”

Maggie stomps into the kitchen, all pink socks and hair in a pink headband, holding a glittery construction paper card in one hand and a scowl on her face. “This better be good.”

You slowly peek out from behind the counter.

“Surprise,” you say softly.

Maggie stops immediately.

Her whole face drops—eyes going wide like saucers, mouth falling open as she stares at you. For a second, she doesn’t say a word.

Then—“YN?!”

You barely have time to nod before she shrieks and runs at you, throwing her tiny arms around your waist with all the force her little body can manage. You stumble back a step, laughing through the sudden sting in your eyes.

“You’re really here?” she asks, voice muffled against your hoodie. “For real real? Not just on my iPad?”

“For real real,” you promise, hugging her tightly. “Just for Kimi. But I had to see you first.”

She pulls back, cheeks flushed with excitement. “He’s gonna cry. I just know it. He’s been all moody and weird and saying stuff like ‘it’s fine’ even though it’s clearly not fine.”

You giggle, wiping your eyes. “That sounds like him.”

“I’m gonna help!” she declares. “With the surprise! I can distract him or hide you or pretend there’s a present and then BOOM—it’s you!”

You glance at Mamma Antonelli, who’s trying not to cry into her wooden spoon.

“I think we just found the mastermind,” you say.

Maggie beams. “I’m so good at secrets. Except for that one time I told Papa about the broken vase, but that was different.”

You ruffle her hair. “We’ll be careful this time.”

She nods like she’s just been given a secret mission. “He’s gonna be so happy. You’re his favorite person.”

Your chest aches with love. “He’s mine too.”

And as Maggie skips off to start planning “Operation Surprise Kimi,” you take a deep breath and smile—because in this house, with this family, you’ve never felt more at home.

—

The sun is warm and golden, spilling over the ancient stone buildings that line the courtyard. There’s laughter in the air, shouts of congratulations in Italian, the occasional champagne cork popping in the distance. Red laurel crowns sit proudly on graduates’ heads, marking the end of years of hard work. And Kimi?

Kimi Antonelli is right in the middle of it all, standing in his white linen shirt, the crown just slightly crooked on his head, cheeks flushed from the sun — and maybe from emotion he’s not letting himself show. He’s smiling for photos, thanking professors, dodging confetti and hugs and the occasional overzealous cousin, but something is clearly missing. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And you see it. From where you’re hidden behind a group of olive trees with Maggie and his mother, your heart aches for him. You should’ve been standing beside him. But not for long.

“Kimi’s still over there,” Mamma Antonelli whispers, lifting her phone to start filming. “Max and George said to absolutely not miss the moment. Max said he’s taking bets on whether Kimi cries or faints.”

“I think both,” Maggie whispers gleefully. “Or maybe he’ll scream like a goat.”

You’re trembling a little, heart hammering as Mamma gives you the softest little nudge. “Vai. Go.”

You nod, swallow hard, and step out from behind the trees. Kimi is turned slightly away, laughing at something his best friend just said. His crown has slipped further down his forehead. His hand is gripping the side of his phone like he wants to text someone — probably you. And then, he hears it.

“Nice crown, graduate.”

He freezes. His body stiffens. His head snaps up. Slowly, like he doesn’t quite believe it, he turns around.

And there you are. Standing a few feet away in the same sundress you wore the summer you first visited Bologna. Hair curling from the humidity, eyes shining, heart in your throat. You’re smiling — already crying — but smiling. For a full five seconds, Kimi doesn’t move. Then he drops everything — the diploma folder, the champagne glass someone handed him, even his crown slips a little more off his head — and he runs.

His arms are around you in seconds, lifting you clean off the ground like he can’t believe you’re real. You’re laughing and crying into his shoulder, fingers buried in the back of his hair.

“You’re here,” he says, over and over again. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Surprise.”

Kimi pulls back just enough to look at you, tears now clearly in his eyes. “How? How are you here?”

You grin. “Max sent the jet.”

He blinks. “Max?!”

“And your mom helped. And your sister. And George’s only request was that you cry. So, you know. No pressure.”

He laughs through the tears, breath hitching as he leans in and kisses you like he’s starving for it — like months of distance and missed calls and sleepless nights dissolve in that one moment.

Behind you, you hear Maggie yell, “HE’S CRYING!” followed by the sound of Mamma Antonelli’s voice narrating in shaky, emotional Italian for the video.

“Look! Guardalo! Max, George — sta piangendo come un bambino innamorato!”

You break the kiss, burying your face in Kimi’s neck as he holds you tighter than ever.

“I didn’t want to miss this,” you whisper. “I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t,” he breathes. “You’re here. That’s all I need.”

And as red petals and confetti rain down from the sky, as friends cheer and his family watches with misty eyes and proud smiles, Kimi kisses you again — this time slower, softer, like a thank-you, a promise, a homecoming all in one. You showed up. You always would. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly right.

���

The sun is low by the time you arrive at the Antonellis’ countryside home, warm golden light spilling across the terracotta tiles and olive trees. Kimi’s laurel crown sits on the dashboard of the car like a trophy, slightly bent but still proud. He holds your hand the entire drive — knuckles white, like if he lets go, you might disappear again. You don’t blame him. You still can’t believe you’re here either.

As you step out of the car, you’re immediately hit with the familiar scent of garlic, tomato, and fresh basil — the kind of smell that makes your heart ache with nostalgia. Mamma Antonelli is already out on the porch in an apron, yelling something toward the kitchen window.

“You brought her home and you graduated? Finally, we can breathe again!” she announces dramatically, wiping her hands on her apron before pulling you in for another warm, crushing hug. “You’re sitting next to me. I don’t care what Kimi says.”

“She likes you more than me,” Kimi mutters beside you, grinning. “Confirmed.”

“I’ve always liked her more than you,” she shoots back, ruffling his hair before disappearing inside.

Dinner is a beautiful kind of chaos. Plates piled with pasta al forno and roasted vegetables, bottles of red wine passed around the table, someone shouting over someone else every few minutes. Kimi’s cousins are arguing about sports, his uncle is showing your graduation surprise video to anyone who will watch, and Maggie is seated at your side, proudly telling everyone how she was “basically the mastermind.”

Kimi watches you through all of it — not in the way people usually mean when they say that, but really watches. Like he can’t believe you’re real. Every time you laugh or lean in to wipe tomato sauce from Maggie’s cheek or clink glasses with his dad, he looks at you like he’s still catching his breath. At one point, as the noise dies down just slightly, he leans over and kisses your temple.

“You fit so perfectly here,” he murmurs. “You always have.”

You smile against your wine glass. “Maybe it’s because I love all of you more than you love each other.”

Mamma overhears. “Grazie, finally someone tells the truth!”

Later, as dessert is brought out — a homemade tiramisu that’s already half gone by the time it reaches your side of the table — Kimi takes your hand under the table and squeezes it. You look over to find his eyes a little glassy again, his voice low and full of that kind of sincerity that only happens when the world slows down for just a second.

“I meant it earlier,” he says. “You being here… it made everything feel real. I didn’t care about the ceremony or the diploma. I just wanted you.”

You squeeze his hand right back, heart full. “And now you have me.”

He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your cheek, and murmurs. “Forever, if I get my way.”

—

The house is finally quiet. The last of the dishes have been cleared, Maggie’s tucked into bed, and Kimi’s parents are somewhere inside. The warm night air spills in through the open window, carrying the scent of jasmine and summer. You’re curled up on the little balcony just off his childhood bedroom, one of his old hoodies draped over your shoulders, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at the stars.

He joins you a moment later — barefoot, hair a little messy, still glowing from the day. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits down beside you, thigh brushing yours, hand finding your knee like it belongs there. Which it does.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

“You sure you’re real?” he asks, turning toward you. “Because you keep disappearing on me.”

You smile, tipping your head to rest on his shoulder. “I’m real. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for months. You sit in silence for a moment, watching the lights flicker in the distance. Then he speaks again, voice low and honest in a way that only ever happens when the world finally goes quiet.

“I really thought you wouldn’t come.”

Your heart squeezes. “Kimi…”

“No, I know it’s not your fault,” he adds quickly. “I just— I told myself I didn’t care. Told everyone it was fine. But it wasn’t. I wanted you there. Needed you there. And then you were.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. “I wanted to be there the second I found out the date. I would’ve moved mountains. Or at least begged Max to move them for me.”

He laughs — soft and tired, but real. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing you. I think time stopped for a second.”

You turn your head and meet his gaze, moonlight catching the gold in his eyes. “It stopped for me too.”

Kimi leans in and kisses you gently, slowly — no rush, no heat, just something warm and full of meaning. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you close until you’re practically in his lap, curled against him like the final missing piece has clicked into place.

“I don’t care how busy things get,” he whispers. “How far the races are or how many airports we have to go through. I just want you to keep showing up like that.”

“I will,” you promise. “Whenever it matters. Always.”

He rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo, voice full and sure.

And there, on that quiet balcony with the stars overhead and the world asleep around you, Kimi holds you a little tighter — like he finally believes this isn’t just a dream.

—

The morning comes slow and golden. A breeze slips through the open window, carrying the scent the garden below. The room is still — warm and hazy, touched by early sunlight. Somewhere down the hall, you can faintly hear the clink of mugs and the low hum of his mom talking to Maggie. But here, wrapped in Kimi’s arms, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady and grounding. One of his hands is tangled lazily in your hair, the other curled around your hip like he never quite let go during the night. He’s warm, impossibly so, like the sun lives beneath his skin. You shift a little and feel him stir.

“Mmm,” he hums, voice still raspy from sleep. “Still here?”

You smile without opening your eyes. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He kisses the top of your head, slow and sleepy. “Good. Would’ve chased you if you did.”

“Would’ve made you work for it.”

“I’d work forever if it meant waking up like this.”

You finally lift your head and look at him. His curls are messy, one cheek slightly smushed against the pillow, but he’s still devastatingly handsome in that quiet, undone way. His eyes are soft, heavy-lidded, full of something deeper than just sleep — something closer to awe.

“You’re staring,” you murmur.

“You’re here,” he says back, like it’s still the most unbelievable thing in the world.

He brushes your hair back gently, fingers ghosting along your jaw like he needs to memorize it again. “Last night felt like a dream. The dinner. The surprise. You. This.”

“This is real,” you whisper.

“I know. That’s the best part.”

You snuggle closer, nose tucked beneath his jaw. “Your mom’s making coffee.”

“She’ll wait.”

“I think Maggie’s outside our door.”

“She’ll survive.”

You laugh into his chest, and he pulls you even tighter. “Let’s stay like this a little longer,” he says. “Just you and me. No rushing. No flights. No leaving.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Just us.”

And you stay there — tangled in sheets and sun and each other — hearts steady, breaths slow, the morning stretching out like it was made just for the two of you.

—

yourusername

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and 2,572,003 others.

yourusername : my boy graduated and i got to be with him thanks to our fairy godmother @/maxverstappen1. my heart is so full <3

tagged : kimi.antonelli

— view 189,017 other comments.

georgerussell63 : i cried. a lot. in tears just thinking about it. my children are so grown 🥹

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : more than the dog ads?

liked by georgerussell63

↳ georgerussell63 : more than the damn dogs.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ carmenmmundt : he has been showing the video to literal strangers and saying how much of a proud dad he is.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : oh georgie.

liked by carmenmmundt and georgerussell63

maxverstappen1 : i'll buy you each a jet if it means i get to see that look on kimi's face again.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ yourusername : so good to us maxie

liked by maxverstappen1

↳ lando : wait i am like the only one who hasn't seen this video. someone send it. NOW.

↳ georgerussell63 : i sent it to you like two days ago, muppet. check your texts.

↳ lando : oh good now im in full blown tears.

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

alexandrasaintmleux : sooooo cute mon ange

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

charles_leclerc : totally not teary eyed. congratulations kimi!!

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

kimi.antonelli : my whole world. i love you now and forever.

liked by yourusername and maxverstappen1

↳ maxverstappen1 : god i try so hard to be disgusted by you two but i just can't. what is wrong with me?

liked by yourusername and kimi.antonelli

↳ lando : motherly instincts

liked by yourusername, kimi.antonelli and maxverstappen1

—

[anonf1writer]

Lando gives you his 4 tally mark necklace so everyone knows you're his 😍

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written. 3,1k words. warning: suggestive language. +18. note: this took me almost two months to get done. I'm so, so sorry! I hope you're still around to read it, and I hope I didn't disappoint. Thanks for the request, it means a lot to me!

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The context of your relationship with Lando was easy to describe: you two had met through mutual friends less than a year ago, started casually hooking up right away, and had been officially dating for over six months now.

Giving the nature of Lando’s occupation, and the attention his every move got, things were still pretty private between you, meaning that the general public new nothing about your existence yet. Or of what was happening behind closed doors. Like the fact that you had met each other’s families, that you were comfortable around each other’s friends, and that at this point your visits to his apartment had been frequent enough for you to consider his place a little bit yours, too.

For the most part, when he was traveling and busy being a Formula 1 driver, you spent your time at your own place, doing your own thing. But on those weekends when he was back, or during those rare two or three days off in between races, you joined him in a blink of an eye. No invitation needed—not anymore. Both always on the same page when it came to making the most of it, as in everything, together.

On that particular Monday night, the one that set this storyline into motion, it wasn’t any different. You and Lando were at home, his home that was slowly becoming your home, and one of your closest friends was over for some wine and food. The two of you enjoying each other’s company in the living room, laughing and gossiping on the couch, while Lando distracted himself and livestreamed with his own friends behind closed doors. Nothing big, nothing new.

Sometimes, as you two blabbered and laughed, he would pop out of the room to get a snack, to go to the restroom, or just to check up on you. Just to say hello. To make a silly joke and move on. Never a big deal. Never anything that interrupted the conversation that was going on between you and your friend. Not even when the topic shifted to your new co-worker, a guy who had joined the company you worked at less than three weeks ago, and had quickly developed a not-so-subtle crush on you.

“What about that guy from work?” your friend asked, synced with the opening of Lando’s game room door. “Is he still texting you at random hours?”

Busy chewing the last remains of your pizza, you just grimaced and shook your head. Then watched Lando cross the living room and disappear into the kitchen.

“I think…” you said, then stopped to swallow the food, “I think he finally got the message.”

“Good...” Your friend nodded, and took a sip of her wine. “What was his name again?”

“Vincent.”

Mimicking her earlier movements, you leaned in and grabbed your half-finished glass from the coffee table. And then, as you were sitting back and bringing the wine to your lips, a tiny snort left your nose, and you shook your head. All to yourself.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing... He just followed me on insta the other day.”

“Shut up...”

“Mhm…”

You sipped more of your wine, watching your friend frown as you did so.

“How did he even find you?”

“I don’t know…” You shrugged. “But he did, and then he liked a bunch of my older pictures.”

“Noooo!”

“Yeah…”

“Oh my God! Can a guy ever read the room?”

A soft chuckle left your mouth.

“I didn’t follow him back tho, so again, I think he got the message.”

“He knows you’ve got a boyfriend, right?”

You shrugged again, then shuffled on the couch, pulling your legs up and making yourself comfortable.

“Everyone at the office knows, so maybe someone told him? I don’t know.”

“Wait, so you didn’t tell him?”

“I  didn’t even tell him my name, let alone the fact that I’m dating someone I can’t really talk about.”

Your friend rolled her eyes, and then sighed. “Look, I think it’s lovely how consistent you two are on keeping each other a secret, but just this once I think you should tell him you’re dating and therefore not available.”

At that, it was your time to roll your eyes. “Or... He could realize I’ve done nothing to suggest I’m interest and back off because I don’t want him.”

“Right,” she laughed. “You’re talking about a guy that’s been acting like a creep.”

“Exactly. So if he bothers me again, I’ll raise a complaint to HR for harassing.”

You changed the topic after that, and a few minutes later Lando stepped out of the kitchen, the salad he had ordered in hands. He paused to chat a bit with you two, then kissed your temple and made his way back to the game room.

Eventually, your friend said goodbye and left Lando’s apartment, and you took a moment to clean up the mess left behind. Lando was still busy in his own world, his loud laughter vibrating through the walls and making you laugh along from time to time.

It was on your way to the bedroom that you decided to stop by. Just to let him know.

You knocked on the door once, and then another two times—the code you had unintentionally created to avoid interrupting his livestream and getting caught on camera.

“Yeah?” he shouted, but you knew better than shout back at him. Instead, you cracked the door open slightly. Barely. Only enough for you to peek inside and glance at him.

Lando’s eyes were already waiting for you, his head turned to the side while he fully leaned back into his chair.

“Heyyy…” he breathed out, lips curling up into the cutest, softest smile while he stretched his arms up in the air.

“Hey...” you whispered back, lips curling up as well.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said quietly. “Just saying hi before I get to bed.”

Lando dropped his arms and placed his hands on his lap, then tilted his chin towards the computer.

“It’s muted,” he said. “No need to be quiet.”

You raised your eyebrows, not changing the volume of your voice as you answered, “That’s what you said last time.”

Lando’s smile got bigger, and his eyes wrinkled at the sides. Mischief and playfulness taking all over his expression at the mention of that chaotic memory—when a female voice laughed loudly in the background of an allegedly muted livestream and caused a very serious online meltdown.

“I checked twice,” Lando said, turning back to the camera and giving a thumbs up. “Right, chat? You can’t hear me right now, can ya?”

He leaned in, then, squeezing his eyes to the screen.

“See? They are all lecturing me. Lando, we can’t hear you. Mic’s off, Lando. Lando turn your mic on. Lan—”

“Okay, okay.” You rolled your eyes and pressed your temple against the frame, but a soft chuckle still left your chest at his silliness. “Got it, yeah.”

He leaned back and turned his head to you, smugness written all over him. “Told ya. I learn from my mistakes.”

He winked. And, once again, you raised your eyebrows.

“They can still see tho, can’t they? So don’t get cocky.”

“You’ve barely opened the door,” he laughed. “Not even I can see you, I doubt they’ll be able to.”

“Yeah? Just watch them read your lips or start analysing who you’re talking to so late at night.”

“C’mon…” he laughed again. Head tilting back as he faced the ceiling. “Don’t be si—”

“Ooookay…” you snorted and stepped back from the door, a little too tired to get into one of his playful arguments. “I’ll save you from finishing that sentence.”

“What? C’mon… I’m just teasing.”

“I know. You’re having fun while I’m worried trying to protect your wishes. Then tomorrow you’ll be snapping at me because someone found out you’re not alone and I’ll have to watch you overthink while trying to find ways to prove I don’t exist.”

The world paused around you.

Time paused inside the room.

You watched the moment his face fell. How his expression changed along with the drop of his shoulders. As if some unknown truth had been thrown at him.

And just like that, regret dawned on you, a tight knot twisting low in your gut as you tried to make sense of your words. Of your abrupt change of mood.

You looked down to your feet and sighed, your voice coming out like a whisper when you spoke again. “Sorry… I don’t know why I said that.”

Lando nodded.

You noticed his movements, the way he turned back to his computer and leaned forward to reach his keyboard. How he typed, then clicked a few things, and then how everything went off. Heavy silence easily filling the room.

“C’mere,” he said, once again leaning back into his chair, then fully turning it towards you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and Lando tilted his head slightly to the side. “Please?” He stretched his arm to you. “I’m not streaming anymore, I promise.”

You checked the screen, just to be sure, then dropped your arms to your sides and sighed. Embarrassment taking over your chest—and flushing across your neck and cheeks—as you walked towards him.

Lando didn’t wait for you to stand in front of him before reaching out for your waist, hands grabbing your sides and pulling you down to his lap with the easiness of someone who had pulled that move hundreds of times before.

You gasped, even squealed a little, a smile curving your mouth as you adjusted yourself to sit on his thighs. Body to the side and legs hanging in the air. Arms circling around his neck. Eyes settling inside his gaze.

Silent.

Comfortable.

Easy.

“Sorry,” you said. Again. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“I know,” Lando smiled, placing your hair behind your ear, then cradling your cheek. “I never tried to prove you don’t exist. You know that, right?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“Is it how I make you feel, tho? Like I’m trying to hide you or something?”

“No... C’mon... I understand why you’re so... Protective. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Ok…” He nodded, arms settling around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. “Just making sure.”

“Sorry for making you end the stream.”

Lando smiled. “Thank you for making me end the stream.”

A smile grew on your face, too.

There was a pause, in which he held your stare in silence as he moved one hand to the back of your neck.

“C’mere,” he said, then pulled you in, his lips brushing over yours once, then twice. Slowly. Softly. As if it was the first time he was getting a taste of them. As if he wasn’t really sure he was allowed to do that.

Your chest fluttered, and you leaned into him. Melted into him. Eyes falling shut and hands moving to curl tightly around his jumper. To hold onto its neckline like you were afraid he would suddenly stop and leave. Like he could vanish.

A low, contented hum escaped him, almost like he didn’t mean it. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he was melting into you, too. Hand pressing on the nape of your neck and arm anchoring around your waist, guiding the pace while he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

You exhaled through your nose and followed his lead. Stomach flipping and thoughts blurring. Getting lost into the tenderness and casually of it. Into how personal, intimate, and affectionate it felt. How soft, how steady, how electric it was. The way he moved, the way he sounded, the way he tasted. How he treated you with respect and carefulness, like you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world, and yet made you feel breathless and powerless, like you could die if you didn’t get more of it. Of him. Or this.

And then, Lando pulled away. Panting. Hand still holding the back of your head and lips still brushing yours when he asked, “Who’s Victor?”

Your lips searched for him, unwillingly. Automatically. Your body craving for more before his words clicked inside your mind.

He didn’t stop you, kissing you back and allowing your mouths to ghost over each other as you spoke between kisses. Never quite gone.

“Victor?” you asked.

“Mhmm…” His nose bumped against yours, and he slipped his hand between your hair, making sure you wouldn’t lose the pace.

“I don’t… Hmm… I don’t know… Shit… Who’s Victor?”

“I don’t know…” he repeated. “Someone that’s been hitting on my girlfriend… Or so I’ve heard…”

You blinked your eyes open and flinched back. Just an inch. As far as he allowed you to. Only enough to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Lando shrugged, and you licked your lips. Trying to gather your thoughts. Trying to make sense of what the heck was going on.

“You mean Vincent?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled you back in, his lips barely touching yours before he was tilting your head back and moving them down your jaw.

“Potato, patahto,” he murmured, his warm breath hitting your neck while he kept smothering your skin. Your throat. “Still hitting on my girlfriend.”

A smirk grew on your lips, and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips kissing your sensitive spots. Feeling his tongue getting its own taste, his teeth grazing right behind.

“Didn’t know you were listening to us...”

“Was I supposed not to?”

He sucked onto your sweet spot, and you gasped. Thighs clenching and fingers twisting even tighter around his jumper.

“Fuck…” you breathed out.

“I know…” Lando murmured, brushing the tip of his nose up and down the same spot. “I wonder how many until I leave a mark…”

“You never leave any…”

“Maybe I should start…”

He kissed you again, softly, moving his mouth and making sure no inch would go unattended.

Heat built low in your belly, slow and relentless, and you shuffled on his lap—even though the position you were in didn’t allow you to feel much of him.

“Jealous?” you managed to ask.

Lando snorted and pulled away, guiding your head so you would look at him.

“Just annoyed… Pissed, actually… Why is some random guy texting you and going through your photos? Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You smiled, hands loosening up around his clothing and moving up through the back of his neck. Fingers tangling with his curls as you said, “Someone who stopped texting after I left him on read, and who never got a follow back from me…”

“Hm…” He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut while you ran your nails up and down his scalp. “Can’t say I’m not happy to hear that.”

You chuckled. “Did you think I’d react differently?”

“No…” he said, eyes meeting yours again. “But as confident in our relationship as I am, can’t ever get too comfortable, can I?”

You tilted your head, not really knowing what to say at that.

Thankfully, Lando didn’t give you too much time to think about it before he added, “Don’t want him to think you’re single, tho.”

“We don’t know if he thinks that.”

“Then I want to make sure he knows you’re taken.”

You smiled. “I’m taken, huh?”

Lando rolled his eyes, hands sliding down your spine while he stretched his back and got taller underneath you.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice an octave lower and fingers reaching to the hem of your sweater. “Just like I’m yours. Yeah?”

You nodded, curling your body to place your forehead against his. Feeling his bare touch pressing on your lower back, warm and needy.

“Yeah... You know I am… Yours.”

“I know… I want him to know, tho. Not just him, everyone.”

“Lan…” you sighed. “If this is because of what I said, you don’t have to—”

“Not saying this because of what happened,” he said. “I’m saying it because I love you and because you’re beautiful and I don’t want stupid wankers hitting on you when I’m not around.”

“Well… That’s not really fair, is it? I can’t stop girls from hitting on you while you’re not around.”

“Babe, not one single girl has flirted or—”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly enough that you had to bring one hand to cover your mouth.

Lando smiled. And you noticed how something softened inside him. How he dropped his shoulders. How his touch went from greedy to affectionate. Still pulling you closer, still holding you in place, but with a different intention behind it.

 “I mean it, tho,” he said. “I don’t want to keep hiding it anymore. I heard when you said I’m someone you can’t really talk about, and I don’t want you to feel that. I want you to say ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ and throw my name into a conversation if you feel like it. Just… Y’know… Want it to be natural.”

You pressed your lips together and sighed, pushing the playfulness aside to understand the seriousness of what he was suggesting with that.

“Okay… But just so you know, this feels natural to me. I don’t have to say ‘my boyfriend Lando Norris’ for me to talk about you. People who know me know I’m not single, the only reason why I haven’t told Vincent it’s because I haven’t really sat to chat with him. He saw me twice and decided it would be a good idea to get my number without even asking me about it.”

“Fucking idiot.” 

“Right?”

“Can’t really blame him, though… Kinda hard to look at you and not to fall in love.”

“Oh my God…” You rolled your eyes, but also smiled, shoving his shoulder playfully before hugging his neck. “Shut up.”

He did as you told, busying himself by kissing you instead of talking again.

From then on, the kissing melted into something more. The chair becoming uncomfortable to hold so much want and so much need from both of you, and your touches and steps guiding you blindly to his bedroom. To your bedroom. To your bed. Clothes getting lost along the way.

“I love you,” he said, over and over again.

Stealing your breath away.

Making you forget your name.

How you got there in the first place.

Until you were shaking and falling on top of him, his hips digging and pushing until he got the last bit of pleasure out of you. Of him. Of both.

Erratic. Intense. Everything.

The next morning, Lando left earlier than you. You didn’t even hear him, didn’t even feel him. Tangled and sprawled in the sheets. Blissfully happy. Satisfied.

You saw it when your alarm went off, though. His tally mark necklace, his number four shining in the sunlight. Right on top of his pillow. And a post it right in between the two.

For you. So everyone knows you’re mine ;) Love you. LN.

And that’s how it happened.

That’s how you ended up clasping his necklace around your neck.

And that’s how now, every time you think of him, you bring your hand to your chest and hold onto him. How you know he’s always there, like a part of you. Loving you. Whether everyone knows it...

Or not.

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[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

You know what we never see, neglected reader who is damn near bruce's age. Technically if you think about it you can really have kids at any age, so why people only make him pump it and dump it only when is in his 30s and 40s is crazy to me. If Bruce has I kid at 18 and he is in his late 40s , reader could be in their 30s and be the oldest of the batkids. Especially if reader has gone their whole life never knowing bruce until know or known them in the last couple of years.

Reader is a grown ass adult, whom bruce and the family have no real authority over considering their age. The audacity of batfamily as well, y'all are really out here bullying a grown adult like?????? Honesty if they wanted to they could just leave, like for real. Also technically speaking, if reader is near bruce's age, then most of the boys neglected reader is paired with romantically would be considered significantly younger, and I don't think reader would really date youger than themselves.

But you know who they could date, the league. Reader might be slightly younger but it wouldn't be considered an inappropriate age gap like we be seeing here on this damn app. Anyone only the Justice League is free game for her. God could you imagine what Bruce feel if he ever caught one of his own colleagues was shaking up with his oldest kid, especially if it was somone like Wonder Woman or Superman, the two people he is closest to.

I LOVE THIS IDEA OVERWORKED ADULT!READER

Just thinking about a reader who is an overworked office worker at Wayne Enterprises, the same company that Bruce owns, without knowing that Bruce Wayne is their biological father. They go through years of their lives not really knowing their dad and not really caring, like Father's Day was just another Mother's Day to them, or they would give Father's Day presents to their uncles or grandpa. They never really cared to know their dad and never really cared to even see him. Their mom said he was just a feeling that she had when she was 18; it wasn't too important, and she can hardly remember. But then again, who forgets Bruce Wayne? At that time, he wasn't the infamous playboy, just a hurt rich kid with too much eyeliner. Bruce wasn't even aware of their existence until now.

Just think about it: you're going out on a daily walk in Gotham Park when all of a sudden you run into Dick and his cute little dog, Haley. You play around with the puppy for just a while before you go back on your walk. Dick is practically blushing because, wow, you're so good with animals and you're so kind and nice—not to mention you remind him of somebody, but he can't put his finger on it. The next thing you know, you run into Tim, who's having trouble with the vending machine. You teach the kid a small trick: hitting the vending machine at least three times on different sides, and boom, energy drinks fall out. You hand him the other one while walking away, and he thinks you're the coolest person to ever step foot on this Earth. You catch Damian sketching in the park and compliment him on his artistic skills. He never cared for silly compliments, but yours felt so real, so kind and genuine.

You meet Steph Batgirl; you both are ordering the same combo meal just for you to say, "Jinx, you owe me a soda!" Being playful, she gets you an extra Sprite. You accidentally drop your wallet, and Cass picks it up. She doesn't say anything, so it makes you think that she's mute or deaf, so you end up signing "thank you" to her. She's over the moon, ecstatic even. Duke is complaining about how his favorite coffee shop is out of matcha drinks. You end up buying matcha—a stupid trend—and you give him your drink. He's left flustered, struggling to say thank you.

At the bar, you're out with some coworkers drinking until you and your work crew are singing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Jason, who's at the same bar, catches you. He thinks your drunk expressions are pretty cute, and they all share the same experiences they had that day with each other. They figure out they met the same person, surprisingly similar to Bruce. They also list key traits like how you're tall, your long dark hair, your tired eyes, your slumped posture, and your amazing charm, which managed to make them become yanderes in under a minute. They share this information with Bruce, who's completely confused as to why all of his little birds would be obsessed with you.

He finally sees you in the office, snoozing over a pile of paperwork. He has paternal feelings towards you, wanting to wrap you in his thousand-dollar suit coat. He puts it over your shoulders and takes the workload off of you. The next thing you know, he's reading into your files, trying to learn everything and anything about you, just to know that you've been working here for three years. He learns that even though you do an exceptional job, your mother is the old flame he had during his first years as Batman. He takes a piece of your DNA—an energy drink you've been chugging down your throat—just to realize that you are his blood. But how can he just step into your life without you even knowing him? Any of the Birds stepping into your life without you regarding them— to you, they're just a bunch of strangers that you've had silly moments with; to them, you're family. I have a hunch that they knew you for years, at least more than the big sibling that somehow managed to run away.

[miss-vanta-likes-to-write]

○Chemical Burn●

○Chemical Pregnancy●

Master list has all warnings. 18+

38 weeks and 3 days ago...|

“Sweetie, keep your mask on love.” Your mother chides as she fixes your gas mask to your face again. “You've got so many little trinkets on this thing, it may as well be a fashion accessory!” The wagon rocked you both back and forth as your horses Fairy and Dune pulled you along the deserted road. The world is quiet except for the bird song that echoes in the early morning.

You grumble and tighten your grip on the reins, “It gets hot under all of these clothes, mom. Have a little mercy on me.”

“I know you hate it. But it is what it is.” She nudges you in the side, “Take us off to the side of the road. We can set up shop here for when the city opens up.”

The road that leads into the city isn't exactly empty. Lots of people traveling in the dry heat that shouldn't exist in England. Once upon a time, your mother explained how different the world was. It was not peaceful so to say but it wasn't always like this. Most of the ground is fallow, cities fallen and replaced with settlements, where humans roam there is only dust and highways. A horrendous war with irreversible consequences that left no one, no matter the economic status, safe.

The wagon gets pulled into the brush, just off the side of the main road. Your mother hops off her seat, pats Fairy on the side and adjusts her gas mask. The horse has a habit of trying to shake her mask free, and she neighs and grunts her displeasure. “I know Fairy, but it isn't safe to breathe the air out here and I can't have you and Dune eating the grass. It's not treated.”

You hop off the wagon seat and start setting up, “Why are we even out this way anyhow?” you hate leaving the Pink House and you hate having to be covered head to toe. Just like your horse Fairy, you hate wearing a gas mask.

The curtain to the wagon gets pulled back to expose the micro living area, a table pulled out and set up. You and your mother sell charms and spells, and faith. She's been a spiritualist since before you were born and during these times and days, she's always in high demand. Plenty of candles and strings, crystals, cents, oils and other little talismans. All of them lovingly crafted by you and everyone else that lives at the Pink House, and blessed by your mother and her sisters.

“We came out this way because your cousin got word that there's gonna be a baby boom and plenty of packs would want good luck charms and prayers.”

“No offense.” You huff as you drag out the stools and set them at the table, “This far out west people don't tend to like or care for religion. Dad said so himself.”

“He is an ex-catholic. His opinion doesn't count.” She laughs. The wind decides to give you all a nice cool breeze as the sun climbs higher to its zenith. Your envy of your mother is palpable, she isn't wearing layers upon layers of clothing. Her designation allows her to get away with thin dresses and a head covering. Her gas mask is one of the old school ones, a nozzle and two large glass covered eye holes. From a distance she doesn't look like much, but she is an alpha. Strong, quick reflexes from her years in the army, but when the world fell apart she took her pack and ran for the hills. Now she is a spiritualist, called to practice in the new world and ground herself with the Earth again.

You however, are covered in head to toe cloth. It covers your hair, and flows down your body, making you shapeless to others, and your hands and wrists are then covered with gloves. The color is boring and unassuming black, your pastel gas mask stands out brightly against it. It's breathable, but you hate it, the dress doesn't compare to what you wear at the Pink House. It wasn't your brightly colored shirts and wrap dresses and skirts, at the Pink House you could run through the fields barefoot. The tinkling of the bells sewn into the fabric of your veil and the way that gas masks were not needed, because fresh air was plentiful. At the Pink House, designation didn't matter and people like you could exist in peace.

Outside though? With the savages? And that's what your father calls them, savages still clinging to how things used to be, it wasn't safe. Betas are rare and omegas are a commodity. Fresh life is a privilege bought by the few and everyone else toils and slaves for a meager existence.

Your mother sets up the sign, ‘Pink House Prayers and Charms.’ it reads in a large fancy script. Under it in smaller print, ‘Herbal Care and Fresh Tonics.’

A large siren horn blares, long and obnoxiously loud, disturbing the peace, it's now 9am and the city is open. Paradise, from what you've heard used to be some large city metropolis. A cement wall as high as the sky built around it sits in the distance. It keeps out the undesired and keeps in the healthy. The horn scatters the birds and their songs, flocks of them springing up flying away. In your gut, as you watch the black birds flee the noise you become unsettled.

“Mom?” You watch the birds circle and caw and it competes with the sirens, “the birds.”

“It's fine, sweetie.” She brings out of the wagon an old bluetooth speaker and a cracked tablet. “The sirens mean for the day to start. People can leave the city but they gotta be back by final call.” She sets up the music and some old timey music starts to play. A song called ‘Shake it out’ by some machine lady.

You preferred your father's more upbeat music, but your mom's was nice too.

It's 9:45a on the dot when the first customers arrive. All morning you've watched people travel out to the work fields and factories. But now you are getting customers. Omegas with a gaggle of children, following after them. All of them wanted cute little knick knacks and hand made toys. Some of them want a card reading, others candles and oils and florida water. You're kept busy as you make the trades. The business doesn't run off of the currency of the settlements alone, it's accepted, but mostly your mother wants glass bottles and jars, and other things not available at the Pink House.

“Excuse me ma'am.” A young woman with tan skin and freckles, bright brown eyes approaches your table. She fiddles with her gas mask, eyes shifting around, her hand goes up to tug at her hoodie and tug it more over her head. “Uhm, I'm looking for a medicine to stop my nausea.” She has to be around the same age as you. Her voice is rough, probably from crying, she shifts and ends up hugging herself. “I'm sorry, but I only have a few glass milk bottles and a few cents.” She sounds on the verge of desperation.

Your mother eyes her and then leans around to glance at the rest of the customers who are waiting and chatting, or milling about gossiping. The children who came out, play tag and slowly but surely the side of the road is turning into a gathering. “Sweetie, can you man the table?”

“I can mom.”

“Got your own cards in case you get asked for a reading?” She stands up and motions for the woman to follow her into the wagon.

“Yeah mom,” you lean back and sigh, “I have my clover cards.”

“Don't sass me.” And then she disappears into the wagon with the nervous woman, the heavy curtain falling shut behind them both.

You're cheeky once she leaves, “Don't sass me.” The next customer comes up and asks for a few colored candles and a small vial of oil. The minutes crawl by with you running the stand.

“Next customer!” You call out and the sun gets blocked out by a shadow. The stretch in your neck is a bit uncomfortable when you crane it back to get a better look at the person. They are big, wide and imposing. Their presence blots out the chatter and merriment all around the wagon and table. His gas mask has a painted skull over it, and he is covered in head to toe black as well. Slung around his body is a gun, he wears a bulky vest that only has the numbers 141 stitched to it. His right hand holds the handle to a dog harness, and the dog wears a matching themed gas mask as well. He doesn't speak. You can't even see his eyes through the tint of his mask.

“Hello!” A second man seems to materialize out of thin air. He's bright and sunny, and the grin can be heard in his voice. “Ye gotta permit?” You can see most of his face and head, his mask only covers the bottom half of his face. Blue eyes as clear as the sky above you and a mohawk that's a bit grown out but shaved down neatly on the sides.

A quick glance back at the curtain and it's still closed up tight. The blue-eyed man taps the table, it's not impatient but it does come across threatening. He looks down at the trinkets and table set up and hums.

“Look lieutenant. Haven't seen things in a while. What is this?” He picks up a small vial of liquid and reads the placement card, “claims to help get yer cock up and keep it up. Something you don't need.” He laughs.

You square your shoulders and stand, “Please do not touch without planning to buy.”

“Permit.” Is the only thing the lieutenant says.

The permit is inside, where your mother is very likely doing something that could get you both killed. “Mom!” You call and the curtain opens a bit and she steps out, closing it back up behind her.

“Asking for a permit?” She doesn't cower at their size despite their towering and suppressing appearance. The permit gets produced, “It's up to date as needed from the capital.”

The cheery man takes the paper and looks it over, “Smart woman, classifying ya business as religious services. No tax needed.”

The dog on the harness growls loudly at your mother. Barking and trying to lunge at her, the loud sudden noises spook the horses. She doesn't move and instead raises her chin towards the main road, “You've checked my permit, you should get going.”

“Just close up shop at the final siren.” Mohawk hands back the permit. He moves to leave but the skull man doesn't budge, he is facing the wagon.

“There anybody in the wagon?” He speaks again.

“No.” Your mother tells him. “You're disrupting my business, move on please.”

The tension is thick between the three of them, the dog growing louder.

“Soap come on.” Skull gives in and turns to leave.

“Right behind ya!”

Once they are both back to their jeep and gone from the side of the road, life is breathed back into gathering. The curtain opens a moment later and the young woman pokes her head out. She's shivering.

“Are they gone?” Her voice is raw with tears.

Your mom doesn't console her, “Yeah, get back to where you need to be before they come back looking for you.”

You watch in pity as the woman thanks your mother and leaves. The woman hurries on back to the city.

“Alphas like that Sweetie.” Your mom murmurs, “You stay far away from them. I know their kind and they are not right in the head if they work for any city.”

“What ya mean mom?” You tilt your head at her.

“The last war ruined them. I'm just glad I deserted before then.” Is the only thing she says.

38 weeks and 3 days later...|

The screaming was unbearable in their townhouse. Simon couldn't stand hearing any of his mates in pain and the worst part is, he couldn't do anything about it. The acrid scent of fear and burnt sugar filled the house. Two betas rushed up and down the basement steps ferrying hot water, a luxury, to their laboring omega. It's been a risky pregnancy the entire time.

John stands by the door to the basement, he doesn't look concerned. Their alpha never is, he doesn't show fear and in turn Simon doesn't either. He trusts his judgment, always has and always will. Johnny paces back and forth trying to keep himself from going down the steps. The only one downstairs is Kyle, and it's only because he has the most medical training out of all of them, even if it was hastily done in the waning years before the end.

Panic rises in the air, and the screams stop altogether, but the beta midwife is still barking out orders. An uncharacteristic wail comes from Kyle, the words ‘Save her!’ is heard over the chaos. He is effectively kicked out of the basement.

“Is our lass gonna be okay?” Johnny whimpers, there's already tears in his eyes.

“No.” Kyle does not say anything else as he stares at the door.

Simon feels sick to his stomach. Their omega is dying and there isn't much they can do about it. It's been happening a lot this breeding cycle. Omegas dying in childbirth, pups coming too early and barely making it, the undertakers making money hand over fist. The new bonding program is supposed to work. It's supposed to be foolproof to build up the numbers of a healthy population. Plenty of different measures were taken to increase the beta and omega population. Medicines to force bonds in place, to make less than reluctant omegas and betas to bond with packs of alphas if they aren't willing. It's for the good of humanity and everyone has to do it.

The midwife comes up the stairs, she's holding a crying pup in her arms. It's wrapped tightly in the soft yellow blanket that John had bought. It matches the color scheme of soft greens and soft blues of the nursery on the fourth floor of the house, far away from any doors. The midwife looks sad, her smock covered in blood. “Captain Price, he's a healthy baby boy. Baby will more than likely be an alpha when they mature, and doesn't have the right parts to birth children. Looks male presenting through and through.”

John doesn't move an inch and just stares at the door to the basement. It's Johnny who moves to take the baby and coddles it quiet. There is sniffling but Simon can't tell who it's from, could be from Johnny or Kyle. The omega they worked hard to get and love died in childbirth. A cruel fate to have death and life at the same door.

“Would you like for me to call the undertaker?” The midwife asks.

“No. We take care of our own. Simon pay her and her assistants and see them out.” John gives the order and Simon moves to get it done.

Once the midwife and her assistants are paid and gone, Simon comes back and he can finally take off his balaclava. “What's the plan Captain?” He asks.

“We get down to the market, you and me, stock up on milk and glass bottles. After we get him settled” he nods over to Johnny, whose face is wet with tears, “We'll figure out who takes jobs and when. Maybe Kate will help us out. Her mate just had another pup.” John glances back to the door and mumbles something about cremation and having to deep clean the basement.

[rainrot4me]

hello!! can I request on if creeps would have any fears/phobias

✦ . jeff the killer

Irrelevance.

He’s terrified of being forgotten. For someone who made himself a legend through blood and rage, the idea that time could erase him gnaws at the edges of his ego.

“You think people are just gonna stop talking about me? That I’ll just… disappear?”

His nightmares are quiet ones: empty rooms, blank stares, no one looking when he screams.

✦ . ticci toby

Loss of control.

He lives in chaos, but the one thing he needs is control over his own mind. He’s scared of the day when even that slips. The ticking in his head never stops—and he’s scared of what happens when it drowns him out.

“I can’t tell if it’s real or no-not sometimes. But I know w-when I’m losing it.”

He’ll fight tooth and nail to stay grounded—even if it means hurting himself in the process.

✦ . eyeless jack

Attachment.

He’s been alone for so long that the idea of needing someone again terrifies him. He’s scared of being seen as human, of being vulnerable, of someone having the power to leave.

“It’s easier when I’m just a monster. Easier when they run.”

His fear isn’t about being feared—it’s about not being feared enough to keep them at a distance.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Becoming what he hates.

He’s lived under the weight of possession, mind control, fractured identity. What terrifies him most is not knowing where he ends and the other begins.

“If I don’t remember doing it, does it still count? Am I still to blame?”

The scariest thing for Tim isn’t dying. It’s losing himself again and becoming the one who ruins others.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Being watched.

Ironic, considering how often he’s behind the camera. But it’s being the subject—the thought of some force always watching, waiting, knowing.

“You think I wear the mask for fun?”

He masks up not just to hide his face—but to hide from the feeling that something’s still out there.

✦ . kate the chaser

Being manipulated.

She’s been burned before—used, gaslit, turned into something she didn’t recognize. Her greatest fear is being someone else’s puppet again.

“I followed orders once. Look where that got me.”

She’ll run headfirst into danger, but the idea of trusting someone and being wrong again? That cuts deeper than any weapon ever could.

✦ . ben drowned

Powerlessness.

Drowning wasn’t just how he died—it’s how he lives. He’s scared of being trapped again, stuck in some system or cycle where he can’t control the outcome.

“I glitched out of hell and I’m never going back.”

He keeps hacking, jumping bodies, changing code—because staying still would mean sinking again.

✦ . clockwork

Being underestimated.

After years of being dismissed, called crazy, locked away—her greatest fear is being seen as weak or pitied.

“Go ahead. Call me broken. I’ll show you what broken does.”

She wears her trauma like armor. But deep down, she’s afraid the cracks go too deep to fix.

✦ . laughing jack

Boredom.

Jack thrives on chaos, laughter, reaction. The idea of silence—of nothing—makes him anxious and mean.

“What’s the point of existing if no one’s laughing? No one’s screaming?”

His mania is a mask for his fear that without performance, he’s nothing but empty stuffing.

✦ . slenderman

Entropy.

He is order, manipulation, ritual. But the universe trends toward disorder—and he knows it.

“Even gods must decay.”

The thought that one day he’ll erode into myth, then nothing—that’s the only thing that rattles him.

꩜ .ᐟ

[twilightofthesandwiches]

…Actually, I think Deltarune Chapter 4 answered a very important question mark in my understanding of how Dark Worlds work.

So from the way Darkners in Chapters 1-3 talk about their past, it mostly seemed like Dark Worlds operate on what I labeled as ‘Neverending Story Logic’. Dark Worlds only come into existence when the Dark Fountains are opened, but they are created with histories and memories as if they always existed.

That seems consistent with how most Darkners operate and think. Since they always acknowledge the Dark Fountain created the world they live in, but they also remember a past that clearly stretches long before it was opened. But... there is one problem... the main wrinkle in this interpretation has always been what happens when the Dark Worlds interact with one another... before one of them was even created. Like Jevil’s knowledge of Queen

And Spamton’s connection to Tenna and Mike.

These mentions happen before the Cyber World and TV World Dark Fountains have opened. These people aren’t even supposed to exist yet, right? And if you say they did exist on some level of reality… that would create its own set of questions, considering how much the Dark Worlds we’ve seen have been affected by the minds of the Lightners who venture into them. How could Queen exist before Noelle and Berdly got into the library considering she’s very much a representation of Noelle’s mommy issues?

The explanation I went with until now is that Darkners can have memories based on interactions with other objects from outside their Dark Worlds and remember these objects as Darkners, but these memories are not as… defined. People in Card Castle remember that there was a Queen because of past contact between the Serial Number Q5U4EX7YY2E9N Laptop with objects from the Abandoned Classroom, but most of the details about her were undefined and hazy. Until Queen was actually created by Cyber World’s Dark Fountain, at which point her goofy and wonderful personality was retconned into the past and memories of everyone in Card Castle as well.

Obviously that theory wasn’t perfect either (Spamton’s beef with who we now know is Tenna seemed rather specific to be just a vague blank-space to-be-filled with the TV Darkner’s true personality later), but that’s the best way I could make sense of the way Dark Worlds worked at the time.

Now, Chapter 4 gave me the puzzle piece I’ve been missing, because every Dark World we’ve seen has been part of the Prophecy…

… there seems to be an element of predestination involved.

We see a very clear small example of this with the different Dark Sanctuaries. The Darkners that populate Susie’s Second Sanctuary…

First appear petrified in the First Sanctuary.

Petrified because they’re from a different Dark World and don’t ‘belong’ in the First Sanctuary… Even though the World they are ‘from’ doesn’t even exist yet. Because Susie’s creation of the Second Sanctuary was preordained by the Prophecy. Just like the creation of every other Dark World we've seen. So preordained that when the Darkners that would come to populate it were brought to life by the first Fountain, the metaphysical laws of the universe already knew they belonged in another, future Dark World and they ended up petrified.

A... sorta similar thing is happening with the memories of every Darkner who has interacted with a Darkner from a different World. When the Card Castle Dark World was created, Cyber World’s Dark Fountain has not yet been opened and Queen was still an inanimate laptop. But since Cyber World is destined to be created in the Prophecy, King and Jevil and anyone else who has interacted with Queen through Kris’ games already had their memories of Queen, exactly the way she would come to be created that night.

Queen was formed from the Computer Room’s Dark Fountain and the minds of Noelle and Berdly once they got stuck in there… but these events were so predestinated to happen that Card Castle’s Dark Fountain could just… create everyone’s memories of Queen before she was truly ‘real’.

Same thing with Tenna’s and Spamton’s whole thing. Tenna was just an inanimate TV when Cyber World’s Dark Fountain was still flowing, but Kris creating TV World was already preordained by fate. So Tenna’s part of Spamton’s backstory was written into everyone’s memories as if Tenna had always existed too.

It’s a pretty trippy thing to think about, but then so is pretty much everything about the Dark Worlds…

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x06, "spin"

wilson is so "hate yourself" by tv girl here.

some freaking out about james wilson below. that's why this one is so long.

i think the overall theme of this episode is pleasantly cut-and-dry. to quote wilson: "you'd be surprised what you can live with." this applies to house, stacy, the patient (jeff the famous cyclist), wilson, and cameron. for expediency's sake, i'll run through that laundry list as orderly as possible...

house and jeff must live with their respective drugs and conditions. jeff dopes with blood transfusions to give himself an edge, and chase and foreman attempt to draw a false equivalency between this and house's vicodin. but, like in cameron's view, this doesn't work (at first). house's disability/condition predates his vicodin addiction, whereas jeff's doping came after (later found to be untrue.) i'm glad cameron disputed this comparison because it gets drawn a lot. house is coping, engendering some sympathy and understanding, while jeff is trying to get ahead. house feels subnormal; jeff wants to supersede "normal" altogether.

but it turns out that jeff's condition was being conveniently treated and hidden by his blood transfusions. so, in an odd twist, the parallel between him and house does stick. their respective addictions allow them to perform their jobs; their "normals" are different than most, and their substances help rectify that - if we don't factor in the collateral damage substance abuse incurs, of course.

but god is there tragedy in the ways this comparison still doesn't quite fit. the patient's blood transfusions are essentially a cure-all, and he can hide the secret benefits from the public. his muscles work like they're supposed to. house even administers the drug to relieve the symptoms in jeff's right leg - the same leg that vicodin can't fix in house's case.

the line from foreman to jeff is telling in this regard: "i doubt there's anything wrong with you that you didn't do yourself." in jeff's case, this isn't true, but it makes the endemic house question reemerge - how much of house's life is his own fault?

meanwhile, stacy and house must live with the tension that exists between them, though house cannot abide by this. house sabotages stacy and mark throughout the episode and reads way too much into stacy's resulting behavior, looking for confirmation that one of house's emotional extremes exists therein: love or hate. as we know too well, this annoyingly psychoanalytic tendency of his carries over tenfold to cuddy, but it's still super prescient here.

over the course of the episode, they enter each other's personal space in 2 polar opposite moods: fury and guilt. both instances highlight their dysfunction; they both impede on the other's ability to perform their jobs.

by the episode's end, stacy asserts to house that, despite her loving him, she also hates him, and they'll just have to live with that if they want to work together, and if she wants to hold onto mark.

predictably, as the titular, unstable character, house violates the established theme and refuses to live with this new arrangement. he exploits the condition (that he, notably, has no choice but to live with) to gain access to stacy's psychiatric records, and we all know how this plays out lol.

in an episode about worship of the imperfect (more on that later), it's powerful that house is kneeling at the filing cabinet that contains stacy's records. kneeling at what he cannot contend with; kneeling and searching for truth; kneeling and corrupting his promise to live and let live.

i'll mention here re: worship that house is flagrantly characterized as god/jesus in an episode where jeff is worshipped by adoring fans. even the way house "heals" jeff through the injection mimics jesus healing those unable to walk. time and time again, i love the house = god (except not quite) parallels.

cameron must live with the burden of her moral compass. cameron is repeatedly ridiculed (no surprise smh) for being so unyielding toward jeff when he admits to taking drugs as a cyclist. it sounds naive of her, but i think she makes a decent argument about the difference between lies for self betterment and lies for overall betterment. maybe that makes me naive and/or a narc, too. oh well. her almost choice to rat out jeff to the press is an interesting decision point for her, and says a lot about her character, forever contrasted with wilson.

she says that kids worship jeff, and that they can't/shouldn't love someone who is a fraud, and implies that jeff doesn't deserve their adoration. again, this seems naive, until she reaffirms house's earlier diagnosis of her behavior: she has his dad's "insane moral compass that won't let you lie to anybody about anything."

to wilson's cheating history, she raises the fact that she fell in love with her husband's best friend while her husband was ill. upsetting revelation, but we'd all be lying if we said it wasn't at least a little understandable. wilson, assuming that cameron is about to relate to him and his disaster of a love life, seems relieved by this, until she drops the bombshell that she never acted on those feelings; when wilson says "you can't control your emotions," she says, "just your actions."

in this moment, cameron (at least to me), fully confirms that she is not to be written off as naive. instead, 2x06 confirms that she has been painfully aware of her own emotional strife, self-inflicted because of her convictions, and forever burdened by her self-control. this is how cameron lives. wilson is surprised by what she can live with.

and that brings me to the man of the hour himself - wilson. i wanted to write about cameron first to emphasize how insane he is in this episode. wilson must live with the consequences of his own actions...after the episode confirms (via cameron) that those actions are entirely preventable, and that wilson has predicated his moral code on a faulty perception of love in the first place.

despite being on her ass about compromising her medical license in order to rat jeff out, wilson admits that he won't expose her (FOR THE TIME BEING LOL). this conversation reveals just how big of a ball of contradictions he is. cameron brings up the idea of kids worshipping jeff, a word that jeff himself defined earlier as "to love unquestioningly and uncritically," and wilson immediately takes issue.

"if love is based on lies, does that mean it's not a real feeling?...have you ever cheated? well, i have. you want to punish him? good for you. but you can't do it without hurting the people who love him."

damn, wilson. what a very harsh, shallow, and selfish way to go about life. no wonder why cameron takes a shot at you and your failed marriages: "is that how you justified lying to your wives?" oh, wait, you weren't finished?

"i always told them."

wilson is so persona-heavy that he can't even keep up the weight during a conversation that he started. this reopens the issue over love in 2x05 and reaffirms wilson's answer - can love exist without truth? not really. to cameron, wilson confirms that he's cheated, and that either he's lying about what love is, or stating that he's never loved his wives because he's been truthful with all of them.

and this conversation, this revelation, unnerves wilson so much that he does, in fact, rat cameron out. stacy just happens to not believe him. this is crazy petty of wilson (and not wholly in character, imo), which speaks to how much this false idea of love that he forces upon himself hurts him. this is how wilson lives. strung up by his obsession to remain morally upstanding, and failing himself every time because he's weak-willed (in this respect).

he makes a final attempt at absolving himself to cameron (and the audience tbh) when she confesses that she fell in love with her husband's best friend. he looks legitimately relieved when she admits to the first half:

this prompts him to make an insane admission of his own: "everything was fine. i met someone who *clears throat* made me feel...funny. good. and i didn't want to let that feeling go."*

then, riding the wave of having found a potential infidelity confidant, wilson assures cameron that, "what happened to you...how can anyone go through that alone? you can't control your emotions."

aaaaand cue cameron's fantastic retort.

i think wilson is profoundly affected by this realization that NO, there is no justifying your cheating, even at the metaphorical altar of house md's current leading moral compass. when he says that "you'd be surprised what you can live with," he sounds excessively bitter. for good measure, 2x06 hands us these visual parallels: cameron content at home, reliving memories, versus wilson, restless at the hospital...

i LOVE when these 2 interact. it never ever bodes well.

now for a major question i have, plus part of my wilson comphet thesis:

who the hell was he talking about to cameron there? (THANK YOU, LOVELY MOOT, FOR HELPING ME FIX THIS) he's talking about the time he cheated on bonnie. if he has had 3 wives, seasons 1 and 2 would have seen him with the mythical julie, who he's about to lose anyways.

i'm not arguing at all that wilson is talking about house here...mostly because i can't textually swing it. but, if you'll walk with me, i can explain further why this exchange is so crazy.

wilson admits, in a roundabout way, to not loving his wives. as we know, and will come to know more, he finds needy people, "fixes" them, resents them, and moves on. he needs to feel needed; it's not sustainable.

cameron has just described falling in love with a best friend who did not exist in her and her deceased husband's domestic sphere. they fell in love at the hospital. their bond, rendezvous, etc. was spatially founded there, already a future workplace for cameron.

wilson is thrilled to learn that someone as morally upstanding as cameron has Something Wrong With Her Love Life. in an episode underscored by diagnosing everyone's own Normal, for a moment, he thinks he's find a normal that's compatible with his own...until it's not. cameron doesn't actually have the same issue (for one thing, she's a better person than he is lol).

currently, wilson cannot exist peacefully within his own domestic space because his relationship with julie (most likely) is so bad. he's taking refuge in the hospital.

wilson is bitter, frustrated, and a little disgusted by his own admission of "you'd be surprised what you can live with." cameron has confirmed to wilson that he's in the wrong. that he's wrong.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FUNNY. HOW WAS IT DIFFERENT.

WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GIVE UP THE FEELING.

WHY DO WE NEVER GET ANY FOLLOW UP ON THIS.

why is the chorus of the concluding song "none of us are free."

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Lady Luck is Smiling - Chapter Three

.☘︎ ݁˖ Misericors Fortuna Adiuvat- Fortuna favors the compassionate.

Summary: When the Fates leave Morpheus' call unanswered, he gains insight into another goddess that may be able to help regain his lost tools. Lady Luck, as you go by now as opposed to Fortuna nor Tyche, is the second youngest of the Four Ladies. Morpheus is determined to learn how and what makes you smile, for your smile will allow luck to be on his side, and with any of it, will he find his tools.

Warnings/Tags: Sometimes, you have to be cringe.

Word count: 3.6k

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

“I said the Sandman, and guess what? The Sandman,” Mad Hettie officially presents Morpheus as Johanna walks up to you and him. There is a certain “I-told-you-so” tone to her voice that you chuckle at. 

“It’s good to have you back, milord, milady,” Hettie smiles happily, one that you return before she hobbles away. 

“My gran used to tell me stories about you lot,” Johanna says once Hettie is out of earshot. 

“I have known your family for centuries.” Morpheus confirms the stories with a single sentence. 

“Then you know there’s not one of us that can be trusted.” A moment of tense silence passes between them and you feel like a fly on the wall. “What do you want with me then?”

“I believe you may know something about a possession of mine. A leather pouch filled with sand, a helm made from the bones of a dead god, or a ruby made from my essence.”

“What makes you think I have any of it?”

“Do you not?”

Johanna sighs. She has—or she did come in contact with a leather pouch of sand. Though she has no idea how Morpheus figured that out. 

“I bought a pouch of sand at an estate sale a while back. Didn’t even manage to get the drawstrings open.”

Morpheus breathes out a deep sigh. Blessed be Lady Luck for you do smile upon him. He turns his head slightly, looking at you but you are rummaging through your brown paper bag for your hamburger instead. 

“What’s so important about your sand?” Johanna’s question brings his attention back to her instead. 

Your eyes dart back and forth between them. You feel like you’re at the movies—the sexual tension between them. Umph, so palpable. 

You chew your dry hamburger with great interest as Morpheus seizes into Johanna’s personal space, but you know she won’t back down. She’s far too stubborn for that. They bicker a bit more before you decide this was too much tension for you. 

With Morpheus so occupied, you simply wander off. It’s been a while since you’ve stepped outside your casino. You take in the breath of fresh air as if you were a recently released convict. Though, the prison you escaped from would have been one of your own doing. 

Your eyes wander around the empty pavilion, your mind so occupied with other thoughts you almost miss it. On a lone bench, a raven perches amongst the drab and rain. 

Do ravens live in London? You thought they just exist in forests or something. An odd shimmer of magic radiates from it as it judges you from the distance. 

“Hello,” it speaks. “I’m looking for—awk!”

You snatched the bird in one hand, the other still loyal to a half eaten burger. There’s no way you can’t show this to Morpheus. It’s a talking bird!

He’s still tensely conversing with Johanna when you barge yourself back into their conversation. 

“What is that?” Morpheus asks, looking down at your hands. 

“Um,” you look down as well. Why would he ask about that? “It’s a hamburger? Come on, you were there when we ‘bought’ this!”

Morpheus gives you an impatient look. “No, that.”

“Oh!” You hold up the captured bird. “I found a fucking talking bird!”

“You, release me. Heathen, barbaric, unhand me this instant!” The raven caws, his sharp beak pecking at the meat of your thumb. “I am here to find Dream of the Endless and I will not be stopped!” 

“Oop,” you mutter, then hold the raven higher to meet Morpheus’ eyes. 

“Who are you? Tell me your name,” Morpheus frowns. 

“It’s, uh, Matthew… sir.” ‘Matthew’ answers, bobbing his head as he swallows down his nerves. 

Morpheus takes a step back, an annoyed look crossing over his features. You analyze the look. It’s almost as if he was hoping it to be a regular raven, that your random ramblings were just that—random. 

“Matthew,” he tests the name like it’s a displeasing flavor amongst his tongue. “I have made it clear to Lucienne that I do not require a raven at this time.”

Matthew caws awkwardly. “Yeaaaahhhh,” he drags out. “She told me you would say that.”

“If I need assistance I will ask for it, but at this time…”

Your eyes connect with Johanna’s as she makes a quiet escape. You give her a discrete nod and a smile before returning your attention back to Morpheus’ and Matthew’s bickering. 

“But, sir, you do need my help. She’s—”

“Do not interrupt me, as I was saying. If I need—”

“She’s getting away, she’s… gone.” Matthew squirms uncomfortably in your grasp and you loosen it so that he could stand in your flat palms instead. “See, this is why you need a raven.” He mutters under his breath. 

Morpheus turns around, finding Johanna gone like the wind. The pavilion turns empty once more. 

“Go back to the Dreaming, Matthew,” Morpheus commands, annoyance rolling off him. 

The raven flies off your hands and perches on a bench again. You give it a wave goodbye before you’re inclined to follow a moping Morpheus. His strides are long as you stuff the rest of your half-eaten burger into your mouth. The excess grease on your hands gets wiped on your pants. 

You’re not going to say that it’s his fault that he lost Johanna, but you sure will think it. Though, you did let her slip away undisrupted so maybe it was partly your fault. But only partly. 

The two of you stop at a nearby park. It’s small, only a winding path with some trickling fountains and a bunch of leafless oak trees. A small chill ran through the late night and just the slightest hint of dawn was starting to creep over the horizon. 

A ladybug crawls over the edge of the stone fountain and you extend a finger so it could climb onto your hand. Odd, considering that ladybugs typically came out in the warmer hours of the day. 

“Hullo, miladyyy…” the little insect squeaks quietly, barely audible. 

“Why did you decline Matthew’s help?” You ask suddenly. 

“I do not see how this pertains to anything.”

“He is your raven, they are your familiars. Are they not?” You push. 

“The last raven that tried to help me died,” he bluntly answers. 

His eyes peel away from the ripple of the water to yours and the sorrow you find swirling within them is heavy. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Your little ladybug friend flutters off your finger and lands on his shoulder, six legs dancing away the tweed of his cosmic jacket. 

You understand, though. It’s like a punishment inflicted by himself for himself. He feels responsible for his raven dying—not for him, but because of him. In this notion of thinking, he denies himself any help, and believes that denying help will also save Matthew from meeting the same fate. 

But how can he know that, if Matthew is an entirely different raven and therefore will face an entirely different set of circumstances and fates?

Perhaps you would think about it more if something didn’t catch your eye. It’s hard to make out by the way the water ripples in the fountain. You hold your breath as you dunk your head into the cold water. You can hear Morpheus protesting, but the sound is muffled. 

Thankfully, your fingers manage to wrap around the object before he yanks you out of the water by the collar of your shirt. Your hair is dripping wet and it’s seeping into your clothes, but you don’t care. 

“One day I hope to understand anything that occurs within that flowery brain of yours.” Morpheus’ scorn rolls off your back like water on a duck. 

You hold up the coin to him with a proud smile. “Lucky penny,” you say simply. “And very shiny.”

“It’s a shilling,” he corrects you instead. The chance of you finding a coin that’s no longer in circulation nor minted is not lost on him. You really do represent the epitome of luck.

“Rare?”

Morpheus sighs. “Supposedly.”

“Lucky shilling,” you chuckle. “Shy-neigh, shinyyy~” you sing as you wave the coin around his face. 

You peek back over the fountain with a small smile. You do love your little trinkets. “Hey, what are the chances I find another one?” You challenge the universe.

“Incalculable,” Morpheus replies. 

“Oh, hello,” you mutter to yourself as your hand dips into the cold fountain water again. The smell of wet metal coins fill your nose as your finger wraps around yet another rare coin. “Nice,” you giggle to yourself. 

“Tada, another shiny coin,” you boast, holding up the two shillings to Morpheus. 

You begin to sing again. It’s horribly off tune and the lyrics don’t quite make sense but that’s okay. You were always better at dancing than singing. 

‘Found me a coin in a fountain, soaking in the wet Smells like cupronickel and old regret Shimmered in the moonlight, might be just my luck Two makes a pair and a pattern of… of… ducks? Yes, DUUUUUUUUUUUCKS!!’

“Stop.” Morpheus places his hand over your lips when you try to hit a high note that could’ve made a banshee jealous. 

The look on Morpheus’ face is insurmountable as you lick the palm of his hand in retaliation. It’s the most emotion you’ve seen on him yet. You frown at him as he still doesn’t move his hand and you go to lick at him again. Thankfully for both of your sake’s, he removes his hand before you resort to biting. 

There’s a tense moment of silence only accompanied by the sound of crickets. It doesn’t last long as your eyes notice Morpheus’ new raven reappearing in the night sky. “Oh, he’s back.”

Matthew flaps, quite loudly if you might add, and lands on the edge of the fountain you and Morpheus are resting by. You pull the small fast food brown bag from the pocket of your jacket, not wanting to get the remaining chicken nuggets dry. 

Matthew is like a breath of fresh air after what occurred in the church. His voice soothing like a nostalgic memory of a summer spent with a childhood friend. Though, you may have also found his presence amusing, simply for the fact of how easily he vexes Morpheus without much effort. 

“I’m back,” Matthew announces, and if he didn’t have a beak you’re sure you would’ve seen a sly smile on his lips. 

“Yes, I see that,” Morpheus responds, his body radiating annoyance like a broken dam. 

“Yeah, you told me to go back to the Dreaming, which I did and then I came back so,” Matthew caws, his head twitching in the weird way that birds often do. “Here I am!”

“Go back to the Dreaming, Matthew,” Morpheus commands again.

“I can’t. The boss lady—”

“If you speak about Lucienne, she is not your master. I am, and I am commanding you to return to the Dreaming.” Morpheus’ words are starting to become clipped, his tone taking something deeper than mere annoyance. 

“But I can help, I’ve lived here my whole life and I know my way around—I smell chicken nuggets.” Matthew pauses, his head jerking around as his beady little eyes try to find the smell. 

“That’s me, here.” You open the paper bag, digging out the small cardboard box of nuggets that you “bought” for Morpheus earlier that night. 

“Ooo, thank you,” Matthew says, flipping the box open with his beak before eating a nugget whole. “Man, I miss thumbs… these are so dry.”

“Don’t complain, I got them for free,” you boast. 

“Anyway,” Matthew continues, taking another nugget. “So we got to find Johanna but we don’t know where she lives, right? She couldn’t have gotten far with just her legs.”

“I know where she lives,” you say with a shrug. 

Morpheus turns to you slowly, the smallest hint of bafflement on his brows. “You failed to bring this up.”

“You didn’t ask,” you retort back, a little sass in your tone. 

“We depart, now,” Morpheus demands, his hands reaching out for your temple again. You didn’t have time to protest, much like the last time Morpheus and you traveled by sand. 

You can feel his presence inside your mind, carding through your knowledge like a file cabinet until he finds what he is looking for. When you open your eyes this time, however, you find yourself in a dream. Morpheus guides you forward with a hovering hand behind your back, needing you not to wander or stray. 

The hallway is barren but smells the same as when Johanna banished Agilieth a few hours ago. The sulfur smell is more intense this time around and there is an undeniable heat that comes from beyond the door. 

“Fuck!” You exclaim, holding your hand in front of your eyes when Morpheus opens the door.

The bright flash of hellish fire dries your skin immediately and makes your irises burn with the intensity of the flame. Morpheus’ hand grabs onto your arm, holding you steady as the portal seems to have your body gravitate towards it. The Dreamscape is merciless to anyone who isn’t Morpheus himself. 

You can hear Johanna chanting in Latin, the words tumbling out of her lips with practiced ease. The portal grows weaker the longer she chants the incantation but something catches your attention from the corner of your eye: a child.

Instinctively you step forward, knowing the dangers that could happen, but Morpheus’ grip on your arm only tightens. 

“No,” he says firmly. “We cannot interfere.”

“But, the child. She will—” Your own words are cut off with a gasp as a tendril of fire wraps itself around her ankle, dragging her to hell’s door. 

You can feel the panic in the air, tense and heavy against your ribcage as Johanna grabs her, the exorcist’s chanting growing more desperate. The gate closes and all that’s left is sticky humidity and a dismembered arm of said child. 

That nauseating feeling you’ve come to associate with Morpheus’ sand teleportation magic curdles in your stomach again, or perhaps it is the smell of burnt iron that leaves your tongue heavy and your mouth dry. 

Morpheus closes the door to the dream, or perhaps it was a nightmare, but it doesn’t end. The door opens again and the scene changes to something you’re all too familiar with: your casino. 

You remember this night specifically and you’re wondering whose memories Morpheus is going through, yours or Johanna’s. Johanna’s sitting across from you on the poker table, her eyes lidded from the overconsumption of alcohol and you stared her dead in the eyes as she so gracefully looks at the new cards she’s dealt. 

The dream is a muffled mess but you remember the conversation well anyway, your curiosity spiked that day. You wanted to know why she was so down in the dumps, why she was wasting her life away at a casino instead of performing another exorcism. But you never turned her away, money was money, right? 

“Tell you what, Constantine,” you remember saying to her. “If I win this next round, you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Alright,” Johanna says, her words raspy and she sits back with her arms crossed. “And if I win, what do I get?”

You think for a moment before fishing out your necklace from underneath your shirt. “This.”

“Game is on.”

In the end, you lost the bet and you never knew why Johanna came to your casino. All you did know is that she left your casino with $50,000 and your prized possession. All things considered, why did you give her that necklace?

For luck maybe. 

The scene blurs and when you blink, you’re back in the waking world, staring down at a panicked Johanna. Your stomach lurches as you transverse realms again and you and Johanna share a brief look. There was a sudden understanding of why she wanted to bet it all that night at your casino. The life of a child, it’s burnt blood on her hands. 

“Fuck me, you guys just come in through the chimney or something?” Johanna scoffs, clearly displeased. 

Morpheus doesn’t bother with an answer and for that you’re grateful. He didn’t sweep you under the rug, telling her he found her through your shared dreams. Memories, more accurately. 

“You were dreaming.” A half-truth. 

“Apparently,” Johanna responds, her eyes returning to yours. She recalls the necklace you gave her, the one with the little charm on it. 

“It wasn’t a dream, but a memory that keeps you from a restful sleep,” Morpheus states and Johanna doesn’t try to deny it. “I can make it go away.”

“If I help you find your sand, right? Always the transactions with you two. Or is it all deities that are like that?” Johanna’s tone comes out accusatory and you internally wince. She’s not wrong, you accept offerings and sometimes if something catches your attention, you return the favor to the mortals. It is very transactional. “I’ll go look in my office.”

Morpheus follows her and she doesn’t try to protest, throwing a comment about how much messier it is in her office than it is in the living room. You wish she told you that sooner before you tripped over a net made out of silver threads that Johanna had haphazardly placed in front of the door to her office. 

“How do you humans love objects so much?” Morpheus judges, carefully stepping over the netting that nearly took your ankles out. 

“Says the Endless who keeps a raven, how many rocks does your new pal bring back to the Dreaming?” Johanna cracks a joke, skillfully avoiding the question. “Plus, you seem quite obsessed with finding your sand.”

“The sand is not an object, but a part of me.” As Morpheus explains, you explore the small office space. 

When Johanna isn’t looking, you place your take-out bag on one of the surfaces before trailing your finger across the table, dust collecting on the tip before you flick it away. 

Johanna has a little bit of everything. Tools of her trade but also she liked to collect a few other things as well. Silver bullets, maps, doubloons—there was a golden sekhem that once belonged to Pharaoh Thutmose II of Egypt that hung on the wall and right next to it was… damn she still had your necklace after all. 

‘Your artifact is reduced to mere wall decoration,’ your constant demeaning companion whispers in your mind. 

“If your sand was so important to you then how did you lose it?” Johanna’s question brings you back into their conversation, your ears perking as you listen discreetly. Morpheus never did tell you why he needed your help. You only said yes because of that pretty snake he gave you. And also you didn’t really get a choice once he sand-ported you. 

“It was stolen from me,” Morpheus defends. “By another magic user named Burgess.”

“Well, not Rodrick Burgess?” Johanna says with a slight laugh in her tone, her hands still busy digging through her things. “Everyone used to call him a fake. The good ol’ demon king himself. He used to boast that he kept the devil locked up in the basement.”

“Yeah, right,” you pipe in. “Like Lucifer would ever do that.”

“Right?” Johanna agrees, briefly turning to you before a realization hits her. “Oohhh… shit. It wasn’t the devil in his basement was it?”

“What?” You ask, following her eyes as they hold Morpheus’ gaze. 

The way Morpheus tries to hold back the memories is like a punch to your gut. His eyes redden with unshed tears as he tries to maintain that regal air about him. 

“Shit.” Both you and Johanna say at the same time. 

It was definitely not the devil locked up in the basement. A tense silence follows and for once you see Morpheus not as this arrogant, cocky Endless who demands what he wants and gets it, but something else. Trauma follows everyone, not just mortals and he is starting to slip away, back into that dangerous place in his mind again. 

“Johanna,” you interrupt, standing in front of Morpheus to pull her attention away from him. “The sand?”

Johanna looks away, Morpheus turning into a shadow and merging into the dimly lit room. You could still feel his presence, hear the slightly shaky breath he inhales into his lungs, but you purposefully keep your attention towards Johanna, holding her attention to you and not to Morpheus. 

Her eyes gleam with realization as her gaze locks onto a small picture in a basket of other trinkets. Johanna takes a deep breath, the shuddering similar to Morpheus’. “Yeah, I know where it is.”

Johanna brushes past you, her eyes determine as she grabs her creamy coat. You let out a deep breath, your shoulders still tense as you look into the shadows in which Morpheus is still submerged. 

You reach for the wall. Now that Johanna is gone, you yank your necklace from the nail that it hung from, feeling the slight tang of magical energy re-entering your system as the artifact reunites with its original owner. 

Tit for tat. You take your necklace back and in return, you give her the greasy fast food bag you’ve been hauling around all night. 

Even after fastening the necklace, Morpheus still doesn’t step out, his face back to the unreadable neutral expression. You have so many questions you want to ask, so many answers you could’ve had if you didn’t go into hiding. But now was not the time nor place. His sand is close. 

You reach for him but hesitate. Does Morpheus like to be touched? You don’t take the chance to find out. Instead, you reach for the sleeve of his coat, feeling the cosmic thread on your fingertips. You give a small pull and Morpheus reluctantly comes out of the shadows. 

“Come on, big guy. Let’s get your sand,” you murmur and he follows behind you. 

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

I cringed hard writing that singing scene, I hope you know that. I'm sorry I had to put you through that Y/N, but it's in your nature. We are cringe, but we are free.

♡ Yours, Layla

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

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[digitsofpie]

listen to me. listen to me. listen to me. deltarune infinity train au

it's been an idea in my head for a while but by god these two stories have so many parallels and connections. lightners/passengers being the most important, using the dark world/the train as a means of escape or improvement and development. darkners/denizens only existing to serve the people from the "real" world. infinite pocket dimensions, infinite cars, infinite combinations of rooms and objects and memories, infinite possibilities.

more thoughts...

imagine the story of deltarune told on the infinity train.

kris and susie (and assumedly noelle and berdly, other lightners that make it to the dark world too) are apprehended at turning points in their lives. they arrive in ralsei's train car, the closet car? the lonely prince car? they both have rather large numbers on their hands, maybe in the thousands. and ralsei is ever so eager to help them on their path to self improvement through the train. he knows only the train, he believes the train does its best to help.

lancer, spade king, rouxls kaard, seam, jevil, all of the characters in the card castle dark world become denizens of the card castle car. denizens like seam and jevil know the true nature of the train and their place in this world.

noelle and berdly in the cyber city car wpuld have sizeable numbers on their hands, but noelle's and kris' would grow if somehow the weird route was allowed to fester here. would someone be controlling kris during their journey on the train? perhaps that's why they're here.

spamton, like mt/lake wants so desperately to escape the train but can't because all he's meant to do is stay and help the lightners become better people. or worse people. after all, susie in chapter 1 would be very susceptible to joining the apex. she moves through a manufactured world, less than real, less important than real people, so she could clobber who she wants. escape from responsibility and reality, escape from improvement.

i haven't thought much regarding parallels in chapter 3 and 4, but i can imagine a game show car and a church car. especially for chapter 4... amelia tried so hard to revive alrick on her own, but the dark world can revive someone just like that...

please give me thoughts if you see this this au has plagued me for YEARS. deltarune fans you NEED to watch infinity train. infinity train fans you NEED to play deltarune.

[aboutzatanna]

Who Is Allura?

Allura; the closest Zatanna has had to an archenemy. she has been mentioned on this blog a few times (like here and here). She has appeared in Justice League of America #51, Adventure Comics #413-415 (later reprinted in DC Super Stars of Magic) and the 1987 Zatanna Special, in that order.

But one thing that has remained elusive is why Allura hates the Zatara's and exactly what she is. She is referred to as a 'Dark Elemental' and generally depicted as a ghost like spirit that can do magic but needed to possess others to exist on the Earthly plane. In her first appearance she is trapped inside the 'Sword of Paracelsus' (that's a huge clue btw) and promises to help Zatanna find her father but is revealed to be the one who cursed him and she was actually leading Zatanna to her and her father's deaths.

I have been meaning to dive deeper into Allura's character and I was inspired by @ringaroundaroses's post on Zatanna's enemies to finally do some research on Allura.

Luckily I didn't have to look too far. Yes, guys, I have figured out Allura!

So, in occult and supernatural works, particularly A Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, and on the Other Spirits, 4 types of Elementals are specified; Gnome (being of earth), Undine (being of water), Sylph (being of air) and Salamander (being of fire). The book was written by Paracelsus. When we first meet Allura, she is trapped in the Sword of Paracelsus.

Source: Justice League of America #51

(Fun fact; Paracelsus real name was Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim and he is the real life inspiration for the character of Hoenheim in 'Full Metal Alchemist'.

Paracelsus was also a doctor and is responsible for pushing ideas like 'the dose makes the poison' and the ethics of a doctor. He still had some outdated ideas but he was still an important contributor to the field of medicine.)

Anyway, Paracelsus describe Sylphs as "invisible beings of air" and "are rougher, coarser, taller, and stronger than humans. The elementals are said to be able to move through their own elements as human beings move through air. Because of this, sylphs are the closest to humans in his conception because they move through air like we do, while in fire they burn, in water they drown, and in earth, they get stuck." You can read more here.

In literature, Sylphs appear in poems like 'Rape of the Lock' (despite the name the story is in fact not about rape), which was written to be a satire of alchemical writing, the Sylphs are said to be the spirits of women "full of spleen" (meaning full of suppressed anger) and vanity whose spirits are too heavy to ascend to heaven. The heroine of the poem, Belinda, is attended to by an army of Sylphs who "foster her vanity and guard her beauty".

The chief Sylph of the story is named 'Ariel', which is also the same name of the "airy spirit" which appears in Shakespeare's play, 'The Tempest' whose main characters are a magician named Perespero living on a secluded island with his daughter, Miranda along with Ariel and their servant, Caliban . Ariel was previously imprisoned in a tree by a witch and Perespero freed him from their imprisonment and later in the story, Perespero agrees to free him completely if he fulfills some tasks for him. Ariel also used to be played by men by later women began to portray the character on stage.

Finally, there is also a Sylph in the titular 1778 novel 'The Sylph' by Georgiana Cavendish in which a Sylph acts as an unseen guardian to a woman trapped in a loveless marriage (actually nothing supernatural, just an anonymous letter writer whose true identity is a mystery until the end of the novel but it is yet another example of Sylph's acting like guardian spirits).

Anyway, back to Allura:

Source: Justice League of America #51

She fits the Sylph (Air Elemental) type. She pretends to be a guardian spirit to Zatanna but in an ironic twist was actually trying to kill her and her father. She is also "stuck" inside a sword (which could considered an earth element) when we first meet her. She is also exorcised from Zatanna's body via fire. As mentioned earlier, Sylphs are weak to fire plus the bell, book and candle is a popular excommunication method.

Source: Justice League of America #51

She is never called a sorcerer within the story. Always referred to as an Elemental and treated like a supernatural being (because she is!).

Source: Justice League of America #51

For once, I'm disappointed that an older comic did not go into a long expository detail about something and acted like we should know what an Elemental is off the bat. Or maybe it's something the readership of the time would have recognized but we don't.

The main difference between Sylphs in myth and literature and Allura is that the latter needs to possess to exist on earth, has both a good half and an evil with Allura's good half unable to exist outside of the Land of the Kharma.

Source: Justice League of America #51

So now that we know she is an air Elemental, this also opens up possibility of introducing characters based on Undines (water elemental), Gnomes (earth elemental) and Salamander (fire elemental).

Still, that leaves one unanswered question; why does Allura hate the Zatara's ?

Well, there is no canon explanation so we have to resort to building our own headcanons instead.

Some of mine are:

(1) Allura used to be someone's guardian. Zatara promised to protect that person but failed thus Allura is seeking vengeance.

(2) Allura used to a real person, good at one point, but was resentful of Zatara. After their death, their spirits split into two; their good half resided in the land of Kharma whilst their evil half continued to curse Zatara.

Anyway, what are your thoughts on Allura? What do you think her backstory should be? What do you think of her being a Sylph? And how do you think that that should be developed in future story arcs?

[h8thuc]

F1 × Stranger things rambling

@shieldofiron <- All credits to them for the idea

Steve Harrington grew up with garages bigger than most people's houses. Sleek, glistening cars lined up like trophies, the pride and joy of a man who was rarely ever home. Harrington Sr.—the world knew him as Alessandro “Alex” Harrington, the Italian racing legend. To Steve, he was a ghost. A phantom who called once in a month and always smelled of gasoline and distant lands when he did show up. Steve hated the cars at first. Endless rows, all polished to perfection, because his dad cares more about those than his own kid. He just wanted a shred of attention, but no. He hated how they took his dad away, how his mom would sit in front of the TV late at night with a glass of wine, staring at the screen where his dad was flashing a megawatt smile, champagne spraying everywhere. She’d always turn it off before the interviews, muttering something about "arrogant bastards."

Steve learned that being angry didn’t get him anything. The yelling matches and slammed doors when his dad was home only echoed back at him, empty and hollow. After he got older his mom went with his dad to the races, told him something about being closer to his dad but Steve heard enough screaming matches to know that his mom only went so that Alex wouldnt find someone younger and leave her. So, by high school, he just wanted something—recognition, validation, a flicker of acknowledgment that he existed. He became King Steve because being someone was better than being nobody. But even the crown of Hawkins felt like a hollow victory.

Fast forward: Ten years later. Steve grows up, and he’s, like, fine, but also not fine. He’s the guy everyone expects to coast through life because of his dad’s name, but no one realizes he actually worked his ass off to get where he is because he had to prove he wasn’t just "Alex Harrington’s son." And suddenly he’s on the F1 circuit. He’s fast. He’s really fast. And, surprise, he’s good at it. Better than good. Found something between tracks and rubber that isnt just bullshit or hollow promises.

‐---------

Billy Hargrove hadn’t thought about Steve Harrington in years. Not the rich kid with the perfect hair, not the way he’d strutted around like he owned the world. No, Billy had been too busy surviving—scraping by in auto shops and side gigs, living out of his Camaro or staying at Susans place after she broke things off with Neil. Billy and Maxs relationship was....tolerable. Billy sees Steve’s face plastered on a TV screen one random night in a bar. He’s mid-sip of a shitty beer, and suddenly there’s Harrington, all slicked-back hair and sharp jawline, stepping out of his car in a race suit that fits a little too well. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping his beer so hard it’s about to shatter because all he can think is, No way. No. Freaking. Way. That’s King Steve. When he stumbled across a job listing for F1 mechanics—his first thought was, Yeah, right. But the paycheck? That caught his eye. And besides, Billy knew cars. He could strip an engine in his sleep, rebuild it better than new. He’d prove himself.

He didn’t expect to see Steve Harrington on his first day. The first time they actually see each other again, it’s something. Steve turns around mid-conversation, sees Billy standing there with a wrench slung over his shoulder, and his brain just blue-screens. Meanwhile, Billy’s over here acting all smug like, Oh, did I catch you off guard, Harrington?

(Still need to think about how much the upside down build into, maybe Harrington has some phantom pain after the Demo bats)

( Steve either went to his dads old Team or a newer one [would love for him to be in ferrari])

(Billy could either work in steves Team or in a rival one and he improves the car so Harrington needs to fight for the wins -> plant your feet)

Ferrari vs redbull -> (damn kind of want maybe do a modern au bc i need my babygirls Max and Charles people 😭🫰)

[zorkaya-moved]

zarina's post metamorphosis is literally 'a concept should not have a human heart, that's how elementals existed in every universe/world without an issue.. they did not have a sense of 'self'; they existed and watched, never to have an 'ego'... so a concept having a human ego/self? it's never happened before and only time will show if that strongest human ego/heart will turn into nothing through eternity of existence.'

[somanyfandomsorkinafs]

Rest, young one. Your time has come.

Moment after saving Bruce from the time stream, Tim closes his eyes.

I’ll rest just for a moment, he said to no one. That night, Timothy Drake died with no one around.

Until there was.

— —

Danielle Phantom, now Michelle ‘Ellie’ Nightingale, isn’t good at listening to rules.

She didn’t listen when Danny told her to stay close, that they don’t know how stable she is. She didn’t listen when Frostbite presented concerns for her aging when, despite being half human, she wasn’t growing. She didn’t listen when Jazz and Danny tried to tell her that she was family, that she was welcome.

So now, she stands at a random cross road in the ghost zone infinite realms with a young ghost mourning the life he’s leaving behind.

She doesn’t know life. Ellie has never really lived. Really, the only reason she wandered was because she could bear to see other people living. Do what she wish she could.

So what does she do with handling young ghost mourning the life he’d leave behind? All the stories he is the pillar for? Ellie helps him break the law. A revenant. A ghost possessing its own body. It so damn illegal that Warren would actually have a reason to keep her in jail. But…

Maybe it was the way the young ghost, Tim, spoke about his life. As if he’d never lived it, as if is only purpose was always for someone, something else. Maybe it just hit her in the feels. But this is her little brother now.

She didn’t spend the first 12 years of her life as 12 years old not to get to do what Danny did to her. Maybe it runs in the family, who knows. But what she does know, is no one deserves to live without living.

Not on her watch.

[syndrossi]

Reversal!twins with their cousins Rhaenyra and Helaena??? 🥹 What a treat! I'm pretty sure Viserys is peeking out a window somewhere all pleased and giddy because those are his daughters! And Daemon's! Getting along so well! The twins really do serve as a nice bridge between the existing hostilities between Rhaenyra and Alicent. Helaena's not spending time with Rhaenyra, she's playing with her favorite cousins, Aemma and Rhaella! Rhaenyra just happens to be there, what a coincidence...

I can't with how adorable and happy Helaena is! Just getting showered with affection and support while Rhaella is silently so relieved that it's only a spiderweb and no spiders this time. But also delighted herself by Helaena's delight over the wonders/beauty of nature (something that Rhaella shares, just not for spiders specifically).

Her haaaaand on Helaena's head, so cute! They just seem like a duo that would understand one another. Rhaella dealt with terrible dreams in her past life, and knows what it's like to "see" strange things that other people don't, albeit in a different way to Helaena's prophetic visions. She would be such a great source of comfort when Helaena's scared and everyone's telling her that she's imagining thing.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra getting to live her Visenya fantasies through Aemma's swordsmanship lessons! Aemma's little finger pointing at the hilt, all "so this is a sword, they're fairly light and easy to hold despite what men like to tell you" is killing me. 😂 And Rhaenyra's patient expression. She knows the basics, I'm sure, but she's happy to hear Aemma "start from the beginning," as it were. She's lucky though, Aemma's taught many people before!

Aemma has a locket! (I think.) I'm so intrigued about what's inside it.

Rhaenyra's hair is so pretty... *stares*

By the way Rhaella's is braided, I'm guessing they went for a ride with Daemon earlier. (Is that blue of the ribbon I spot for Qelebrys?)

Love all the clothing choices! Aemma's long tunic-dress is very practical and cute! Her and Rhaella's habit of wearing pants halfway traumatizing Daemon (due to his assumptions) gives me life.

Honestly, the fact that they're girls means Crayne probably didn''t make Rhaella sleep in his bedroll. He would have had strict rules about them. (Though hers was doubtless right next to his for easy control.)

Awww, the twins' black and red being inverted!

Helaena being a tiny splash of green is adorable.

Rhaenyra's dress, oh my! Gorgeous. Those gold accents and patterns to make it clear that this is the Princess of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne. And I'm dying for a better glimpse at her hair adornments. I like that her dress is the one most "ladylike" in terms of length. She is a grown woman, and doesn't get away with the things that the twins can as "lesser" princesses of the realm. (That and the girls are constantly growing. And may or may not have their new wardrobe yet, which could mean they're wearing some of Rhaenyra's and/or Alyssa's old dresses! Alyssa could totally have had Aemma's shorter tunic dress, given her own love of dueling/practicing in the yard.)

Helaena's tiny gold shooooooes peeking out. 😭 They're perfect.

You know that Alicent has tried at least half a dozen times to sneak a green dress into Rhaella's wardrobe at least.

I'm imagining the Great Mud War of 116AC with Reversal and it's just as delightful. Though more difficult in sodden dresses.

On the dysmorphia topic, yeah, they'll be needing the Redfort twins to help process it. And even then, imagine the Redfort twins remembering being boys. Commanders and princes who were obeyed and respected. I hope that was a positive influence on their little personalities, one that fostered a sense of confidence and self-worth. Them being girls might even have made Allard Royce a little bit less cold, honestly. The boys were always a threat to his inheritance in a way girls wouldn't be.

And though they are robbed of quite a lot more freedom versus their male Resonant counterparts, Aemma still will be the lady of Runestone, a ruler in her own right. And they are dragonriders! So if the social pressures grow to be too much for a time, they always have an escape. (We'll ignore the inconvenient matter of Volantis and warlocks.)

The daughters of Viserys and the daughters of Daemon in a rare moment of peace.

For @syndrossi 's story "Reversal" look at them four! Helaena is not carrying flowers, she has a bunch of leaves and twigs, and is showing Rhaella a pretty spider net; meanwhile Jon/Aemma/Visenya(?) Is giving Rhaenyra some basic sword handling lessons.

@textbookchoices suggested I draw the twins as girls, and I have opinions:

Is it common for parents to dress their girls with some kind of “over dress” on top of the dress of better quality or was that just a thing in my family? Either way, I’m dressing them as such.

I suspect dresses would be ankle length, even for little girls, however Jon is Daemon’s dearest warrior and she can wear tunic length.

I think Jon/Aemma/Visenya? Would be the kind of girl who uses pants under her dress.

Rhaegar/Rhaella would adhere to fashion standards a little bit more, but I’m sure she’s wearing pants too.

(Insert Daemon worrying that wearing pants is leftover trauma from when they were kidnapped. Several sleepless nights follow for him)

I’m sure the only limit Daemon pushes on their clothing is “just nothing green”

My gosh, they must be experiencing some heavy body dysphoria on top of everything else! (I imagine myself waking one day and being asked to dress and act as a different gender and I find it jarring, the twins are dealing with that plus being younger than before, and having different parents, and being back in the past…)

Plus they have 4, maybe 6 years before their periods start. T_T

And after the menstruation arrives another calamity: suitors (Daemon will never sleep peacefully ever again)

I guess in this 'verse Jon and Rhaegar really, really need to bond with the girls who inhabited their bodies before them or marriage is going to be awckward.

All in all, Reversal is the one verse that makes me fret over the twins more than the others… I mean Jon was already pretty powerless being a bastard from the north, and Rhaegar witnessed the helplessness of Rhaella, but is that enough/equal to experience first hand the almost lack of self agency that is being a princess in the cusp of womanhood? And of all this os without even considering there are countries out there seeking to kidnap the twins and their dragons, and the warlocks with their candles, and the Hightowers plotting… *visible worry*

[seilon]

I just realized I didn’t really announce this despite it being a Big Deal but. finally got a top surgery date and secured it with a big ol deposit. august 5th. kinda hard to process in a way

[corovera]

Ohhhhkay, this is going to be a long one.

First of all, define “lives.” If you mean exists, then that’s not an AU, that’s canon as of 5.3. Which…you all probably know already. Sometimes I’ve found it hard to tell who didn’t get the memo, who acknowledges but chooses not to focus on it, and who’s intentionally ignoring it because they’re uncomfortable with it or feel like it’s worse, which…fair enough.

To be fair, it doesn’t get acknowledged much or elaborated upon in-game, which IMO is a bit crazy-making. From a writing standpoint, I get why it’s like that, but I miss him, dammit! We’re really overdue for him to chime in on something, but I get that there needs to be a good reason. Maybe when they’re able to connect to the First properly? I could see a brief comment on that.

At least find an excuse to namedrop him and give him a codex entry so all this out-of-game stuff from the lore books and the concert last year can be in the game! Is that too much to ask?

…Anyway. I have a ton of headcanons about the details. I don’t think it’s quite what OP means, since it’s not an AU where he’s /alive/-alive, it’s taking what little we’ve been given and running with it, but I’ll share anyway if that’s OK.

For Syrene’s canon, sometimes he’s actively experiencing things through her (always vision and hearing, but other senses if he chooses) and sometimes he’s asleep or only partially aware of what’s up. Partial awareness (he compares it to dreaming about someone else) means he remembers what she was doing once he’s fully awake, so he usually prefers that over sleeping too much when she’s awake. If he wants to, he can retreat to a cozy inner world of sorts that looks by default like a miniature aetherial sea, so he doesn’t have to watch all the time, but he likes to.

They can and frequently do communicate - not usually with words, but there’s enough overlap between them for intent and emotion to come across, and they’ve gotten good enough at reading each other for it to be effective. Sometimes the emotional overlap makes things tricky - if they’re both feeling something strongly, it can create a feedback loop of sorts and make it that much more intense. Took a lot of getting used to. Endwalker was A Time.

It’s not like hearing voices, but she can tell what he wants to say, if that makes any sense. Basically, I’m sticking to the letter of the concert bit that says they can’t usually talk, but not the spirit of it. Because…we did hear him? Before the fight with Eldibus? I’ve wondered some if that statement was meant for us, the players, and not the WoL in universe, because while it’d explain some things, it still doesn’t quite seem right. Also, I will happily take advantage of dream-sharing being on the table as of that same lore.

Anyway, they don’t share all their memories, but they can dig through each other’s if they choose to. They have an unspoken agreement to only do it with permission, or when they’re shared freely.

Going off how he talked to Seto that one time, he can borrow her body with her consent, but rarely does. More frequently, they use a smaller-scale version of this to talk out loud in private if there’s something too complicated for their usual communication to work. This also means he can talk to other people through her, but it takes a long time before he’s comfortable doing that, and only with certain people.

I’m thinking at some point (maybe after Endwalker?) Syrene’s able to figure something out using Azem’s crystal to give him temporary form so that they can either interact face-to-face or have a break from each other.

The Scions and some of her friends and family know about all of this, but the general public does not, and they want to keep it that way.

In general, they’re both happy with the way things turned out, and for me, that’s the most important part.

I don’t ship them, for the record - I see his and Syrene’s relationship as queerplatonic. Just because I’ve had a huge crush on him for a year and a half doesn’t mean she does!

ardbert lives au enjoyers: what is your explanation for it?