#but god. the rush of adrenaline and joy I get every time............

[fivespicepowder]

8x06 Confessions is everything to me.

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter 1

Preview: And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty frozen pizza in the oven, this will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days food brings you little if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your work uniform. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of TV static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been, and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your TV, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all fucking places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the TV on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet, if that. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shaky as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him did. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during both your pregnancy and his infancy, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed, despite his size he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost curl into the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice cracking. And then in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

Tears roll freely down your cheeks and land in Jason's hair. You sniffle, extra hard to keep from getting snot on him too. It's one thing to cry on the poor boy, the last thing you want is to use him as a human tissue.

“My baby,” you sob, and your sons hold on you tightens. You think (hope, selfishly) that he has missed you as much as you've missed him.

He's crying too, you realize- not as hard as you are (which is a little embarrassing, get it together girl, you're the adult here) but with his face tucked into your neck you can feel every tear. When you begin to pull back he's quick to wipe the tears away, scrubbing at his flushed cheeks with the heel of his palm. You remove your hand from his hair to gently thumb away an errant tear, and he sniffles before giving you a wobbly smile.

“Hi,” you say softly, your hand lingering on his face. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, mom.” He parrots, closed-lip smile melting into the sweetest toothy grin you've ever seen. You try to sear the image of him into your memory, imprint this moment into the front of your mind. You're half convinced you'll wake up any moment, TV still playing Jeopardy, pizza burning in the oven.

“How did you- I mean, what are… I just-” you cut yourself off with a breathless laugh. “I don't even know where to start. How… How did you find me?” Why did you come? Do you have any idea how much danger you've put yourself in just by being here?

Jason pulls back from you fully, stepping back out into the hallway. The feeling of loss is immediate and gut wrenching. He's only a foot away from you and already you feel like you're losing him all over again. You're tempted to just pull him back in, to refuse to let go. But you refrain.

Jason reaches into his pocket and pulls out a postcard.

Oh shit.

“I went back to our old neighborhood,” Jason starts, and your stomach sinks. You hope to God he means the neighborhood you left him in and not the one you'd lived in together. You loathe to imagine him running into- no, you refuse to even entertain the idea. Clearly he meant Willis’ neighborhood and not your own. You don't know that he'd be here at all if he'd found the folks you ran with all those years ago. The same people you've spent the last decade running from.

“I got a bunch of old stuff- Mrs. Walker saved it all, and I found, well I found a lot of stuff, but y'know the important stuff was all-”

“Jason, honey, breathe.” He’s talking a mile a minute, where your brain seems to have stalled completely, his is working overtime. He pauses and takes a deep, purposeful breath. It's dramatic, childish almost, how his whole body tenses on the inhale and releases on the exhale. Tentatively, you reach out to take his wrist.

“Why don't you come sit down and we can… we can talk about everything, okay?” You keep your voice soft and low, as if trying to coax a frightened animal. You're afraid he might bolt at the first hint of danger. You wouldn't blame him in the slightest if he did.

Jason doesn't run nor does he shy away from the hold you have on his wrist. He allows you to lead him inside, setting his backpack on the floor next to the door.

Before you close it, you glance around the hall. No one is out there, no one has bore witness to your little reunion. You're not sure what you'd do if anyone had. You shut the door, locking your remaining two locks. You're aware of the concept of ‘mom strength,’ that adrenaline spike that mothers get when their children are in danger, that allows them the ability to do insane shit like lift up whole cars. You don't think snapping the chain off a cheap door lock is quite comparable, but shit. If that's what you can do just seeing him alive and well, you can't help wondering what you'd be capable of if he were in danger.

You know. You know full well what you're capable of doing when you think it will keep him safe. You know. You know. You know.

Jason's presence in your apartment makes you suddenly very aware of how… lacking your home is. Traveling often meant taking no more than what you could carry on your back. All of the furniture in your apartment is second-hand. The TV had been left behind by the previous tenant (whom you're fairly certain is still being billed for the cable- God knows you haven't been the one paying it), the futon and recliner picked up off street corners, the single TV tray you use as a dinner table and matching pair of folding chairs had been an impulse purchase at a thrift store when you first started working again.

You've passed through dozens of cities, only taking jobs that pay in cash. You'd never had a bank account, even before you started running. Too young and too female to open one on your own, and by the time you were old enough you couldn't get one anyway. Too traceable, too much risk attached to putting your name into the world like that. So you worked for cash, which meant your options were limited and often unpleasant. You've been a waitress, a hairdresser, a bartender (though you weren't exceptionally good at that- you learned the hard way that an aching heart and easy access to alcohol do not mix well), a housekeeper, and a- well, you won't list every occupation you've taken up. Some of them you'd really rather not recall.

The transient nature of your lifestyle makes it hard for you to see your living conditions for what they really are: fucking bad. You've got no decor, the whole apartment reeks of cigarettes and it's freezing cold to boot. You've got a space heater to remedy that last issue, but if you run it while the TV is on then you'll lose power in the whole unit and have to walk all five floors (your building has elevators, but they've been broken the entire time you've lived here. The slip on the doors that says ‘out of order - management’ is yellowed with age and tattered around the edges) just to get to the circuit breaker.

It's certainly not fit for hosting guests of any kind, let alone your long lost son.

“Sorry it's uh… like this,” you gesture broadly to the apartment. “I wasn't exactly expecting company.”

“‘S fine,” Jason says, leaning against your wall. You take care to study his expression as he looks around what you're sure must be the most depressing studio apartment this side of the Mississippi. To his credit (and your great relief) he genuinely doesn't seem perturbed by your place.

He's been with you in worse places, you think. Though you doubt he recalls even a moment of your time together. Less than two years you had him. Nowhere near enough time.

There's time now. He's here. He's here, he's here, he's here. The Greek chorus in your head continues to remind you. He's here, and he's real, and you still don't know what the hell he's here for. It can't be just for you, you'd left Willis with very strong instructions to not ever let Jason search for you. Though you suppose it probably would have helped drive home the message if you'd actually said it to him instead of leaving it in a letter, like a coward.

Coward is one of the words you associate most with yourself. Coward, idiot, whore, failed matriarch- that's what it'll say on your tombstone. You shake the thoughts from your head. Now is not the time to spiral into self loathing.

“Here, let's sit.” You guide him to your makeshift dinner table. At the time, you'd thought buying two folding chairs instead of one was a waste of money- who the hell were you expecting to have over? Now though, you're glad you did.

Jason's still got the postcard clutched in one hand. You can almost make out your own handwriting from this angle, but most of what you can see of it is just the scenic wintery landscape and the ‘Seasons Greetings From Michigan!’ printed in red cursive on the other side.

The postcards were, admittedly, an unwise decision. The one that Jason holds now was never supposed to reach him in the first place. It should be gathering dust in your bag with the rest of them. But you're as sentimental as you are stupid.

For the last 13 years, every city you've stopped in you've picked up a postcard. You've written the date and a note to Jason on it, filled out the addresses of Willis’ apartment, and (on the rare occasion when you've had a physical address of your own to write down) wherever it was that you were staying. Some part of you has to have anticipated this- that someday, somehow, one of these cards would find its way to its intended recipient. Maybe that's why you always wrote in the addresses, in spite of how completely and utterly stupid it was of you.

The both of you take your seats at the table.

“Can I…?” You point at the card in Jason's hand.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, of course,” he hands the card to you. It's frayed in the corners, the edges of the cardstock now softer than the middle. Like he's been holding onto it constantly, like he's been running his fingers along the outline of it. Like he's been rereading it.

Dec. 25th, 1989

My sweet Jason,

I hope your having a good christmas. I hope you get a thousand presents and all the cookies you can eat (without getting sick!)

Im thinking of you, always.

I miss you more than words can say.

All of my love, all of the time

-Mom

Short and sweet, full of grammatical errors and hardly legible due to how absolutely shitfaced you were when writing it. You don't drink often, not anymore anyways. The first couple of years after you'd had to leave Jason were… tough, to say the least. You found yourself drawn to anything you could use to make yourself stop thinking about it, about him. These days you've learned how to just shut your brain off completely, how to operate on autopilot, how to not think about anything at all. You only drink on holidays now. And birthdays. Times when you can't help but think I should be with my baby. Thanksgiving, Christmas, your own birthday, mother's day, and especially Jason's birthday.

This was actually the second Michigan card you'd written him. The first one you'd written to him last May, when you first settled into the new state. That card is no doubt still buried in your bag with the others.

You had picked this card up on your way home from work, Christmas day. Why the pub you work in is open on Christmas is beyond you- the place had gotten maybe two patrons the entire day, and one of them was you. The bartender poured drinks for you your entire shift, topping you off every time your glass reached the halfway point. At the end of your shift he offered you a ride home, to which you declined. In retrospect you think he was coming onto you. Which would certainly explain why he's been so curt with you ever since. Oh well, it's no loss for you. In fact, maybe you ought to thank him.

Because if you had taken him up on his offer, you never would have stumbled home drunk, trudging your way through a foot of snow in your work uniform. You never would have stopped to rest at a closed news stand. Never would have picked up that stray postcard. Never would have taken the pen from your apron and scrawled out a quick message to your son, uninhibited and loving. Never would have drunkenly failed to slip it into your pocket as intended, instead letting it fall to the ground, where the next day some good Samaritan will slap a stamp on it and drop it in the post box. Never would have found yourself sitting across the table from your son.

You try to push down the lingering anxiety of it all, force yourself to feel hope. Maybe this can be good. Maybe no one will bother you two. Maybe you don't have to be afraid anymore. Maybe it's over.

“I'm sorry,” Jason is the one to break the silence. You set the card back down on the table.

“What for?” You've never done anything wrong, not once in your life, you think. What could you ever have to apologize for?

“I would have come sooner, but this went to our old place, and I don't live there anymore, so I didn't get it until a few days ago.” Jason gestures to the postcard. So they did make it out of the alley. Good. Your baby deserves to live someplace where people don't piss on your stoop every night and threaten you with violence every morning.

“Oh Jason,” you sigh. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I never expected you to come anyways.”

This is obviously not the correct thing to say, because he visibly deflates at your words. Your heart breaks a little bit- God, you're a terrible mother.

“Not that I'm not happy you're here now!” You correct yourself quickly. “I am happy, Jason. I'm so, so happy you're here.” You reach across the TV tray, palms up and open. Jason doesn't hesitate to place his hands in yours. They're calloused, which you didn't expect. It's not bothersome, you'd hold his hands even if they were too mangled to hold yours back. But it does make you wonder what he's done to make them like that. What kind of a life must he have led without you?

He smiles a little at that, soft and sweet and warmed by your affection. This is how he should always look, you think. Content and cared for.

“I'm a little concerned that you came all the way from Gotham by yourself though…” You say, squeezing his hands. You may have gotten up to some pretty crazy things at his age, but even you didn't start traveling cross country until you were nearly 22. At 15 your son shouldn't even be driving yet, let alone journeying from New Jersey to Michigan on his own.

“Aw, don't worry about that, ma!” Jason grins, looking awfully proud of himself. There's another expression you'd like to see on him more. And that word- ‘ma,’ he calls you. A much more casual title than you would have given yourself. Not that you’d expect him to call you ‘mother,’ or God forbid ‘ma’am’ like your mother had insisted you’d called her. No, you were prepared for ‘mom’, or maybe even just your name. You wouldn’t have been particularly pleased to have your only child call you by name, but you’d have understood if he felt more comfortable calling you that. There’s a certain familiarity in ‘ma,’ though. A kind of casual affection that you think would have taken years to develop, that in spite of your absence in his life, Jason gives freely.

“I'm your mother, it's my job to worry about you.” You say softly, and Jason's proud smile melts into something a little softer and more pensive.

“Going from Gotham to here was nothin'!” He insists. “I went to Lebanon first- here, hold on a sec.” He rises from his seat, pulling his hands from yours. Though you desperately want to keep your hold on him and shout ‘Lebanon?! By yourself?! You went to fucking Lebanon?!’ You refrain from that as well. He dashes to where he’s left his backpack at the door, picking it up and rushing back to his seat. He throws himself into the folding chair with such force that it rocks to the side, nearly tipping over with him in it. Without thinking you stick your leg out under the table, catching his chair and slamming your knee against the TV tray simultaneously.

“Sorry,” Jason says sheepishly.

“Don't worry about it birdie.”

The nickname makes Jason freeze in place, eyes wide and body tense.

“Birdie?” He asks.

“Sorry, it's- old habits die hard, y'know? That's what I called you when you were a baby.”

Jason's wide eyes relax a little, but his posture is still rigid.

“Why?”

“There was… you had this mobile, with doves on it. Until you were about a year old it was the only thing that would get you to sleep.” That and the sound of you singing, more often than not it had to be both. You force away the memory of that mobile, tangled and broken, lying in your bed many years ago. You force away the memory of how it was broken in the first place. It's not a night you'd like to recall.

This answer seems to placate Jason, but only momentarily.

“Wait, a year old? I thought… I mean, I figured you gave me up right away.”

And oh, oh, if that doesn’t break your heart, what will? It's by design that he doesn't know much about you- an intentional but unfortunate side effect of your leaving. It's safer for him this way. Or at least it was safer for him… or maybe it was never safe at all, considering he's found his way to you regardless of your attempts to shield him from the horrors you carry.

“You were about a year and nine months when I had to,” you pause to take a shuddering breath, lump in your throat threatening to choke the words right out of you. “When I had to leave you with Will.”

Neither of you says anything for a torturously long moment. You scrape at your cuticles, and Jason plays with a loose string on his sweatshirt. Jason looks like he wants to say something, his brow furrowed in concentration or perhaps concern- you struggle to read people sometimes. In the silence you recall an overlooked detail from earlier in the conversation.

“I'm sorry, just- just to circle back real quick, you went to Lebanon?”

“Oh, right!” The sullen expression leaves Jason's face, replaced instead by boyish pride. He reaches into his bag and digs around, procuring a few sheets of paper of varying sizes. The first one he presents to you is his birth certificate.

Your eyes follow the familiar text, the ink long dried though you could almost swear you've still got smudges of it on the side of your hand. It feels so terribly long ago and so recent at the same time.

Your eyes follow his name, written in sloppy print, Jason Peter Todd.

Along the line for the father’s name is your handwriting, spelling out in all lowercase letters ‘willis todd.’ You had been a little delirious still when they’d asked you to sign the certificate- frankly it’s a miracle you managed to even spell the names right- Jason’s, Willis’, and your own. The box for the mother's name however is almost entirely whited out, save for a single letter. That was not your doing.

“I went back to the old place,” Jason says, picking up his story from where he'd left off in the hall. “Mrs. Walker, I dunno if you knew her,” (you didn't) “but she was our neighbor. She saved a bunch of our old stuff for me after I left, including this.” He taps on the certificate.

“Which is how I found out that mom- my… my other mom wasn't my real mom.”

The thought of Jason calling another woman mom makes you sick to your stomach. But you suppose you forfeited the right to be his only mother when you left. That must be why he’d defaulted to ‘ma’ after your initial embrace- to distinguish you from the mother who raised him. The mother whom you are certainly not jealous of, no, not one bit. A blatant lie, you must admit to yourself. You are terribly jealous of the woman who got to watch your son grow up. You’re sure she’s lovely, and you’re infinitely grateful to her for watching over your boy, for loving him as if he were her own child, but you kind of hate her.

“So I looked in dads address book to try and match up the names in there to the letter on my birth certificate!” He presents you with the other two slips of paper, no doubt torn straight from Will's address book. Sharmin Rosen and Sandra Woosan. You don't recognize either name, but that doesn't surprise you. For all his faults, you've always known Willis to be popular, and awfully charming when he wants to be.

You examine both slips of paper, not sure what you hope to achieve by reading the names and addresses of these unfamiliar women.

“I didn't find the postcard until I was on the plane back to Gotham. Kinda jumped the gun on that one.” He says, a little sheepishly.

“You went all the way to Lebanon just to look for me…” You whisper, reverently. God, what an incredible kid. He's brilliant. You never would have thought to match the names in Will's address book to the singular uncovered letter on his birth certificate, had you been in his place. He's a clever kid- he gets it from you, you’re certain. And boy oh boy, isn’t that quite the thought? In your youth you had an ego the size of Texas, though a series of failures and hardships had tamed it somewhat, it appears as though some of that confidence remained, lying dormant, waiting to be impressed upon your greatest creation to date.

“And, Will was just fine with this?” You ask, suddenly realizing what Jason's solo presence means. “He just let you go to fucking Lebanon by yourself?”

Jason's proud expression fades fast and your stomach sinks.

“Dad's not…” he clenches and unclenches his fist, the loose thread he'd been twirling between his fingers snaps. “Dad is dead.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say. Because really, what else is there to be said? You were never in love with Willis Todd- you liked him plenty, thought he was funny, and charming, and handsome in his own way. But you were not in love with him, and your mourning of him extends only so far as to mourn the loss of something that means a great deal to someone you love.

Despite a lack of love for Will, you do hold a deep affection for the man. After all, he gave you a son and a handful of very memorable evenings. When your eyes begin to water, you think you’re sad more for Jason than for yourself. To lose a lover is one thing, to lose a father is another beast entirely.

“I'm sorry, ma,” Jason says, and this time he's the one reaching across the tray to hold your hands, to comfort you.

“I told you earlier, you have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You say. With his hands in yours you can't wipe away your tears. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Jason sniffles and shrugs, trying very hard to seem unaffected.

“It was a while ago,” he tells you.

“How long ago is ‘a while ago?’” You ask. You wonder who has taken care of him in Willis’ absence. Though you have no doubt your boy could hold his own, you certainly hope he hasn’t had to. You hope he’s always had a warm bed to crawl into at the end of the day. A hot meal waiting for him, prepared by loving hands.

“Dunno when exactly but, I only found out he was dead a couple years ago.” Jason answers. “I thought he was just in jail but…” His face hardens, turns serious in a way that makes him look much older and (though it shouldn’t surprise you as much as it does) quite a bit like his father.

“Two-Face killed him.” Jason says, his hands tightening around yours.

Christ almighty, what is wrong with you two?! Poor Jason, never stood a chance, both his parents victims of Gotham’s famed rogues. You force those thoughts out of your head, push them deep, deep, deep down. You’ll have to tell him eventually, you owe him the full truth of his childhood. But for the moment, you don’t think he needs honesty, he needs empathy.

“Oh, birdie, I’m so sorry.” You squeeze his hands, which are still holding yours perhaps a little too tightly for comfort. You make no mention of your discomfort to Jason though- if he needs to have a vice grip on your hands to feel better then you’ll let him crush every bone in them. Not that you think he would- he’s a good kid, you’re certain of it.

“Can I ask…” you start and then hesitate, thinking for a moment that maybe it’s a little callous to interrogate him on the matter only moments after he revealed to you that his father had died. You soldier on anyway. “Who’s been taking care of you, honey?”

Finally Jason’s grip on your hands loosens, until he’s pulling his hands away entirely to return to playing with the loose thread on his sleeve.

“It was just me and mom- my… my stepmom,” he hesitates on the word, as if he’s not sure he said it right. Really, he’s just unused to referring to her as such. It makes sense of course, that he’d assumed the woman who raised him to be his true mother- no one had ever suggested anything to the contrary. “For a while there. But she got sick and…” He sniffles hard- he does that when he’s trying not to cry, you note. “She’s gone too.”

You presume by ‘gone’ he means deceased as well, not well, performing the same disappearing act you had.

“And now…? Oh, God, have you been all on your own?” It makes you absolutely nauseated to think of him alone, frightened and cold in the cruel streets of Gotham. If that were the case you’d never forgive yourself for abandoning him. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? An abandonment. You can dress it up however you like, insist to yourself that he was better off far, far away from you but… In comes the nagging thought that you fucked up. You made the wrong choice and your son has suffered for it. The only person on this earth that you care about has suffered for the choices you made.

“Not anymore!” Jason exclaims, some of his enthusiasm returning to him. You’re grateful for it, and you think he is too- relieved to find a small reprieve from the heavy conversation. Though you note that ‘not anymore’ is technically an answer in the affirmative. He had at some point or another, for a duration of time he didn’t seem too keen on sharing, been left entirely to his own devices. Your stomach turns.

“Bet you’ll never guess who adopted me,” he says, regaining some of the youthful energy that he’d displayed upon first arrival.

“I bet I won’t,” you confirm. “I’m no good at guessing games.”

He leans forward over the makeshift table, head swiveling as if checking to ensure that no one else is in your apartment. It’s supposed to be a playful motion, a commitment to the bit that normally you would find quite endearing, but you’re paranoid. His joking reminds you that there are in fact, people or a singular person, commanding those beneath him who would like to see you dead, or worse. You’re so distracted by the sudden onset of anxiety that you almost miss when Jason tells you who his mysterious benefactor is.

“Bruce Wayne,” Jason whispers conspiratorially, as if it were some grand secret.

“Bruce Wayne?!” Jason was correct, you would not have guessed that. “No shit?”

“No shit,” he confirms, satisfied by your surprise.

“That’s gotta be one Hell of a story,” you are honestly a little thrown by the revelation. You kept up as well as you could with the goings on of Gotham, though admittedly you paid much less attention to the kinds of gossip columns that Bruce Wayne was a frequent feature in. Your focus was much more… villainous, in nature. Waiting and watching and hoping and praying for when He gets put away for good. Not just stuffed into Arkham for a brief stay before the inevitable breakouts that plague the storied institution, but well and truly gone. Then and only then would it have been safe to return to your hometown, and to the baby you’d left behind in it. Not that he’s much of a baby anymore.

“It’s kind of a long one,” Jason warns.

“I’ve got time,” you reply.

“Actually, could I ask you some stuff first?” It’s a blatant redirect, but you won’t press him. Not yet anyway, you’ll get that particular story out of him sooner or later. But you’ve never had the heart to deny him anything, and as you thought earlier, he deserves honesty.

“I’m an open book, hon,” you tell him, though it comes out sounding unconfident. You hope he doesn’t pick up on it, but if he’s half as perceptive as he is clever, you’re certain he does. Regardless, he doesn’t call you on your bluff, opting instead to begin asking his own questions.

“Why Michigan?” It surprises you that that’s the first question he asks, and not ‘why did you abandon me?’ God knows that’s what you would have asked, and in much less kind words.

“Why not?” Is your answer. “I’ve actually only been here for, hm, I think it’ll be a year next month. I ah, I’ve traveled a lot since…” You trail off and let him assume the rest.

“Where else?”

“Oh, lots of places- I never stay anywhere for very long. I’ve been all over the place.Chicago for a few weeks, Austin for a month or two, a very poorly timed trip to Metropolis kind of turned me off to big cities for a while. Until now I never stayed anywhere for more than a couple months.”

You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he begins to piece together an idea of the life you’ve led in his absence.

“Why stop here?” He asks.

“I guess I just… got tired of running.” You answer honestly. You’re not as young as you used to be, and living by your charms is less and less viable every day.

“What are you running from, ma?” To his credit, he seems to have put together the pieces quite quickly. Rapidly coming to the understanding that you aren’t traveling just for the fun of it, but that you are traveling to escape. He’s a smart kid, brilliant even. You couldn’t be prouder.

Unfortunately, his cleverness is to your detriment. You’d hoped not to reveal this aspect of your history (your shared history) for a little while longer- long enough to establish a rapport with him. Long enough that he won’t immediately turn his nose up at you in disgust when he sees your true nature.

“I've done a lot of stuff I regret, Jason.” You say softly, instead of offering a real explanation. Just a moment longer, you think. Please let me keep this from him, let him continue to love me for just one more moment. You see the unasked question written all over his face.

‘Am I something you regret?’

“But please, please know that I wanted you. From the second I knew you existed I wanted nothing more than to be your mom, okay?”

“Why'd you leave?” Jason finally asks, his voice just above a whisper, and your heart seizes in your chest. He sounds so sad. You're a monster, a terrible mother, and a despicable human being.

“Oh, Jason…” That lump in your throat hasn't gotten any smaller. Your eyes sting with unshed tears. You want to hold him, but honestly you don't think you have the right.

“I didn't- I was just trying to- fuck, I'm sorry.” You sniffle, struggling to find the words.

For a second Jason looks like he's going to say something, and your stomach twists in knots as you try to predict what exactly is going to come out of his mouth. I hate you? You're a terrible mom? I wish I'd stayed in Gotham? All strong contenders, all things you wouldn't blame him in the slightest for feeling.

Instead, he pauses, face twisting up in confusion before he sniffs the air.

“Is something burning?”

It's only after he mentions it that you too begin to smell the smoke.

“Son of a bitch, my pizza!” You scramble from your seat, releasing Jason's hands to go open the oven. Jason follows you up, hovering only two steps behind you the whole time.

As soon as you open the oven a cloud of thick black smoke wafts into your face, making you cough.

“Shit, shit, shit, motherfucker!” You curse. And of course, to make an already wretched situation worse, your fire alarm begins to blare. Almost instantaneously one of your neighbors begins to pound on the wall, calling out a muffled ‘shut the fuck up!’

“Open the window for me, please!” You call to Jason as you rush to drag a folding chair up to the wall so you can reach the fire alarm. Jason does as he's told, quickly unlatching and opening the kitchen window, cool spring air rushing in. He even goes the extra mile and grabs the cardboard pizza box off the counter to fan the smoke outside. For some reason that makes your heart ache.

He's a good kid, you think. In spite of everything, he's a good kid.

You clamber up onto the chair and shut off the alarm, quickly hopping down to grab your singular oven mitt and precariously pull your burnt pizza from the oven. You plop it right down on the counter, uncaring of any mess or burns on the vinyl that you might be leaving. You slam the oven door shut, and finally the billowing smoke seems to dissipate. Jason's fanning slows to a stop and you reach around him to close the window.

What should have been your dinner is now a pitch black disk of inedible garbage.

For a minute you just stand there, with your hands clutching the window sill, adrenaline still flowing through you. You're shaking again- or maybe you never stopped. You try to steady your breathing, repeating to yourself over and over again don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Beside you, Jason gingerly sets the cardboard box back on the counter.

“You okay, ma?” He asks softly, and the dam bursts.

You let out a sob, pitching forward against the counter before sliding down to your knees, collapsing to the floor. Jason follows you down, kneeling next to you.

“It's okay! It's just a pizza! We can- I could get you another one!” He attempts to soothe you, but you can hear a nervous edge to his voice. You'd be nervous too if your mom started wailing over burnt pepperonis. But it's not about the food, not really.

“I'm sorry!” You sob, burying your face in your hands. It's humiliating enough for him to hear you cry, you don’t want him to see it too.

“It's fine, really mom, I wasn't even hungry, I ate on the way here,” Jason insists, and his hands find your wrists to gently pry them away from your face. You don't want him to see you like this, but you don't have the heart to deny him anything.

“I don't mean about the pizza, Jason!” You cry. “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left, I never wanted to leave you birdie, please believe me!” It takes all of your strength to lift your head and meet his gaze. “I'm sorry for everything. I'm so, so sorry. I'm an awful mother, please forgive-” you're cut off by Jason pulling you into another crushing hug.

This isn't fair, you think. He shouldn't be the one comforting you. But you just can't seem to push him away, instead clinging to him with renewed vigor and sobbing apologies into his shoulder.

You’re pathetic, weeping like a child, in front of your actual child. Have some dignity, woman. Your internal dialogue has taken a particularly cruel tone. Your mind does this sometimes- turns on you in the worst way. It didn’t used to do that. Once upon a time you’d been so certain of yourself, so confident in every action you took that even your enemies struggled to doubt you. But now, after many years of continued misery, spurned by His interference in your life and your mind, you’re reduced to a sniveling self conscious mess of a woman with nothing to her name.

After a long moment you manage to sort of collect yourself, at least enough to stop blubbering and making a fool of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat for at least the tenth time. “I shouldn’t have- I’m just- I’m sorry, Jason.”

You pull away from him and he lets you, releasing you from his grasp. But his hands hover next to your arms, as if he’s waiting to catch you again.

“It’s okay, ma.” He says, though you know he doesn’t understand what you’re apologizing for, not really.

“It’s not,” you tell him. “But thank you. I’m… I’m sorry you had to see me like that. It’s just been…”

“A long day?” Jason finishes for you, and you can’t help the manic little laugh that bubbles out of you.

“Try a long life.” You say, and though your smile is rueful and bitter, all that seems to matter to Jason is that he’s gotten you smiling again. Which in turn makes him smile too, and really that’s the perfect balm to all your aching wounds. You’d do anything to keep that smile on his face, anything at all. “But yes, a long day too. What time is it?”

Jason pulls up his sleeve to check his watch- it’s a nice one, one of the fancy digital ones. A gift from Bruce Wayne, if you had to guess. That still perplexes you a little bit, but you’re in no state to be asking anything more of Jason, certainly not the emotional labor required to continue that particular conversation.

“Half past midnight,” Jason answers.

“Shit, it’s past my bedtime,” you mumble, realizing suddenly how utterly exhausted you are. You worked a double today, that alone is enough to tire you out. Combined with the whirlwind of emotions that the last hour has brought you, you’re absolutely drained. Slowly, you rise once more, joints cracking as you do. Damn, getting old sucks. Jason springs to his feet in less than half the time it took for you to stand up.

“What do you say we put a pin in this and continue in the morning, yeah?” You ask, though it’s really more of a plea than a suggestion. “I think this will be a much more productive conversation when we’ve had a full eight hours.”

Jason nods, though you can see it on his face that he’s disappointed.

You’ll tell him everything tomorrow, you swear you will. You owe him that much.

You shuffle your way back into the living room (which is also your bedroom, because you live in the world's grimiest studio apartment), and get to work fully laying the futon down. Rarely do you ever bother to do so for yourself, but you’re not about to make a growing boy scrunch up on a couch to sleep. Jason may be small for his age but he’s not that small, it would still be an awfully cramped place for him to sleep.

You’ve only got the one blanket, currently thrown over the back of your ratty old recliner, a ‘gift’ from the previous tenant. You unfold it and lay it down on the futon. You have no pillow for him, but you think he’ll manage. Just for good measure, you turn the TV off and turn your space heater on, aiming it at the futon.

“Do you need to borrow pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You ask, turning back to Jason who has been quietly observing as you prepare his bed.

“I can sleep in this!” He says. That simply won’t do- you know from experience that sleeping in jeans is uncomfortable. You put your hands on your hips, doing your best to appear stern but not angry- motherly instead of… whatever it is that you really are.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?” You repeat, and bite back a laugh when Jason huffs indignantly. It’s cute that he thinks he can get away with avoiding your doting! You’ve missed out on so much, now that he’s here you are going to mother the crap out of this kid.

“Ma, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.”

“Y’know, I hate to pull this card, but I didn’t spend nineteen hours giving birth to you just to be told not to worry about you.” You say. “Now, I’m gonna ask one more time, do you need pajamas, or did you bring your own?”

“I didn’t bring any,” Jason replies, crossing his arms across his chest. Though his brow furrows like he’s annoyed, you can see how he’s fighting against a smile. You suspect that secretly, he’s going to enjoy being loved as much as you are going to enjoy loving him.

“Thank you,” you say, turning to go dig through your closet and your sparse collection of clothing. You don’t have much to wear, even less that will fit him, but eventually you settle on a pair of well worn sweatpants and your only surviving possession from before Jason’s birth: a ratty old GSU t-shirt. You fold them, stack them one on top of the other, and hand them off to Jason. “Bathroom’s right there. Did you bring a toothbrush, or do you-”

“Ma, please,” Jason cuts you off, putting on a show of being much more exasperated than he really is.

“Okay, okay, I’m done, I swear. Go get dressed.” You ruffle his hair as he passes by you, mussing up the loose curls.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re digging through your purse for a cigarette. A bad habit, you know, but one that you’ve never quite been able to kick. You open up the living room window, grabbing your lighter from where you keep it on the kitchen counter. You do your best to smoke fast, you want to finish it before Jason returns. You’re a bad enough influence on him already without the added issue of secondhand smoke. Unfortunately for you, Jason is quick and you’ve only smoked half your cig by the time he’s exiting the bathroom, holding the hem of your t-shirt, examining the faded lettering.

“You went to GSU?” He asks, not looking up. You take a final quick drag, before stubbing the cigarette out on the window sill. You’re definitely not getting your meager security deposit back.

“Mhm,” you hum, exhaling through your nose. The smoke burns your nasal cavity, stinging even as you inhale fresh air.

“What did you study?”

“I majored in mechanical engineering and minored in biochemical engineering. Never finished my degree though,” you shut the window. Your college days aren’t something you think of often anymore. God, you’d had so much potential. You still had that potential, even after getting pregnant and dropping out. Even as a struggling single mother you know you’d been brilliant. It’s what you did with that brilliance that really fucked you over.

“Why not?”

“I got pregnant,” that’s the simple answer. Though, now that you’ve said it, it sort of sounds like you’re blaming him for your own failure to thrive. You’re quick to amend your statement. “I don’t like to half-ass things, especially not important things. I wanted to be able to focus on you.”

“You wanted to whole-ass it,” Jason nods sagely. You snort.

“Yes, exactly. I wanted to whole-ass motherhood.” You chuckle and look out the window at the quiet street below. “I did a pretty piss poor job though. Put my whole ass into it and still couldn’t see it through.” A street light flickers down below. You can see Jason’s reflection in the glass, the details of him warped and blurred by your view of the road down below- not willing to turn around and face him directly. You don’t want to subject him to your shame, your regret. He will see it eventually, most likely sooner rather than later. You steel yourself, school your expression, and turn.

“Time for bed now.” You say, and cross the room to put the recliner in position for you to sleep in. You’ll have no pillow or blanket, and the heater will be hitting Jason more than you, but it’s fine, you’ll manage, you’ve slept in much worse conditions. With the sleeping arrangements all settled, you turn back to Jason.

“All yours hon,” you nod in the direction of your rickety futon. Jason nods and rubs his eyes. Poor thing, he must be exhausted too. You can only imagine the kind of whirlwind day (week, month, year, life) he’s had. As he slips into bed you’re tempted to tuck him in, kiss his forehead, hell, you’d read him a story or sing him to sleep if he wanted you to. But no, you push this motherly instinct deep down inside of yourself. Jason’s 15, you doubt he wants to be treated like a child. But still, as you watch him relax, settling into your bed, your home, your life, you can’t help but to-

“I love you,” it comes out in a harsh whisper, your voice threatening to break. Your eyes are suddenly misty with tears that you swear weren’t there a second ago. You sniffle hard and blink them back. Despite visibly fighting sleep just moments before, now Jason is looking up at you with wide eyes.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you tell him. “I just needed to say it.”

You can’t bear to face him for his reply (or lack thereof) so you turn away from him to shut off the lamp, bathing you both in darkness.

“I’m gonna-” you pause to clear your throat of any lingering emotion. “I’m gonna go brush my teeth. Goodnight, birdie.”

And just before the bathroom door shuts behind you, you think you hear, “goodnight, ma.”

The second you feel the latch click, you’re turning the tap on to full blast.You sink down to the floor, bury your face in your hands, and do your very best to cry quietly. Hopefully the running water will muffle the sounds of your sobbing. The last thing you want is for Jason to hear you having a meltdown again. Once was one time too many.

Tomorrow you will do better. Tomorrow you and Jason will sit down and have a real conversation. Tomorrow you will tell him the truth.

AN: well howdy strangers!! it took me entirely too long to finish chapter one, and even longer to actually post it on Tumblr proper. For those of y'all who have been tagged this is just chapter one again but posted directly to Tumblr instead of being linked to ao3! Chapter two hopefully won't take as long but don't hold your breath lol. I plan on posting a preview of it in the next week or two! Anyways, thanks so much for reading! Taglist:@leirobles @qardasngan @amphiroxx

[amirasainz]

Hi! I love your blog!! Can I request a female driver x f1 grid, where she gets her first win and all the drivers are so happy for her as she’s the paddock princess, maybe when she’s doing her interviews many drivers come over to her and congratulate her and they talk highly of her in their interviews too? Thank u, keep up the amazing work!!💗

Ohh, that is such a sweet idea. This one made my heart melt.🫠❤️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo

The first victory

The sun hung low over the track, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange as the final lap of the race came to a thrilling conclusion. The Aston Martin car, gleaming in its iconic green, roared down the straightaway with unmatched speed. All eyes were on Y/N, the team's rising star and the paddock's beloved princess. As she crossed the finish line, the world erupted with cheers.

"Y/N wins her first race!" the commentator's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. "What a sensational performance! Y/N takes her maiden victory, and it's Aston Martin on top!"

Inside her cockpit, Y/N could hardly believe it. She was overwhelmed with a rush of adrenaline, relief, and sheer joy. Her radio buzzed with the jubilant voice of her race engineer, Michaela.

"Y/N, you did it! You won! That was incredible! You are a race winner!"

Y/N couldn't contain her emotions. "Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it! Thank you so much, team! The car was perfect today. I can't believe this!" Her voice broke with happy tears as she crossed the finish line.

As she pulled into parc fermé, she could already see the sea of green uniforms waiting for her. The Aston Martin crew, usually composed and professional, was now a mass of cheering, fist-pumping celebration. She parked her car and clambered out, pulling off her helmet to reveal her beaming face. The noise was deafening; her team surrounded her, lifting her onto their shoulders as if she were royalty.

"Y/N! Y/N!" they chanted, their pride and admiration radiating.

Michaela, her race engineer, hugged her tightly. "You were flawless out there. Absolutely flawless."

Y/N, still catching her breath, grinned. "I couldn’t have done it without you guys. This one is for all of us!"

Before she could process what was happening, the other drivers began streaming in, each wanting to congratulate her on this monumental achievement. Lewis was the first to arrive, jogging over and giving her a massive hug.

"Well done, princess!" Lewis grinned, using the nickname the entire paddock had affectionately given her. "That was some of the best driving I’ve ever seen. You deserved this more than anyone."

Y/N laughed, playfully punching him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Lewis. That means a lot coming from you."

Max, who finished in third, made his way over next, pulling Y/N into a hug. "That was incredible, kid! I was pushing so hard to catch you, but you were just too fast. That last stint? Perfect."

Y/N’s smile widened. "Max, you kept me on my toes the whole race. I kept looking in my mirrors and thinking, ‘Please, not today!’" They both laughed, a shared camaraderie between rivals.

Charles joined the growing circle, clapping his hands before enveloping Y/N in a warm embrace. "You did it! You showed everyone today what you’re made of. I’m so proud of you, chéri."

Pierre Gasly chimed in, giving her a quick side hug. "You’re amazing, Y/N. It’s been a long time coming, and today was your day. You’re unstoppable."

Y/N was overwhelmed by the affection and admiration pouring in from all sides. Every driver in the paddock had a soft spot for her, and today, they all showed it without reservation.

Her interviews began shortly after, and as she spoke, drivers kept wandering over, interrupting to offer their congratulations. Daniel, always the joker, nudged her as he walked by, wearing a wide grin. "You know, if you keep driving like that, I’m going to have to start calling you Queen Y/N."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, stop it, Danny. But thank you. That means a lot."

As she continued with her media duties, the praise didn’t stop. George in his own interview, couldn't help but beam when asked about her performance. "Y/N is not just a phenomenal driver; she’s an incredible person. She works so hard, and seeing her finally get that win... I think we’re all just so happy for her. She’s truly the paddock princess."

Checo added in his segment, "She’s shown time and time again that she’s got what it takes. To see her standing on the top step today, it’s special. She’s the pride of the paddock."

Especially Fernando, one of the most experienced drivers on the grid, was full of admiration. "She’s a star. I’ve said it from the beginning. She’s got the talent, the dedication, and today, she put it all together perfectly. This is just the start for her."

When it was finally Y/N’s turn to address the cameras, she tried to keep her composure, but the emotions were too overwhelming. "I just want to thank my team, my family, and every single person who’s supported me. It’s been a tough journey, but today… today made it all worth it."

As she spoke, Carlos and Lando popped into her interview, both grinning ear to ear.

Lando, ever the playful one, said, "Y/N, you’ve got to teach us how to drive like that. Seriously, we’re all just trying to catch up to you now."

Carlos nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we’re going to need some lessons. You’re the real deal, hermosa."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Stop it, you guys! But honestly, thank you. You all mean the world to me."

The drivers couldn’t hide their affection. They each gave her one last hug, congratulating her again before letting her continue. Even in their own interviews, her name was on everyone’s lips.

Lewis, when asked about Y/N’s victory, said, "She’s a trailblazer. There’s no other way to put it. The way she carries herself, her determination—she’s an inspiration, not just to women in motorsport but to all of us. She’s the paddock princess, and today, she proved why."

Max added, "She’s one of the most dedicated drivers out here. We all see how hard she works, and to see her win... it just feels right. We’re all proud of her."

The day was a celebration, not just for Aston Martin, but for the entire paddock. Y/N had earned every bit of praise, every hug, and every kind word. As the cameras clicked and the champagne flowed, she stood on the podium, looking out at the cheering crowd, her fellow drivers waving at her from below.

For once, the paddock princess had her crown. And everyone—drivers, teams, and fans alike—couldn't have been happier for her.

[garden0fyves]

march madness is finishing tomorrow for wbb, so all i can think of is your rich bf!gojo sitting courtside at all of your games from sweet sixteen until your ultimate and inevitable appearance in the final four, and finally the championship. he always wears those stupid shirts that have some variation of ‘my girlfriend is on the court!’ with the dumbest pictures of you on them. they’ve unfortunately gone viral and espn and other sports accounts have been discussing it every time you play.

gojo does, however, understand your sport completely. he knows when to clap, when to boo, and when to hop out of his seat to cheer just a little bit louder. he’s the ultimate supportive boyfriend and he knows it. he always catches you before you manage to get to the locker room after your interview. he’s pressing sweet kisses to your sweaty face no matter how many times you whine about it being too hot. “my girl jus’ got one step closer to being a champion, i can get a kiss!” he always whines, pulling you tight to him.

unfortunately, this only gets worse when you win the national championship with your team. the white and blue (wink wink) confetti falls, and tears are streaming down your face. you’ve celebrated with your team, hugged the girls you’ve worked so hard with for the past three years. your coach affectionately kisses your temple before pulling you into a tight hug. it’s all so much. your heart pounds as the adrenalin rushes through you veins, and then your feet are gone from the floor before you can think of it, and stunning blue eyes are peering up at you with the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “you’re gettin’ a ring, baby!” you laugh, it’s watery but filled with so much joy. “i’m gettin’ a ring, baby!” you repeat back, pressing your lips to his.

gojo’s never cared for cameras. he’s popular in his own right, so he doesn’t have to be. but, some sort of pride swells in his chest because he knows everyone will see this. everyone will know how much he loves you and how much he supports you. it’s something he’ll never be ashamed of. he watches you with wonder because he’s never been good at sports. you’re so at home on the court. so perfect. so mesmerizing. if anyone deserves a chip, it’s you. and now you’ve got it.

he sets you back down after the two of you take a moment to breathe. he laughs when you sniffle, breaking out into giggles when you look down at his chest. ‘my fiancée’s a national champion!’ is across his chest with a picture from your team photoshoot for the final four. you sniffle again, giggle once more then you’re looking up at him with confusion in your eyes. “what?” gojo’s smiling widely at you as he slides a hand into his pocket, promptly dropping to one knee with the tiny box already open.

inside is the prettiest ring you’ve ever seen and it’s perfect. it’s a testament to the four years you’ve been together. to how well satoru knows you. as if you weren’t already crying enough you can barely see the genuine smile on your boyfriend’s face as you cover your mouth. “oh my god. oh my god!” you can vaguely hear your teammates cheering behind you, the crowd roaring once they realize just what’s happening on the court. “oh my god i hate you, satoru. yes!”

as he slides the ring on your finger, all gojo can think is that you look so beautiful. teary-eyed, sweaty, and disheveled from the game. you look real. you look like his future. and he’s reminded why you mean the world to him. why wouldn’t he give you two rings in one day? why wouldn’t he give you your fairytale moment? a national champion and a fiancée in one night, just like you deserved.

later that night, the two of you post with your championship ring on your middle finger and the engagement ring settled nicely on your ring finger. ‘winning on and off the court ♥︎’

—

wrote this will watching houston play duke so this is kinda ass, but hey guys! and #bleedblue LFG UCONN!!!!

[estellan0vella]

File It Under N For No One Gives A Fuck: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!wife!reader (Police AU)

WC: 8.1K

CW: mentions of drugs, mentions of anthrax, threats of divorce, talks of sex and inappropriate use of department handcuffs, Chan being a stressed out Captain

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

You step into the bustling precinct, your senses immediately absorbing the energy around you. Phones ring, radios squawk, officers shout to each other across the room, and every so often, there’s a burst of laughter from one of the clusters of desks. It’s your day off from the ER, a break from the endless flow of patients, the constant blare of monitors, and the adrenaline-fueled rush that never seems to end. You still want a taste of that energy, though, so here you are, coffee in hand for your husband Jisung and a few of his colleagues.

You navigate your way through the bullpen, a light blue summer dress brushing against your knees, and your white wedges clicking softly against the tile. Your white sunglasses sit perched on your head, holding back your hair, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee follows you as you carry a tray with four cups, each labelled with a different name: yours, Jisung’s, Felix’s, and Minho’s.

As your eyes sweep the room, they land on Felix, slumped back in his chair with a familiar air of exhaustion, his head tipped back, and his arms dangling off the sides as if the world’s weight has finally crushed him. You grin, making a beeline for him. Dropping into the chair opposite his desk, you slide his coffee across to him with a smirk.

“Look what the coffee fairy brought,” you announce, leaning back with an amused glint in your eye.

Felix blinks down at the cup before his face lights up with pure, unfiltered joy. “You absolute angel! I swear, I love you right now. Like, I’m dangerously close to kissing you.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it. “Jisung would shoot you. No warning, just bang. Right between the eyes.”

Felix chuckles, shaking his head as he picks up his coffee, inhaling the aroma before taking a grateful sip. “Fucking worth it. Honestly, I’d risk it.”

As he drinks, his eyes drift over you, assessing your outfit with a dramatic once-over. He tilts his head, lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Okay, but why do you look like you’re about to star in some cheesy rom-com? Seriously, who are you trying to impress here, and why isn’t it me?”

You roll your eyes, glancing down at yourself as if seeing your outfit for the first time. “Can’t a woman look nice on her day off? I’m visiting my husband, Felix. I get to look like something other than a sleep-deprived ER nurse covered in mystery fluids. Plus, it’s hot outside.”

He smirks, the glint in his eyes growing sharper. “Suspiciously nice, if you ask me.”

Before you can fire back, Minho appears at Felix’s side, his eyes zeroing in on the cup with his name scrawled across it. With a smirk, he grabs it, taking a slow, satisfied sip. “Hmm, just the way I like it. Thanks. You know, you really should leave Jisung and marry me instead. Think about it: we’d be a power couple.”

You deadpan, barely blinking as you retort, “Absolutely not. I’d have to explain your ‘disappearance’ to a jury, and I’m not confident I could sell a self-defence story.” You pause, then add, “Also, your actual wife might take issue with you running off with your buddy’s wife.”

Felix bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his coffee. “Oh my god, I’d pay good money to see her kick your ass, Minho.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m just saying, you talk a big game. But between you and me, I’m pretty sure I could handle you.”

You lean forward, a challenging grin playing on your lips. “Jisung handles me just fine, he doesn't need your help.”

Just as Minho opens his mouth to respond, Jisung walks up, and you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Excuse me, what did I just walk into?”

“Nothing. Just Minho being his usual self,” you reply sweetly, holding out his coffee. “I brought you this.”

Jisung’s face softens, his eyes warming as he takes the cup from you and leans down to press a kiss against your cheek. “What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn, probably,” you say, grinning up at him.

“Can confirm,” Felix chimes in, lazily leaning back in his chair and clearly enjoying the banter. “You’d be fucked without her, man.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, looking between you and his friends. “Glad to know my friends have so much faith in me.”

He glances back at you, taking in the dress, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You do look amazing, by the way. Makes me want to ditch the precinct and-”

“Absolutely not. None of that in here,” Minho interrupts, raising a hand as if to physically block whatever Jisung was about to suggest. “I get enough of your lovey-dovey nonsense on a regular basis. This is a professional environment, thank you very much.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Right, because you’re the embodiment of professionalism, Minho. Never crossed a line in your life, right?”

“I am a paragon of professionalism,” he says, deadpan, puffing up like a proud peacock.

Felix snickers, shaking his head as he takes another sip. “Oh yeah? ‘Paragon of professionalism’? If that’s what we’re calling it now, sure. But remember that time your wife came to visit and Chan caught the two of you going at it in the men’s locker room?”

Minho’s face flushes slightly, but he tries to play it off, lifting his coffee and taking a long sip, refusing to break his stoic facade. “It was a passionate reunion.”

“Oh, we all know,” Felix says, grinning. “We all heard her moaning. Pretty sure they heard it over in the evidence room too.”

You snicker, raising an eyebrow at Minho. “Paragon of professionalism, huh?”

Minho’s face turns even redder, and he mutters into his coffee, “One incident. Just one.”

Jisung chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “See, that’s why I stick to public displays of affection in small doses. Less memorable.”

“Yeah, like that time you two were making out in the break room,” Felix says, smirking.

You feign innocence, looking up at Jisung. “I have no idea what he’s talking about. Clearly, he’s delusional.”

Jisung nods, playing along. “Absolutely. Must be all those late shifts, messing with his mind.”

Felix rolls his eyes, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, alright. But just remember: if there’s any scandal around here, it’s usually because of you married lot. Meanwhile, I’m the model of restraint.”

Minho opens his mouth, likely to lob a sarcastic comment Felix's way, but the door to Captain Bang Chan’s office swings open with a sharp, foreboding creak. Chan strides out with a look of grim determination on his face that instantly makes your stomach drop. You know that look. Everyone does. It’s the kind of look that’s never followed by good news.

“All right, listen up!” Chan’s voice cuts through the chaotic murmur of the bullpen, slicing the noise in half as everyone freezes and turns toward him. “We’ve just received a credible threat of an anthrax attack on the station. Until further notice, we’re in lockdown. No one gets in or out.”

A stunned silence follows his words, the gravity of it crashing over the room like a wave. Anthrax. Of all things. It feels like the air itself thickens, every eye in the room locked on Chan, processing the information. You’re the first to break the silence.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you groan, throwing your hands up with dramatic exasperation. “I swear, I am never doing anything nice for any of you ever again. Here I am, on my day off, bringing real Italian coffee straight from my hometown, like the good wife and friend that I am, and now I’m fucking trapped here because some maniac decides today’s a great day to mess with a biochemistry set?!”

Felix snorts into his coffee, trying to hide his laughter, while Minho’s mouth twitches in barely contained amusement. Jisung’s shoulders shake as he attempts to keep a straight face. He reaches out, taking your hand gently and rubbing calming circles over your knuckles. “Jagiya-”

“No! Don’t ‘jagiya’ me right now,” you huff, narrowing your eyes at him. “This is exactly what I get for trying to do something nice.”

Jisung, his lips still curved in a soft smile, gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on, let’s go sit at my desk. You can yell at me there, and maybe the world will make sense again.”

With a dramatic sigh, you allow him to lead you across the bullpen. You drag your feet with exaggerated reluctance, muttering a steady stream of colourful Italian curses under your breath. Jisung, still holding back laughter, takes the two remaining coffees from you as you settle yourself in his chair, folding your arms and glaring at the room like an affronted cat.

“That’s my seat, you know,” Jisung says, raising an eyebrow at you, clearly amused.

You fix him with a glare, your voice dripping with mock indignation. “It was your seat until your wife, out of the kindness of her heart, decided to do something nice for you and wound up smack in the middle of an anthrax threat. So, I think I deserve the chair, don’t you?”

Jisung chuckles, sitting down in the spare chair beside you and sliding your coffee over. “Fair enough,” he concedes, grinning. “And, for the record, thank you for the coffee. Even if we’re potentially in a biohazard zone.”

Your annoyance softens, just a bit, as you take a sip. “You’re welcome. I should start charging extra for hazard pay, though.”

You reach over to one of Jisung’s desk drawers, half-listening to the murmurs around you as people process the lockdown news. Your fingers brush a small packet at the edge of the drawer, and suddenly—

PFFFFT!

A white cloud bursts from the drawer, coating you and Jisung in a fine layer of white powder. You freeze, eyes wide, and for a second, the bullpen goes completely silent. The two of you stare at each other in shock, blinking through the powder.

Jisung sputters, wiping at his eyes with a grimace, before deadpanning, “I’ve never hoped something was cocaine more in my life.”

“Oh, my god,” Minho groans from across the room, his hand rubbing over his face in disbelief. “During an anthrax lockdown, you open a drawer, and a packet of white powder explodes. Seriously?”

You sit there, a mix of horror and resignation, before letting out a long, exasperated sigh. “Well, if it’s anthrax,” you mutter, throwing your hands up, “at least we’ll die together. So fucking romantic, right?”

Jisung lets out a resigned sigh, rolling up his sleeves. He gives you a sly smile. “You considering divorce yet?”

You snort, still trying to dust the powder off yourself. “Not a chance. I need that sweet, sweet overtime money.”

He laughs, his warm, familiar laugh that lightens the absurdity just a bit. As he leans back, wiping powder off his arms, you both notice Felix leaning, wide-eyed, clearly in awe of the sheer absurdity.

“Y/N,” he says, barely holding back laughter, “please, for the love of all things caffeinated, do not stop bringing us coffee. Even if you’re dead. Like, send it from the afterlife or something.”

You roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Trust me, if this is anthrax, we’re all toast anyway, so get praying, Lix.”

Felix gives a melodramatic sigh, glancing at the powder-dusted desk with exaggerated despair. “Well, if you die, and I survive, I’ll make the most epic playlist for your funeral. It’ll be a symphony of tragic bangers.”

You chuckle, brushing some powder off your hand. “Appreciate the thought. I’ll haunt you if it isn’t perfect.”

Jisung leans back, watching you spin slowly in his desk chair, one hand still gripping your coffee. He raises an eyebrow, eyes twinkling with barely contained laughter. “You know,” you say. “I always thought a brush with death would be a little more dramatic.”

Jisung chuckles, sipping his coffee. “If it is anthrax, we’re in for a hell of a time, though, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” you nod, launching into a cheerful explanation. “It’ll be nausea, chest pain, coughing up blood, then more pain, and then bam! Dead. Pretty straightforward.”

Minho, still dusting powder off himself, makes a face. “Jesus, Y/N, couldn’t you sugarcoat it?”

You lean forward with a wicked grin. “No, but I could anthrax-coat it.”

Jisung laughs so hard he nearly spills his coffee, shaking his head. “You’re awful,” he says, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Minho stares at the two of you, visibly disturbed. “You two are fucking insane. I’m not dying with you clowns.”

As if on cue, Minho reaches to open his desk drawer and PFFFFT! Another puff of white powder explodes into his face. He jerks back, sputtering and swatting at the cloud around him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he shouts, coughing as he frantically waves his hands to clear the powder. His eyes dart around the room in horror as he sees the fine dust settling on his shirt.

And then, as if on cue, there’s another PFFFFT! from Jeongin’s desk, sending a similar cloud of white powder into the air.

One by one, desks throughout the bullpen erupt in clouds of powder, each explosion met with gasps, curses, and shouts of “What the hell?!”

Now, at least seven officers stand in powder-covered horror, looking around at each other like deer caught in headlights.

You lean back in Jisung’s chair, arms folded, and let out a theatrical sigh. “It’s like a damn anthrax snowglobe in here.”

Chan stands in the middle of the chaos, looking around with a deadpan expression and slowly rubbing his temples. “This- this is just fucking fantastic,” he mutters. “Seven packets of possible anthrax. All opened. In my station. At once.”

He turns to you, eyes narrowing with a desperate look. “Y/N, you’re a nurse. If this is anthrax-”

“Oh, we’ll all die, no question,” you say far too casually, waving a dismissive hand. “Very unpleasantly, but yeah. It’ll be over soon. Painful but quick”

Jisung gives you a nudge, his smile widening. “You sure you’re not sugarcoating it just a little?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Nope. Just straight facts.”

Minho, wiping powder from his face with a look of pure frustration, groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me. All these years on the force, and this is how I go?”

“Tragic,” Felix says, eyeing the powder on his desk like it’s a mortal insult. “I always thought I’d go out in style. You know, something heroic like leaping from a helicopter or rescuing someone from a burning building. This is just fucking depressing.”

You look around, dusted, exhausted, and oddly exhilarated by the chaos. “Well, when life gives you anthrax…” you trail off with a shrug.

Felix raises his coffee cup in salute. “We all go out covered in powder, blood and vomit.”

And with a weary shake of his head, Chan walks back into his office, muttering something about a "transfer request form" under his breath as the bullpen erupts in laughter once more.

Four hours later, the precinct feels like a tomb, the initial panic over the anthrax threat having decayed into a sluggish boredom that clings to the room like a fog. 

Felix stares dead-eyed into his cup, as if expecting it to reveal some hidden truth, while Minho, growing increasingly restless, has resorted to flicking crumpled paper balls at the back of Jeongin’s head. Each hit makes Jeongin flinch, but he’s too tired to even retaliate, just accepting Minho's antics.

You’re leaned back in Jisung’s chair, spinning lazily every now and then as if the motion might somehow break up the monotony. Your coffee, now cold, sits forgotten in your hand, and Jisung, ever the optimist, sits beside you, trying to make light conversation.

“Hey, at least we have each other’s company, right?” he says, nudging you with a hopeful smile.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “It’s my day off, Jisung. I didn’t exactly plan on spending it in lockdown with a possible anthrax scare and shitty coffee.”

Before he can respond, the heavy clomp of boots echoes down the hallway. Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto the doorway just as two men in hazmat suits stride in, their suits rustling like whispers of salvation. You sit up slightly, watching them like they’re some sort of mirage, the long-lost cavalry finally arriving to end this dreary nightmare.

“Well, it’s about fucking time,” you mutter, your eyes following the men as they approach Chan, who looks about as thrilled as a man in his position could look.

Jisung leans over with a small smile, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least they’re here now.”

“Here now?” you scoff, turning to him with an incredulous look. “If this had actually been anthrax, we’d be dead already. What kind of response time is this? They took four hours, Jisung. Four. Do they think we’re immune?”

He stifles a laugh, but you can see his amusement in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Meanwhile, the hazmat men gesture to Chan, their voices muffled by their masks as they deliver what must be a lengthy explanation of protocols and procedures. Chan nods, his shoulders slumping just slightly as he listens.

After a few minutes, Chan clears his throat, his voice cutting through the room with forced authority. “Listen up, everyone! Hazmat just informed me that we could be here for another four to nine hours, depending on how long it takes them to conduct all necessary tests.”

A collective groan rises from the bullpen. Before anyone else can react, you whirl around to Jisung, fixing him with a dramatic, accusing stare.

“Divorce,” you declare, pointing at him with a flourish. “Effective immediately”

Jisung nearly chokes on his coffee, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand up, throwing your arms out in exasperation, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been stuck in this station for hours, with a looming potential biohazard threat. Anthrax or not, this is not how I wanted to spend my day off. This-” you gesture wildly at the room, encompassing the bored, powder-dusted officers around you. “is your fault, Jisung. All of it.”

Jisung stares at you, mouth half-open as he searches for words. “I…how is this my fault? I didn’t exactly order an anthrax scare for our quality time.”

“Oh, but it’s your job that dragged me into this mess!” you say, throwing your hands up again. “I could be at home, in a bathrobe, binge-watching crime dramas from the comfort of our couch. But no. I brought coffee here because I’m a supportive spouse, and now I’m paying the price for marrying you.”

Before Jisung can defend himself, Chan steps in, his voice cutting through like a referee at a boxing match. “Y/N,” he says, an amused smile tugging at his lips, “I’ll call the hospital and get you the day off tomorrow if that’ll make this any easier.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at Jisung with exaggerated triumph. “Well, would you look at that, Jisung? Your captain just saved our marriage.”

Across the room, Felix, who’s been slumped over his desk in a near-sleep state, perks up, chuckling into his hand. “Shit, Chan is pulling out the big guns. Saving marriages and shit.”

Jisung sighs, holding his hands up in a gesture of defeat as he chuckles. “Guess I owe him one.”

“You owe me more than that,” you mutter, sinking back into the chair and resuming your lazy spinning. “The day off and a full spa day when this is over.”

Jisung grins, leaning back with a playful look in his eyes. “Whatever you want, jagiya. Just as long as I don’t have to file those divorce papers.”

Minho, who’s been watching the entire exchange with a smirk, decides to chime in. “If she divorces you, Jisung, I’ll swoop right in. I mean, who wouldn’t want a spouse who brings Italian coffee in a potential biohazard situation?”

Felix snickers. “If you and Y/N got married, the world would implode. Too much chaos in one household.”

You shake your head, stifling a laugh as you look at Minho with a teasing smirk. “You’d never survive, Minho. One bad day, and I’d have you crying into your cereal.”

“Challenge accepted,” he says, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Chan sighs from his spot, still half-listening to the hazmat team’s explanations. “Enough with the matchmaking. If I have to sit through another hour of marriage talk, I’m filing a transfer request.”

Felix chuckles, leaning over to you with a conspiratorial grin. “Captain Bang, mediator of biohazard romances. Didn’t know it was part of the job description.”

“Must be in the fine print,” Chan mutters, shaking his head. "And I wish I had fucking read it properly"

One of the hazmat techs finally steps forward, addressing the room in a slightly garbled voice through his mask. “All right, folks, we’re going to start testing samples now. Please remain calm, avoid unnecessary movements, and try not to touch anything you don’t need to.”

The room collectively exhales in tired resignation. Minho raises his hand, deadpan. “Define ‘unnecessary movements.’”

The hazmat tech stares at him, either confused or completely done with the situation, it’s hard to tell through the mask. “Just sit tight, sir.”

Felix snickers, muttering under his breath, “The real anthrax scare is how bored we’re all going to be by hour nine.”

Jeongin, who’s been silently enduring Minho’s paper ball attacks, speaks up, a note of desperation in his voice. “If we’re going to be here for that long, can we at least get some food? We’ll starve at this rate.”

“Starve?” Minho raises an eyebrow, picking up his discarded coffee cup. “Nah, we’ll be fine. If we get desperate, we can always resort to cannibalism. Starting with Felix.”

Felix sputters, looking genuinely appalled. “Excuse me? Why me?”

“Self-preservation,” Minho replies smoothly. “You’re the smallest. Least resistance.”

Jeongin, unable to hide his grin, chimes in, “Plus, I bet you’d be like the chicken nugget of the group, Felix. Small, bite-sized.”

Felix rolls his eyes, tossing a paper ball at Jeongin. “I’m a gourmet meal, thank you very much. You’d all be lucky to have a piece.”

Jisung leans over, watching the hazmat team set up their equipment with growing fascination. “Is it bad that I’m sort of curious now? I mean, if this actually is anthrax, we’re kind of making history here.”

You look at him, incredulous. “History? History? If it is anthrax, we’ll be coughing up blood and dying in a very unglamorous way, Jisung. That’s not exactly the kind of legacy I had in mind.”

He shrugs, grinning. “Could make for a hell of a story, though.”

You stare at him, shaking your head. “The next time you want a story, we’re sticking to action movies, not anthrax.”

The hazmat techs start running their samples, and the room falls back into a dull, exhausted silence. You recline in Jisung’s chair, closing your eyes, already imagining the blissful tranquility of a spa day—a very overdue, very earned spa day.

After a while, Felix breaks the silence, his voice low and almost wistful. “You know, if we make it out of this alive, I think I’m going to adopt a cat. Just something small and not life-threatening.”

Jeongin snorts. “You’ll have to survive this lockdown first, man. Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”

You chuckle, throwing an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “Fine by me. But if one more puff of powder goes off, I swear, I’m taking the first plane back to Italy and leaving you all to fend for yourselves.”

Jisung just laughs, resting his head against yours. “Whatever you want, jagiya. I'll get on the plane with you.”

Another five gruelling hours crawl by, and the precinct has transformed into a restless prison of boredom and frustration. The air is thick, and stagnant, punctuated only by Felix’s occasional sighs and the relentless tap-tap-tap of Minho’s fingers drumming on his desk. Everyone’s slumped, sprawled out, or halfway to sleep when the two hazmat guys finally reappear, their footsteps echoing like a siren of salvation.

You sit up, barely daring to hope, as the hazmat team heads straight to Chan. After a low, muffled conversation, Chan’s face twists into a mask of pure exasperation. He turns back to the bullpen, the entire room watching him with expectant, tired eyes.

“All right, listen up!” he calls, and every officer straightens slightly, waiting. “The tests are done.” Chan sighs, pausing for what feels like an eternity. “The powder is harmless. A mix of…skin irritants. Talcum powder, cornstarch, and”—he pauses, clearly trying to keep his composure—“itching powder.”

A split second of stunned silence, then the room erupts.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Minho’s hands slam down on his desk as he surges to his feet, his voice a full octave higher than usual. “Nine hours locked down for itching powder?!”

Felix lets out a long, theatrical groan, slumping back in his chair like he might just dissolve into the floor. “Nine hours of this hell, and all we needed was a good rinse in the shower?”

Everywhere around you, officers are grumbling, voices overlapping as they process the absurdity of the past hours. You can’t take another second of it, not Minho’s complaining, not Felix’s endless sighing, not even Jeongin’s eye-rolling. You reach into Jisung’s desk drawer, grab one of the remaining powder packets, and before you can think better of it, you hurl it directly at Minho’s face.

The packet explodes on impact, a cloud of white dust billowing around him. There’s a split-second of silence before laughter explodes through the bullpen, ringing off the walls. Felix slides off his chair, practically wheezing as he gasps for breath, and Jeongin is clapping, grinning like you’ve just performed the greatest prank in the world.

Minho splutters, wiping powder from his eyes, his expression a blend of betrayal and disbelief. “Y/N! You took an oath to do no harm!”

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Nope. That’s the doctor’s oath. I’m a nurse. Totally different.”

He glares at you, dusted in white powder like a disgruntled snowman. “Unbelievable. Nine hours of hell, and this is how I’m treated? I’m filing a report, mark my words.”

Jisung snickers, reaching over to pat your shoulder. “Go ahead, file it under N. For No one gives a fuck.”

Felix, still practically in tears from laughter, chimes in, “Or under T, for Talk to someone who fucking cares.”

Jeongin joins in, his face lit up with mischievous glee. “Or S, for Shut the fuck up, no one gives a shit.”

Hyunjin, who’s been scrolling on his phone the whole time, doesn’t even look up. “Or D, for Don’t give a fuck.”

Minho’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping as he looks around the room, his face a mask of disbelief and faux betrayal. “I’m being bullied by my own subordinates! This is harassment!”

From his desk, Chan finally speaks, his voice weary and deadpan. “Minho, shut the fuck up.”

Minho’s hands fly to his chest in mock agony, his tone an exaggerated whine. “Now I’m being bullied by the big boss! This is it. No one loves me anymore!”

You lean back in your chair, grinning as you taunt, “I bet even your wife is done with your shit. She’s probably using this lockdown as the perfect chance to call her divorce lawyer.”

Felix’s eyes gleam with wicked delight as he gasps dramatically, “Filed under D, for Disappointing dick game!”

Minho’s face flushes a deep crimson, his eyes bulging as he points a finger at Felix. “Disappointing dick game? You little—”

Chan raises his hands, his face pale with horror as he plugs his ears. “Nope. Nope. Not touching this one. Not taking it to HR.”

You lean forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “You could always file it under O, for One-pump chump.”

Jisung nearly falls out of his chair, laughing so hard his coffee almost spills. Felix has rolled onto the floor, clutching his stomach as he gasps for air, and the rest of the officers are chuckling, some tossing balled-up paper and pen caps at Minho, who looks moments away from either combusting or joining in the chaos.

Minho straightens, arms crossed as he tries to look dignified. “All right, don’t think I won’t shoot every last one of you and then myself!”

Felix, propping himself up on one elbow from his spot on the floor, grins up at Minho. “With your aim, Minho? You’d miss yourself and take out half the precinct’s ceiling instead.”

Laughter ripples through the room again, some officers nearly falling out of their chairs, and even Chan has a hand covering his mouth, clearly struggling not to join in.

Minho raises an eyebrow, trying to regain control as he looks over at Chan. “Captain, I’m seriously filing a complaint. This is hostile work environment behaviour.”

Chan’s gaze turns steely, but his lips are twitching as he struggles to hold back laughter. “Minho, one more word, and I’ll personally throw you out of the window.”

Minho huffs, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Fine. Just know that when I finally lose it, none of you will be safe.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lose it? Minho, you lost it the day you joined this precinct. You’re a ticking time bomb of mild inconveniences.”

Jeongin nods, grinning. “Pretty sure your wife would agree, too. She’s probably planning her exit strategy as we speak.”

Felix smirks, winking at Minho. “Filed under M, for Maybe if you were better in bed.”

The room howls with laughter as Minho’s face turns an even deeper shade of red, and you can almost see the smoke rising from his ears. He holds up a finger, shaking it at Felix. “You better hope I don’t catch you in the locker room after this, Lee Felix.”

Felix shrugs, unphased, throwing a playful salute as he leans back in his chair. “Bring it on, grandpa. I can take you.”

Without warning, you walk over to Minho's desk, grab the last remaining packet of powder, and in one smooth motion, smush it directly into his face. There’s a split second of stunned silence before the bullpen erupts in laughter and cheers. Felix lets out a gleeful whoop, practically falling off his chair, while Jeongin laughs so hard he’s clutching his stomach.

Minho sputters, wiping at the powder coating his hair and face, his eyes wide with indignation. “You! I’m going to arrest you for assaulting an officer!” he shouts, launching himself from his chair and charging after you.

You’re already darting across the bullpen, laughter bubbling out of you as you throw a cheeky glance over your shoulder. “Oh yeah? And who’s going to patch you up next time you hurt your wrist being handcuffed to the headboard with your departmentally issued cuffs while getting down and dirty with your wife?”

The bullpen falls silent for a second, jaws dropping as they process your words. Then Felix lets out an ear-splitting scream. “Oh my god! Minho’s sprained wrist was a sex injury?!”

Minho halts mid-chase, face flushing crimson as he slaps a hand over his eyes. “We swore to secrecy!” he protests, his voice cracking with embarrassment.

You duck behind Felix’s desk, grinning wickedly. “Did we? Because I don’t seem to remember that.”

Felix, now nearly in tears, doubles over in his chair, barely able to catch his breath. “This is officially the best day of my life,” he manages to gasp out.

Minho lunges toward you again, but you spring over the desk like a gymnast, dodging his grasp with ease. He stops in his tracks, watching you with a mixture of exasperation and grudging admiration. “Are you some kind of burglar in your spare time?”

You laugh, tossing him a wink. “Had to be, to pick those damn cuffs you left lying around!”

Laughter erupts around the room again, with even Chan chuckling under his breath. Minho, panting and glaring at you, looks around for backup but finds only grins and raised eyebrows. He turns to Jisung, who’s leaning back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. “I’m arresting your wife, Han. You better be ready to bail her out.”

Jisung’s grin widens as he stretches back comfortably. “Go ahead and try. I’ll tase you before you can even get the cuffs out.”

Minho narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “Oh, so now you’re threatening to tase me?”

Jisung shrugs, lifting his coffee cup in a lazy salute. “If it means protecting my wife, absolutely.”

The room breaks into another round of laughter, with Jeongin egging you on, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he hands you yet another packet of powder. “Here. Third time’s the charm.”

Minho stares at you, eyes wide as he holds up his hands in surrender. “I am serious about this arrest, Y/N,” he growls, his face still dusted with powder.

You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Great, but if you do, can you at least use someone else’s handcuffs? I don’t want any residue from your…extra-curriculars.”

The entire room dissolves into hysterics again, Felix’s cackles echoing off the walls as he practically falls out of his chair. Minho’s face grows redder and redder as he points accusingly at Jisung. “This! This is who you married?!” His voice is incredulous, the words practically dripping with mock disgust.

Jisung only shrugs, his eyes gleaming with pride. “Minho, you were at our wedding. You even made a toast. You know I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Minho throws his hands up dramatically, shaking his head in dismay. “At the time, she was the sweet, sexy Italian nurse you somehow tricked into marriage. We were all baffled by it! But now…now she’s just an evil, powder-wielding menace!”

Jisung leans back in his chair, draping his arm over your shoulders with a smug grin. “Yeah, but she’s my evil, powder-wielding menace.”

Seungmin, who’s been watching the whole scene unfold with amusement, finally speaks up, his tone incredulous. “No, seriously, Han. How the fuck did you manage to marry her? I need to know.”

Felix, still half-laughing, adds, “Did you slip something in her coffee, man? Because this feels like a miracle.”

You swat Jisung’s arm playfully, grinning. “Trust me, if there’d been anything suspicious in my coffee, I’d have come to my senses and left ages ago.”

The laughter crescendos as officers toss playful insults at Minho, who looks as though he’s about to burst. Finally, just when he seems on the edge of a breakdown, Chan steps in, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Minho, you’re not arresting her. If anything, she’s doing us all a favour by keeping you in line.”

Minho looks at Chan, his jaw dropping in exaggerated offence. “I don’t even have my captain’s support! What happened to having each other’s backs, huh?”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with a smug grin as Minho mutters, still clearly in shock from the betrayal. Felix, ever the instigator, can’t resist tossing in one last jab. “Hey, Minho, why don’t you go cry to your wife? Oh wait—she’s probably signing those divorce papers as we speak.”

The laughter roars again, and Minho looks as though he’s on the verge of a meltdown. Before he can retaliate, you lean back into Jisung’s embrace, his arms wrapping protectively around you as he chuckles.

��So, after all this,” Jisung murmurs near your ear, “will you still bring us coffee?”

You tilt your head back slightly, smirking up at him. “Only if you start keeping a blanket and pillow in your locker so I can nap next time there’s a lockdown.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, grinning. “If you’d asked, I’d have told you. I’ve had a blanket and pillow in there for months.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You’ve had a blanket this whole time? And I’ve been stuck here, caffeine-deprived and nap-deprived? Jiiiiisung!”

He laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Hey, on the bright side, we can go home now. I’ve racked up a solid six hours of overtime, and we’ve got the whole day tomorrow for movies, naps, and, of course, proper Italian coffee.”

You sigh contentedly, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Fine. But I’m holding you to it.”

Jisung chuckles, loosening his hold on you just enough to stand up. “What are we waiting for, then? Let me change out of this uniform, and we’ll get out of here.”

He gives you a playful wink and heads to the locker room. The second he’s out of earshot, you swivel back to Minho, who’s still brooding at his desk, and raise an eyebrow.

“Surprised you’re still here, Minho,” you say, grinning wickedly. “Your wife’s probably already got her lawyer on speed dial, ready to serve those papers.”

Minho narrows his eyes at you and scoops up a handful of powder left on his desk, flinging it at you. It flutters through the air, dusting your hair and shoulders. Unphased, you brush it off with a smirk.

Felix, watching with barely contained laughter, leans back. “Y/N still looks like a goddamn model, and Minho looks like he’s auditioning for a low-budget winter horror movie.”

Minho’s face grows redder as he scowls around the room. “I hope this is anthrax. I hope it’s actually anthrax, and you all get what’s coming to you.”

Chan, not even looking up from his paperwork, sighs. “Minho, you’ve inhaled more of that stuff than anyone. You’re going first if it is.”

You laugh, pointing at Minho with a dramatic flair. “So we’ll get to laugh at you one last time before we go. Sounds perfect.”

Jisung returns from the locker room a few minutes later, looking relaxed and cozy in his black sweatpants and hoodie. He reaches for your hand, giving you a warm smile as he leads you toward the exit.

As you pass Minho’s desk, you can’t resist one last poke. “And, Minho? I’m off-duty tonight, so you’re on your own for any sex-related injuries. Better keep things vanilla—no handcuffs, no nipple clamps.”

Minho’s face flushes bright red, and the entire room pauses to stare at him, expressions ranging from shocked to delighted. Felix’s head snaps up, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Hold up—did someone say nipple clamps?”

You and Jisung exchange a look, grinning, before turning in unison to point at Minho. The room explodes in laughter once again as Minho slams his hand over his face in mortification.

“Fine! So, I like a bit of spice. Sue me!” he shouts over the uproar.

The laughter only intensifies, but Minho lifts his chin, crossing his arms and attempting to look dignified. “At least I’m not the only one with skeletons. I know all about what you two get up to!” he says, pointing accusingly at you and Jisung.

Felix perks up, eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, I have to hear this.”

Minho leans back, smirking. “They do Grey’s Anatomy roleplay. Full doctor-nurse scenarios.”

Felix’s jaw drops, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Wait—how do you know that?”

Minho grins, clearly enjoying the attention. “I was picking up some old furniture from them. Let myself in, and there they were in the living room. Y/N in a slutty nurse outfit, and Dr. Han was conducting a very unethical exam.”

The bullpen erupts into laughter, louder than ever, and Jisung grins, pulling you close, unbothered by the revelation. You roll your eyes, fighting a smile, knowing Minho’s just getting you back.

Felix, wiping tears from his eyes, stammers, “Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard. You guys are absolute legends.”

You shake your head, throwing a grin Minho’s way. “All right, all right. Keep those stories for next time, Minho. We’ll be back tomorrow if you want to keep sharing.”

Minho gives a mock salute, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ll save the best for last. But just you wait, Jisung. I’ve got more where that came from.”

Jisung chuckles, guiding you out of the bullpen, giving one last wave. “See you tomorrow, Minho.”

The door closes behind you, and the cool night air washes over your face as you take a deep breath, finally free from the laughter, the powder, and the relentless teasing. Jisung leads you to his car, and as you sink into the passenger seat, you can’t help but smile, feeling a giddy sense of satisfaction.

“Well,” you say, leaning back with a sigh, “that was a day.”

Jisung lets out a soft chuckle, starting the car. “It was something all right. But hey, now it’s just us. Tomorrow’s ours. Movies, naps, and that Italian coffee you’ve been promising me.”

You open one eye, giving him a sidelong glance. “No Minho?”

He smirks, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze. “Definitely no Minho.”

Jisung pulls into the driveway, the familiar warmth of home glowing like a promise as he shuts off the engine. You step out of the car, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you stretch, arms raised above your head, sighing in relief to finally be back. Jisung joins you, his fingers intertwining with yours as you both head up the walkway, and for a moment, everything feels blissfully calm and quiet. Worlds away from the precinct’s chaos.

Inside, Jisung locks the door behind you, leaning against it with a weary but contented grin. “Shower?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, laughing. “The last thing I need is that damn itching powder haunting me all night. Not dealing with nine hours of that just to be scratching in my sleep.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Good call. Let’s head up.”

You both kick off your shoes, and you grab the handrail as you make your way upstairs, your dress swishing softly with each step. In the bathroom, Jisung is already tugging his hoodie over his head, tossing it to the floor without a second thought. His grin turns wicked as he catches your eye. “What, no stripping from you?”

You roll your eyes but smile, unzipping the back of your dress and letting it slide from your shoulders, pooling around your feet. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he says, his eyes twinkling as he slips off his sweatpants and steps into the shower. He twists the handle, testing the water temperature with his hand. “Come on, it’s perfect.”

You step in beside him, the hot water pouring over you, washing away the remnants of powder, sweat, and every ounce of stress. Jisung closes the glass door behind you, reaching for the shampoo and pouring a generous dollop into his hands.

“Here, let me,” he murmurs, massaging the shampoo into your hair with gentle fingers, his thumbs rubbing small circles along your scalp.

You close your eyes, melting under his touch. “God, how much powder did we inhale today? I feel like it’s in my hair, my lungs…my brain.”

He laughs, rinsing the shampoo from your hair. “Honestly, we’re probably sneezing up talcum powder for weeks. Worth it though—you looked like a total badass hurling that last packet at Minho.”

“Couldn’t resist,” you say, tilting your head back to let the water flow over your hair. “Besides, the whole thing was ridiculous. Nine hours of lockdown for itching powder?”

“You made it memorable, though,” he teases, his fingers running through your hair to make sure it’s completely clear. “Thanks for sticking it out with us.”

You scoff, giving him a playful nudge. “Like I had much choice. I’d have been thrown in lockup if I’d tried to escape.”

He snorts. “No way would I let that happen to my beautiful wife, stranded in her sundress and all. I’d fight anyone who tried to lock you up.”

“Anyone, huh?” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Even Chan?”

Jisung lifts his chin defiantly. “Even Chan. Sure, he’d wipe the floor with me in seconds, but I’d make it look heroic. I’d do it for you.”

You laugh, turning to face him, your eyes sparkling. “Babe, you’re right. Chan would flatten you without breaking a sweat. One flex of those shoulders, and you’re done.”

“Hey!” he protests, scooping a handful of water and splashing it at you, eyes narrowed in playful accusation. “I thought you were on my side.”

Grinning, you wipe the water from your face. “I am on your side! You’re the one who said it!”

He huffs, though his grin is unstoppable as he lathers up the body wash, his hands moving over your shoulders and down your arms, lingering at your waist. “Sure, sure. Thanks for the support, traitor.”

“Just being realistic here,” you reply, biting back a laugh.

He smirks, his thumb tracing a soft circle on your hip. “Yeah, yeah. ‘Realistic,’ my ass.”

You nudge him lightly, but he only laughs, taking a step back to grab the body wash for himself. You let the hot water cascade over you, rinsing away the last of the powder, and sigh as the warmth melts the final bits of tension in your muscles. Once he’s finished washing, Jisung twists off the water, reaching for a fluffy towel on the wall.

Stepping out, you grab your favourite long robe with the marabou trim, wrapping it around yourself. Jisung, watching you with a smirk, secures a towel around his waist, eyebrows raised in admiration.

“You know,” he says, tilting his head as he eyes your robe, “they call those ‘femme fatale robes’ for a reason. You look like you’re about to seduce me for a stack of cash and a getaway car.”

You snort, pulling a comb through your damp hair. “Please. That’s the last thing on my mind right now. Food and sleep are the only things I’m interested in.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” he says, grabbing his razor from the sink and applying a dollop of shaving cream to his face. “I’m starving. How about takeout?”

“Sounds perfect,” you say, reaching for your skincare products. “Cooking anything tonight sounds like absolute torture.”

He chuckles, carefully shaving the stubble from his face. “Takeout and…a Harry Potter marathon?”

You grin, catching his eye in the mirror. “Now you’re speaking my language. Ravenclaw supremacy, all the way.”

“Uh, excuse me?” He pauses mid-brush, putting on an expression of exaggerated shock. “We all know Hufflepuff’s the real hero house.”

“Oh, Jisung,” you say, shaking your head as you smooth on some moisturizer. “Ravenclaws would outsmart everyone in seconds.”

“Psh, Hufflepuffs would win on loyalty and determination,” he counters, rinsing his razor. “We’re the ones who bring snacks, make sure everyone’s good, and still get the job done.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you reply, patting on some eye cream. “Meanwhile, I’ll be doing what Ravenclaws do best: winning.”

He rolls his eyes, grinning as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Fine, Miss Ravenclaw Supremacy. Let’s go order some food before I pass out right here.”

Together, you head down the hallway to the bedroom, where Jisung grabs his phone and flops onto the bed, scrolling through food delivery options.

“So, what are we feeling? Pizza? Thai? Sushi?” he asks, glancing at you as you turn on the TV and pull up Netflix.

You curl up beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go with Thai. Feels earned after today.”

“Thai it is,” he says, quickly placing the order. He sets his phone down and wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer. “And tomorrow morning, once we’re itch-free and well-rested, I’m making us the biggest breakfast ever. Pancakes, eggs, the whole deal.”

You sigh, melting into his warmth. “That sounds heavenly. But for now, we’ve got Thai on the way, Harry Potter ready to go, and we’re finally powder-free.”

Jisung grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he clicks play on The Philosopher’s Stone. “Nineteen hours and thirty-nine minutes of pure wizarding magic ahead of us.”

You snuggle deeper into him, grinning. “Perfect. Only way this night could be better is if you’d actually pick Ravenclaw.”

“Keep dreaming,” he chuckles, giving your side a gentle squeeze. “Everyone knows Hufflepuffs bring the real magic. Besides, what do Ravenclaws even bring? Trivia?”

“Intellect,” you say, sitting up slightly to give him a haughty look. “And let’s be honest—Ravenclaws would make amazing Aurors.”

He shakes his head, amused. “And Hufflepuffs would be the best Healers, the ones who’d save everyone after your ‘intellect’ gets you all hexed.”

You throw a pillow at him, laughing as he catches it easily. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah, I’m adorable,” he replies with a smirk, leaning in to give you a quick kiss. “And I’ve got Thai food on the way.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” you say, settling back against him as the movie starts.

When the doorbell rings twenty minutes later, Jisung jumps up, grabbing the food and quickly coming back to the bedroom, arms loaded with takeout bags. He spreads them out on the bed, grinning.

“All right, feast time!” he declares, opening the containers. “Green curry for you, Pad Thai for me, and spring rolls for both of us.”

You dig in, savouring the warm, spicy flavours, and let out a contented sigh. “This is exactly what I needed.”

Jisung grins, his mouth full of noodles. “Told you. Nothing like Thai and Harry Potter after a day like that.”

The movie plays on, and you both devour the food, laughing over scenes you’ve seen a thousand times and arguing over the merits of each Hogwarts house. As the night wears on, you find yourself drifting off against him, his arm a comforting weight around your shoulders.

Just as you’re about to fully doze off, Jisung gently shakes you awake. “Hey, don’t fall asleep yet. We’ve got a whole marathon to get through.”

You smile sleepily, snuggling into him. “Can’t help it. You make the perfect pillow.”

He laughs softly, shifting so you’re both lying down, pulling the blankets over you. “All right, fine. We’ll marathon it tomorrow. For now, get some sleep.”

You drift off with his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back, the sound of the movie playing softly in the background. For once, there’s no powder, no noise, just the quiet warmth of home, Jisung beside you, and a full night of uninterrupted rest stretching out ahead.

[koyagifs]

𝓪𝓶𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮

pairing: jongho x reader au: idol | best friends to lovers genre: fluff word count: 1.429 words summary: hanging out with your best friend at lotte world, what more can happen 😗 warning(s): sweet, tooth rotten FLUFF

The sun was shining brightly over the amusement park, and the air was filled with laughter and the sweet scent of cotton candy. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she grabbed Jongho’s hand, pulling him toward the entrance.

“Come on! I want to try everything!” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.

Jongho chuckled, his heart warming at her excitement. “Alright, but you have to promise to try the roller coaster with me!”

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock horror. “The roller coaster? Are you trying to scare me?”

He laughed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. “You’ll love it! I promise.”

After a quick stop at a cotton candy stand, they made their way to the roller coaster. Waiting in line, you began to bit at your nails. Jongho was quick to take them away from your mouth, holding onto them.

He cupped your hands, his warm touch calming the fluttering in your stomach. “Hey, look at me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you met his gaze. “It’s going to be so much fun. We’ll scream, laugh, and I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You took a deep breath, nodding slowly as his reassuring smile washed away some of your anxiety. “Okay, okay. I trust you,” you said, trying to muster up excitement.

As the line inched forward, Jongho kept talking, sharing stories about the last time he rode the coaster. His voice was a comforting rhythm, distracting you from the looming ride ahead. When it was finally your turn, he took your hand and led you to the front seat, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Ready?” he asked, his excitement infectious.

You shook your head no, with each click of the chain pulling you higher, your heart raced. You glanced over at Jongho, who was beaming, his energy almost palpable. Just as you reached the top, the world fell away beneath you, and you both plummeted into a thrilling descent.

Screams escaped your lips, but they quickly turned into laughter as you felt the rush of wind and adrenaline. Jongho’s laughter mingled with yours, filling your heart with joy.

As the ride slowed to a stop and you both stumbled out, you were breathless, a huge smile plastered on your face. “That was incredible!” you exclaimed, adrenaline still coursing through you.

“I told you! You did amazing!” Jongho replied, his eyes shining with pride. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “What do you want to try next?”

You thought for a moment, glancing at the various attractions around you.

" how about we just walk around for now? I'll like to enjoy us hanging out before you have to head back to seoul"

Jongho nodded, a small ping in his heart as the word “hang out” left your lips. He may not be the most affectionate one, but God, he was head over heels for you. “That sounds perfect,” he replied, a soft smile spreading across his face.

As you strolled through the park, the vibrant colors of the rides and the laughter of other visitors surrounded you. Jongho kept his arm around your shoulders, a comforting presence that made you feel safe and cherished. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and it filled you with happiness.

“Look at that!” you exclaimed, pointing at a stall selling handmade friendship bracelets. “We should get matching ones!”

“Are you serious?” Jongho chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “You want me to wear one?”

“Of course! It’ll be our little secret,” you said playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Plus, it’ll remind you of today every time you look at it.”

He thought about it for a moment, the corners of his lips curling up. “Alright, you win. Let’s do it!”

As you approached the stall, you picked out some colorful threads and began to design the bracelets together. Jongho watched you with amusement, your concentration evident as you meticulously braided the threads. “You have a real talent for this,” he said, genuinely impressed.

“Thanks! It’s just practice,” you replied, glancing up at him with a smile. “But I think you’ll have to do most of the tying since I’m better at the design part.”

With a laugh, he agreed, and soon you both were working side by side, exchanging playful banter as you crafted your matching bracelets. When they were finished, you each slid one onto the other’s wrist, feeling a sense of warmth and connection.

“Now we really are linked,” Jongho said, admiring the bracelet on his wrist. “It’s actually pretty cool.”

“See? I knew you’d like it!” you replied, beaming with pride.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found a cozy spot on a bench. You sat side by side, watching the world go by. Jongho stole glances at you, a soft smile lingering on his lips as he soaked in the moment.

As you both continued your walk, Jongho tugged on your hand, leading you toward the carousel. The colorful horses spun in a gentle rhythm, their painted manes flowing as the cheerful music filled the air. You couldn’t help but smile at the nostalgic sight. Jongho cupped your cheeks, squishing your lips out as you let out a loud laughed.

“Jjong~” you exclaimed, trying to push his hands away, but the way he was grinning made it hard to stay annoyed. “What are you doing?”

Jongho chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Just making sure you’re having fun! You look so cute when you laugh.”

Your cheeks flushed at his compliment, and you tried to hide your smile, but it was impossible. As you set your phone up, wanting to capture this moment forever. He once again cupped your cheeks, hearing the shutter go off.

As Jongho cupped your cheeks again, you felt your heart flutter. His touch was gentle, and you couldn’t help but lean into his warmth. The shutter clicked, capturing the moment perfectly—the way his eyes sparkled with joy, and the way your laughter lit up your face.

“Let me see!” you said, reaching for your phone. Jongho stepped back, a teasing smile on his lips as he held the phone just out of your reach.

“Not yet! I want to take one more,” he said, positioning himself beside you. “But this time, I want a silly one!”

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Alright, let’s do it!”

You were in shock when his lips met yours, the shutter sound going off as you leaned into the kiss. Time seemed to freeze as everything around you faded away. The world, with its vibrant colors and sounds, vanished, leaving only the warmth of Jongho’s lips against yours.

When you pulled away, your heart raced, your cheeks flushed with surprise and joy. “Jongho! You just—”

He laughed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What? You wanted a silly picture, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh along, though your heart was still fluttering wildly. “I didn’t mean that kind of silly!”

He stepped back, pretending to be innocent. “Well, I think that was pretty cute. What do you think?”

You shook your head, still trying to process the sweet surprise. “You’re impossible!”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, his smile wide and genuine. “But I just wanted to capture this moment, and it felt right.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at his honesty. “It definitely was right. Just… unexpected.”

He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers. “I didn’t want to miss my chance. You make everything better, and I wanted to make this moment special.”

Your breath caught at his words. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied softly, his gaze locking onto yours.

With the sunset painting the sky behind him, he looked almost ethereal. The carousel continued to spin, its lights twinkling around you, but in that moment, it felt like you were in your own little world.

“Shall we take another ride?” he asked, still holding your hand, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Yes, let’s go!” you said, heart racing with a mix of excitement and affection. As you headed back to the carousel, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this day—and this moment—was something you’d remember forever.

As you climbed onto the carousel once more, you found yourself seated beside him. The ride began to spin, and as you glanced over at Jongho, you realized that this day was more than just a fun outing; it was the beginning of something beautifully unexpected between you two.

[heyyoubuckaroo]

Displacement | 1.2k | AO3

I saw the 8.09 promo stills of Buck looking like a sad, wet dog in Eddie's house at night and ran with it.

Banged this out pretty quickly, so will almost certainly come back to stealth edit.

Enjoy!

~~~

Eddie feels the argument coming on before it lands. He’s been waiting for it, ever since Buck walked into the house and caught him looking at real estate listings for El Paso. These last few weeks, it’s like they’ve been prepping for a storm—shutting the windows, locking the doors, pretending the sky hasn’t already gone full dark.

“Why are you okay with this?” Buck demands.

He’s on the other side of Eddie’s living room, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. He hadn’t bothered to take off his shoes when he came through the front door, and he’s still wearing his faded denim jacket with the black collar—the one he throws on sometimes when he helps Eddie with the yard work on weekends. Eddie knows exactly what it smells like: Tide detergent, peppermint gum, a hint of juniper from the cologne Maddie bought Buck last Christmas.

“I’m not okay,” he says.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Buck is staring stubbornly past him. “You didn’t seem to have any problem saying goodbye to Chim or Hen or... Bobby.” His mouth twists. “It’s like you don’t even care that you’re leaving.”

Frustration wells inside Eddie, like blood to the edge of a cut.

“If you just asked how I felt instead of assuming, you’d know that’s not true.”

Eddie watches this hit. Buck’s breathing hitches, like he might back down for once. But Buck is Buck, so he barrels forward instead.

“When was I supposed to ask you, Eddie? Out of nowhere, you drop that you’re moving to El Paso.” He makes a soft, pained noise. “And I get it, okay? I get that it’s Chris, and he comes first. He should come first. But you never even told me you were thinking about it.”

“You had a lot going on.”

“Like what?” Buck’s eyes narrow. “Tommy?”

The thing is, they don’t talk about him—not really. Eddie is intimately acquainted with the small, mean part of him that will always resent Tommy for taking something that wasn’t his to take. He steps toward Buck, closing the distance between them, or maybe applying more pressure to the wound. He can’t tell the difference.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like Tommy.”

“I’m not allowed to be upset about my boyfriend breaking up with me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Eddie stops beside the couch, and Buck just looks at him. Then, like flipping a switch, he squares his shoulders and pulls himself to his full height. It’s the day they met all over again: Buck posturing, scared of losing his place. Eddie, trying to find his footing.

Maybe they’re both scared now.

Eddie knows he shouldn’t push, but he can’t help it. “You didn’t seem to care until you were the one getting left behind.”

He’s close enough to track every emotion that flickers across Buck’s face—confusion, surprise, hurt. Buck’s eyes, grey shadowing the blue, lock onto his. And God help him, Eddie feels a rush of heat under the full weight of his attention.

Buck shakes his head. “I always made time for you when I was with Tommy.”

“You—” Eddie presses his fingertips against his mouth. “You didn’t even give me a chance to process it. One minute it was just... us, and the next you’re like, ‘Hey, Eddie, I’m dating your new friend.’ What was I supposed to do with that?”

“So... what? You weren’t okay with me dating him?”

“No!”

They both freeze, Eddie’s denial hanging in the air. In the silence that follows, he hears his own breathing, ragged and loud in his ears. He doesn’t know if it’s adrenaline or the ugly truth of what he’s said, but his pulse kicks up and his body braces itself—waiting for the impact.

Across from him, Buck’s expression crumples, something delicate giving way under stress.

“You said it didn’t change anything.”

Eddie did say that. He might’ve even meant it. It’s hard to remember now—seven, eight months later. All that time lost between, watching Buck experience the kind of joy Eddie doesn’t get to have.

He went back to St. James’ once, a few days after Buck and Tommy broke up. He’d been looking for the priest from the juice bar. Father Brian wasn’t hearing confessions that day, so Eddie sat alone in a pew halfway up the aisle of the church, working his left thumb into the soft space between the tendons of his right palm, pushing until it hurt.

Pain in place of guilt. It’s a trick he learned when he was young.

“I lied,” he says. Because whether he meant to or not, that’s what happened.

“Right.”

Already, Buck is withdrawing, his shoulders hunched and defensive. Eddie’s instinct is to course correct. To offer reassurances. To reel him back in.

“Good to know I made things awkward for you,” Buck says flatly.

And Eddie... Eddie is so tired of pretending.

“Evan.”

Buck drags in a sharp breath. Eddie’s only called him that once—sitting on a hospital bed with a bullet wound in his chest and Buck’s words, I think it would have been better if I was the one who got shot, driving straight through it.

Most days, Evan is just Buck: LAFD firefighter. Adored little brother and uncle. Eddie’s best friend.

They’re close now, drawn together by impulse or habit. Eddie’s socked toes touch the tips of Buck’s sneakers. He reaches out, his hand finding its place on Buck’s shoulder, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone. He rubs it lightly over the fabric of his T-shirt, giving in to the urge to soothe.

“By the time I figured out what it changed,” Eddie says, quiet, “it was too late.”

The back of his free hand brushes against Buck’s, their arms pressing together from shoulder to wrist. Buck is shaking a little, the fine tremors passing between them. Eddie is aware he shouldn’t be doing this—not when he’s about to leave Buck alone.

He swallows down his nerves and leans in.

“Eddie,” Buck says.

Eddie gives in to his selfish desires. He pulls, and Buck, always willing to follow his lead, bends. His eyes drift shut as their foreheads meet, noses skimming. Buck’s hand turns, palm up, sliding against Eddie’s until their fingers catch.

He wants this. They both want this.

Buck’s phone rings.

It’s like a bucket of ice water. Eddie shudders, and Buck jerks back to stare at him, wide-eyed. The thread holding them together frays, then snaps. For a moment, neither of them reacts.

Eddie’s brain catches up to his body first, registering the ringtone.

“That’s the station,” he says. His voice sounds low. Wrecked. “You should get it.”

“Shit.” Buck bites his lip, leaving it flushed and pink.

Grieving the loss, Eddie forces himself to look away from Buck’s mouth. He steps back to give Buck space as he fumbles for his phone.

“Bobby?” Buck answers.

Eddie can’t make out the words on the other end of the line, but he can tell from the way Buck’s face falls, it’s bad news.

Years of training—as an army medic and a first responder—kick in. Eddie focuses, letting the emergency in front of him wipe everything else clean. It’s shockingly easy.

The call is brief. Buck hangs up, then blinks down at his hands, unseeing.

“What is it?” Eddie asks.

“Maddie.”

Buck sways where he stands, clutching his cellphone. When he looks up, his eyes are wide and lost. They settle on Eddie, and somehow, he knows what’s happened before Buck says it. He feels the storm passing over them.

“They took her.”

[werepuppy-steve]

a gseb snippet i wrote in the dms with @flowercrowngods last year. this takes place in the s4 portion of the fic, obviously. i write these scenes as they come to me, so most of them aren't in any linear order.

"hang on, you got a secret car i don't know about?"

the look in eddie's eyes is a little wild but steve chalks that up to the adrenaline rush of being on the run for two days.

"it's not exactly a car, steve. and it's not exactly mine, but, uh. it'll do."

steve is an open book. he'll deny it even on his death bed, but when he's thinking hard, he gets that cute little scrunch between his eyebrows, the one that eddie likes to press kisses to until steve relaxes and laughs, and his lips pucker up like a fish.

eddie can see the cogs turning plain as day and he has to hold in his manic little giggle when the pieces click and realization dawns on steve's face.

"no. eddie. absolutely not, no way."

he repeats this when they've all successfully broken into the duncan's winnebago right under their noses and eddie starts pulling wires this way and that.

"this is the most idiotic idea you've ever had, i swear to god."

eddie pokes his tongue out in concentration as he cuts one wire. "come on, don't tell me you haven't thought about taking a little joy ride in this thing." he flashes steve a grin over his shoulder. "they've been flaunting it ever since they got it, thinkin' they're better than the rest of us."

he crosses two wires and jumps a little at the first spark. "besides, after how they acted last week? they deserve a little karma."

the duncan's haven't lived in forest hills long, just under a year, but they let their distaste for the residents known.

especially eddie, wayne, and steve.

forest hills was the one place steve and eddie didn't have to hide. they were free to hold hands while sitting on the porch, give each other fleeting kisses at the picnic table. they were open around their neighbors, who never treated them any different for how they loved each other.

the duncan's weren't so kind. they sneered at them with upturned noses the first time they saw the two boys kiss each other goodbye after the halloween party the trailer park hosted for the residents every year. last week, eddie had walked over to help mrs. duncan carry in her groceries but she'd just scoffed and said, "i don't think i need any help from your kind, boy."

eddie didn't tell steve the specifics of that interaction, but steve was smart and filled in the blanks himself.

read more about gseb here & here

[rarityroo]

Hoi, may I please ask for Pomni with a fem porcelain ballerina doll reader who despite being physically fragile, still likes to do reckless things like fighting against NPC villains (and Jax if he's being too mean), or dancing too roughly. Even though by the end of it, she still ends up breaking off a limb or two, or another piece of her porcelain body, so she often times needs to be patched up and glued/taped back together by a concerned Pomni

Put me together again

Pomni x fem!porcelain!ballerina reader

Hey! I hope you like this, I tried to include a little bit of everything in the request and also I hope this isn’t too short! There’s also a lil bit of angst but dw it resolved bc Pomni is very supportive and loving. Please send in more requests they keep me motivated, Enjoy! 🫶🏻

You've always been on the wilder side, despite being physically so fragile you always loved being more active, whether you were sent off on an adventure by Caine or stopping Jax's antics. You just loved doing things, unfortunately being made of porcelain wasn't the best material to be made of when you were being adventurous but you didn't mind that much. You just say you’ll be careful and hope for the best, this was enough for you although for Pomni it just caused her to be extremely worried, you didn’t get why, it's not like you've gotten seriously hurt or anything, well until now.

"And you wonder why I worry," Pomni says in a tone that wavers between worried and frustrated, "It's not even that bad!" You say you gotta admit it is kinda bad, "I still got two other limbs don't I?" You knew you were pushing it but you couldn't help but feel the rush of adrenaline every time you did something reckless. Despite Pomni's concerns, you found joy in the thrill of the moment. Pomni sighed, her eyes filled with worry as she scanned over your damaged porcelain body. "You need to be more careful. You're not like the others. You can't just shrug off injuries as easy as they can, you're fragile." God, you hated that word fragile, to be called that felt like an insult, you knew Pomni would never but still it felt so disrespectful. You pouted, about to cross your arms with a huff but you only had an arm and a leg, maybe this was serious. "But where's the fun in playing it safe all the time? I want to experience things, even if it means risking a few chips and cracks, there's barely anything to do here it's like a prison! The fact that Caine lets us go on adventures keeps me sane!"

Pomni shook her head, her expression softening. "I understand, but I can't help but worry about you. You're- you're very special to me, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling a pang of guilt at Pomni's genuine concern. She was right; you were different, you hated it but you were and your porcelain body made you more vulnerable than others. "I appreciate your concern, Pomni," you murmured, your voice softer now. "And I'm sorry for making you worry. I just... I can't help myself sometimes. The thrill, the excitement... it's addictive."

Pomni nods with understanding, her eyes holding compassion. "I know. And I don't want to stifle your spirit. It's one of the things I love about you But please, try to be more aware of your limitations. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

You reached out, your remaining hand trembling slightly as you gently touched Pomni's arm. "I promise, Pomni. I'll try to be more careful. For you." Pomni smiled, her expression filled with warmth. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

As Pomni began the process of repairing your damaged body, being so gentle with you, it didn't feel patronizing or out of pity it was just pure love, As Pomni delicately began repairing your damaged porcelain body, her touch was gentle and caring, each delicate movement, she seemed to mend not only your physical cracks and chips but also the doubts and fears in your heart. It was as if her presence alone could soothe the restless spirit within you.

"Pomni," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion as you looked into her shimmering eyes. "I... I don't say this enough, but I... I love you. Not just for what you do for me, but for who you are. You're my anchor in all this, and I don't know what I'd do without you." Pomni's expression softened even further, her eyes reflecting the depth of her feelings. "... I love you too," she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

In that tender moment, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. No matter how many times you fell apart Pomni was always there to put you together again.

Maybe it was time to reconsider your approach to adventure, but that didn't matter right now. After all, with Pomni by your side, you could only see her.

[feveredvisions]

MobLand EP1 Review

I am left slack-jawed. Frozen. Eyes widened in shock.

It started with a bang-bang-bang followed by the adrenaline rush of the sweet escape from the neverending chase of chaos.

The pilot episode held my attention and had it in a grip throughout its duration. At the show's start, I immediately caught on to what was happening—who these people were, what was the deal with them, their businesses and their relation to one another, especially Harry and what he does. He's a layered character who's extremely organised and has everything in his life compartmentalised. No need for a background of anything as a new viewer.

I also enjoyed the humourous moments that naturally sprouted. I was cracking up at the first parts and on the latter parts, all the joy was wiped out. I liked the natural pyramidal progression of the storyline.

Can't bloody trust anyone in that business. Not even your own family! Speaking of families, I also liked the part where Harry was with his wife, Jan, and their daughter. See, Da Souza's great at his job and at talking business and making business happen, but he SUCKS at communicating with his wife. They seem explosive and Jan seems extremely patient with Harry. If they have a heart to heart talk, I feel like it'll always end up with them in an argument. There's no baring his neck, not even to his wife. No vulnerability. He has to stay on-guard all the time (understandably so). But my god does this man meets Jan halfway. He puts an effort when he can. As he should.

It's all so delicate. Everything and everyone are within reach. Harry gets things done. He stands on business. But so easily, he could get fucked over esp by the Harrigans and practically anyone else. God, the Harrigans are a mess. Then again, what's a family if there isn't any drama?

Da Souza's ability to command a situation is admirable and impressive. None of that corny gruffiness. Just light, straight to the point, and conversational. Always keeping his unnerving coolness and his proper manners when talking to others. His thank you's and please's. He doesn't negotiate. He sees into the future and knows how every choices end. He gives the best option to you and all you have to do is follow and you'll live another day with your limbs intact and your assets secured. Easy. Indeed, things do get resolved with proper communication.

Trust and betrayal are tightly intertwined just like Conrad and Maeve are. They are a great pair. Women truly are reliable, sensible, and logical when it comes to problem resolution. Men are simply an emotional mess. Maeve is Conrad's voice of reason, but that puts the power to her, because she can so easily fuck with his head which just left me slack-jawed. I like how she's got sharp senses and could tell if you're an imposter regardless if you soaked yourself in holy oil.

Started with a bang and ended with a bang. EP1 of MobLand absolutely slayed. I'm left wanting for more and still not knowing what to expect. I'm just here for the ride.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Six: Prophetic Girl

The Pariahs That Saved The World

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: canon-events (demobats), some fluffy bits in this one, vecna's curse, not proof-read

[A/N: Oh my goodness, the procrastinator has returned- Whew, thank you all for your patience! I finally found some time to finish the next chapter; I really didn't want to rush anything so just know this one was created with every ounce of love <3)

Prophetic Girl

You don’t know why you dived into the water with the others.

You weren’t a particularly strong swimmer, nor did you have a heroic nature urging you to help save a friend.

The look Robin gave you as her best friend was dragged under the water was probably the culprit, ripping open your heart with her absolute terror.

That was the scariest part of it all. The emotional discipline you had forced upon yourself over the past year could be shattered in seconds from just one look, reigniting a feeling you thought was lost forever. And god dammit, you would do anything to make sure that feeling never got away from you again.

“Steve!” Robin screams as you pull yourself out of the gate, wiping the water from your face.

The Upside Down. It wasn’t like you expected it to be. You know they had described it as a reflection of Hawkins, a darker universe than the one you resided in, yet part of you always assumed there’d be something strangely beautiful about this place. But you were here now, rushing to the others to help them fight off the local bats, looking around with nothing but disgust on your face.

Perhaps you couldn’t find the beauty in everything after all.

You barely reached the others before Eddie was shouting behind you. Duck? In the last second, you mange to crouch to the ground and avoid something with claws flying over your head, screeching into the dark sky. You blink. Was that a…

“Bats!” Eddie exasperates, grabbing an oar from the ground and charging full speed at the one swinging back for a second time.

It was a chaotic blur of stress and adrenaline, somehow batting away small razor sharp teeth and wrestling against their surprisingly slimy bodies. You had managed to pull one from Nancy’s back and drive your boot down on its head before Robin pulled you away from an attack, Eddie’s oar quick to slam it to the ground.

Steve was bitten pretty badly, the first thing you observed as he spat out the head of a bat, panting. You thought Eddie was about to explode from excitement, looking at you with wide eyes and suppressing a smile. How he managed to find joy even in hell, you would never know.

“You okay?” Robin’s hand shook as she places both hands on her best friend’s shoulders, worried eyes searching his. He lets out a breathy laugh and nods, her body practically depleting in relief.

“You’re sure?” Nancy prompts, and he examines himself closer, still nodding. “Took about a pound of flesh but, uh, other than that… never better.”

You let out a sigh and wipe your brow, watching as Robin crouches beside you to shine a light on a bat corpse.

“Uh, do you guys think these bats have, like, rabies?” Robin questions, looking up at you with a frown.

“What?” Steve gapes, and you suck in your lips.

“It’s just that rabies are, like, my number one greatest fear.” She explains, standing back up, “And I think we should get you to a doctor really soon because once symptoms set in, it’s too late. You’re already dead.”

Both Steve and Nancy look at her in exasperation, their features clearly telling that they didn’t appreciate Robin’s spiralling input. You start to smirk.

“Or you’ll become a vampire.” You offer with a grin and he mockingly nods his head.

“We need to get you patched up.” Nancy states, looking dishevelled from the fight, looking around, “Maybe we can-”

The trail of thoughts were lost as you all watch another group of bats fly down to where the gate rested, tearing at it. You squint your eyes, focusing. What were they doing?

“Uh, guys?” Eddie interrupts, and you turn to see him staring at the sky, your eyes widening. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“Nah, there’s not that many, we can take ‘em.” Steve breathes out, wincing when you lightly tap him. But it draws everyone else’s focus up to the sight that had you and Eddie stood in fear.

As your eyes fixate on the litter of shapes between the warm clashes of red and blue, you quickly start to nod, grabbing Eddie by the shirt and pulling him into a run as you all silently agree to a fast escape.

“The trees!” You yell, pointing to your left and you all head for the treeline, ducking for cover just as the bats attempt to swoop down, blocked by the thick expanse of wood.

You all manage to huddle under the flipped version of Skull Rock, panting as the bats fly past with no prey in their sight.

“That… was more cardio than I paid for.” Robin gasps and you collapse against a rock, catching your breath.

Nancy was quick to start patching Steve up despite his polite objections. You even raised an impressed eyebrow when she rips off the hem of her shirt to substitute bandages with fabric, sharing a look of awe with Eddie.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Robin trying to calm Steve down in a way that would have you smiling. But Steve didn’t look to be in the smiling nature.

Calmly, you place a hand on her shoulder and gently guide her away, the girl giving you a smile.

Instead of berating her best friend with a million facts and questions that would probably stress him out, she took a seat on the ground opposite you, her smile noticeably less bright when Eddie plops directly beside you, groaning.

“So… anyone got a blunt?”

“Jesus Christ.” You groan with a smirk, eyeing him with amusement. “You seriously think now is a good time to be getting high?”

“I personally think this is the best time to get high.” He says with confidence, stretching out his legs.

“You’re an idiot.” You say, adoration in your voice that made Robin’s skin crawl.

“Ouch.” He mockingly holds his hand to his heart, “I wasn’t treated this way when you needed a smoke after you rear-ended Mrs Click’s car-”

“Shut up!” You hiss with laughter, gently shoving him away from you and he chuckles, shoving back.

As she watched the two of you tease one another with an ease that made her queasy, Robin’s brows furrowed. You were both much closer than she had hoped for.

“Why did you guys break up?”

The quiet laughter broke into silence, inquisitive eyes suddenly set on hers. She feels her ears burn, quickly swooping her hair forward to conceal them.

“Thank you for asking.” Eddie claps his hands like it was an interview and you roll your eyes, immediately easing the tension. “Well, you see, we were like, what? 15? 15. It was cute, very short, and we realised we were better friends. Right?”

“That’s about it.” You shrug, smiling. Your eyes land on hers with a lightness to them that made her heart swoon.

“So why did you even get together in the first place?” She frowns, face dropping when his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, god, that sounded meaner than it did in my head.”

“We hadn’t really tried the friend part yet.” You chuckle, and Eddie hums.

“Too blinded by our mutual hatred for King Steve and his merry band of idiots.”

“So you could say Steve brought us closer together.” You quip and Robin suppresses a laugh.

“One of you say my name?” Steve suddenly asks and you all fall into laughter, ignoring the boy’s curious frown.

After a while, Eddie shakes his head and jumps up to stalk over to a fallen tree trunk, inspecting it.

“He’s pretty cool.” Robin sighs, watching him step up onto the wood and survey the land like an explorer.

“Yeah.” You look over your shoulder with a smile, something like sadness flickering across your face for just a fleeting moment. If Robin didn’t find herself completely captivated with every movement you made, she would have missed it completely. Was it… regret? Did you regret the break up? Did you want him back-

“So, uh…” Eddie’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts as you all turn to where he stood at the tip of the tree trunk. “This place is like Hawkins, but with monsters and nasty shit?”

“Pretty much.” Nancy responds, grunting a little as she attempts to shift some of Steve’s weight onto her. “Wait, watch out for the vines. It’s all a hive mind.”

“It’s all a what?”

“All the creepy crawlies around here, dude. They’re like, one or something.” Steve tries to explain, wincing as he brushes his hand over the bandages.

“I repeat, it’s all a what?” Eddie frowns and you stand up, grimacing.

“Uh, step on a vine, you step on literally everything else at the same time and then, well, evil wizard comes to snap our bones.” You shrug, his mouth parted in shock as he nods slowly in recognition.

“Shit.” He simply says, starting his descent.

“But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people, obviously?” Robin appears beside you, her arm brushing against yours.

“As far as I understand it, yeah.” Nancy nods and you can practically hear the cogs turning in Robin’s mind, humming with excitement.

“So, theoretically, we could go to the police station and steal guns and grenades and whatever we need to blow up those bat things that are guarding the gate.” She suggests and you vigorously nod along to her idea, loving where her mind was at.

“I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robin. But guns, yeah, sure.” Steve rolls his eyes and you hum.

“I don’t know, I definitely think Hopper would stash grenades somewhere.” You say and Nancy tilts her head in acknowledgement, silently agreeing.

“Well, we don’t have to go all the way downtown for guns.” Nancy says and you raise your eyebrow. “I have guns. In my bedroom.”

“You,” Eddie jumps down with surprise, brows furrowed. “Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?”

“Full of surprises, isn’t she?” Robin grins.

Eddie doesn’t look convinced.

“Be a sceptic, but I watched her shoot at a demogorgon that was emerging from the ceiling.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And I gotta tell ya, Nancy owning guns is the least surprising thing in that sentence.”

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver.” Nancy confirms.

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one.” Steve comments, getting closer.

Nancy starts to smile, turning her head to him. “You almost deserved it.”

They share a look and you twist your face. “Gag me with a spoon.”

“I got it.” Eddie says, slipping off his denim vest and launching it at Steve, the boy barely catching it before it hit his face. “For your modesty, dude.”

You almost laughed at his face until the ground violently shook beneath you, throwing you off balance and sending you crashing into Robin. She tried her best to catch you, but she was already falling to the ground, your body laying on top of her and you both squeezed your eyes shut until the earthquake stopped.

“What… the hell… was that?” You pant, turning your head to see Robin’s wide eyes staring back at you. For a second, you couldn’t peel your eyes away, closer than you ever would have imagined.

The moment was short-lived, a chorus of snarls and screeches echoing through the woods like an omen.

“Yeah, so guns seem like a pretty good idea to me.” Eddie gasps.

“Yeah me too.”

“Me three.”

You and Robin both reply as you peel away from eachother, avoiding eye contact like neither of you had any kind of self-restraint.

It was impossible not to notice a particular pair of eyes on you as your own stayed glued to the ground, unfamiliar with the Upside Down and its tricks. For anyone to be watched would be somewhat discomforting, but not in this particular instance. Because, for as long as you can remember now, anytime she’s looked away, your eyes have been returning the favour.

“Did you wanna say something?”

You finally break the silent streak occurring between you and Robin, her sheepish smile brightening her face once she realises she’s been caught.

“I, uh…” She fumbles around for an excuse, letting out a low whistle. “Was just making sure you’re okay. That’s all. Nothing weird.”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” You laugh, catching her eyes and she almost melts. “Do I not look okay?”

“You look amazing.” Robin shakes her head, blinking when she realises what she just said. “Uh, I didn’t mean that. Not that you don’t look amazing, you do, even after all of that. Not in a weird- what I meant to say was I don’t think you aren’t okay, I was just…”

She lets out a groan and you laugh again.

“I’ve just dragged you into this and I can’t help thinking it will be my fault if you aren’t okay.”

“Robin.” You carefully step over a vine, clearing your throat. “Before you showed up at my door, I was already deciding that I was going to help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip, shrugging. “The, uh, the first time Nancy asked me to help, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wasn’t in the mood to try and save a town that I hated. It was… complicated.”

“What changed your mind?”

“My gran.” You smile, albeit sadly. “I suddenly realised that I’ve lost too many people here. Even if… even if I don’t belong here, the people living in this town don’t deserve to die. I can’t just leave when people I care about are in danger.”

“So my whole speech was just for nothing?”

“Not for nothing.” You shake your head, suddenly sending her a smirk. “It was very entertaining.”

“Shut up.” Robin giggles, nudging your arm playfully.

As she does, her joy momentarily distracts her from her own very important mission: do not trip.

It almost cost her, glancing down at the last second to come to a screeching halt, the toes of her boots a fraction away from brushing the side of a vine. Her sudden stop itself threw her off balance, and she felt herself falling back.

Until your hands reached out and caught hers, pulling her closer to you before she fell victim to gravity completely.

“Thanks.” She says breathlessly, and you can only nod, looking down to where your fingers interlocked hers.

Clearing your throat, you take your hands back and offer a smile, ignoring the sickly sweet feeling of your heartbeat drumming a little faster than it had been before your hands found someone’s to hold.

“Gotta be careful.” You whisper, returning your eyes to the path and moving towards Nancy’s silhouette up ahead. Robin stood there for a moment longer, biting her lip.

She was just torturing herself now. Either she said something, prayed for some kind of miracle, or she moved on. There was no point living in this romance limbo when there were more important things to worry about.

Her feet were tired by the time you reach the Wheeler house, shifting in her shoes as Steve takes the flashlight from her and clicks it on, the door creaking beneath his push.

The interior reflected its exterior, dark and covered head to toe with vines that made her grimace at the sight.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin jokes, almost jumping when she hears you shut the door.

“Sorry.” You mouth, walking into the space. “Wow. Love the décor.”

“Come on,” Nancy tilts her head to the staircase, “I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.”

She starts bounding up the steps, and Robin gives you a shrug before she and Eddie start to follow up, your own footsteps behind Steve’s. Except, for some reason, he stops.

“Hello?” You crane your neck around to where he’s shining the flashlight at nothing. “Earth to Steve?”

“Shhh.” He whispers, holding a finger to his lips. You frown. “I hear something.”

“Oh god.” Your shoulders slump. “You’re not hallucinating, are you? Because I can’t be the one to tell Robin the rabies got you.”

“Just… shut up.” He says, slipping past you and moving to the corner. “It’s him.”

Any sarcastic quips you had rattling around your brain were pushed away, fear flooding your body. “Vecna?”

“What? No, no.” He shakes his head, holding his finger in the air. “Henderson.”

“Hend-” You stop, tilting your head. “You can hear Dustin?”

“Just…” He sighs and waltz over to you, placing a hand on your back and moving you to where he was previously stood.

“Oh, hey, Y/n, come over here.” You mumble as you shrug his hand off of you. “What am I-”

“Just listen.” He says and you sigh, shutting your mouth and entertaining the idea.

For a moment, nothing.

And then the voice whispers around you, muffled, and most definitely Dustin’s.

“Holy shit.” You breathe out and Steve nods furiously. “Holy shit.”

“Dustin!” He starts to shout and you join him, the both of you shouting around the space. “Dustin!”

Once they hear your yelling, the other three are running down the stairs, Robin’s heart beating fast, assuming that the minute she left you had been attacked and there would be no way to-

“What the…” Eddie mutters and she widens her eyes in disbelief.

“Dustin! Hello?!”

The two of you are yelling at the walls and ceilings, making her blink.

“Maybe he really does have rabies.” She comments and Eddie frowns.

“Is it contagious?” He asks and she tilts her head, still fixated on the shouting frenzy.

“Only if he bit her.”

“Hello?” Dustin?!”

“Guys, what are you doing?” Nancy interrupts your next cry for the young boy and you turn to them, breathing heavy.

“We heard Dustin.” You breathlessly explain and Steve nods behind you, still shouting.

“He's here. Henderson. That little shit, he's here. He's like... He's in the walls or something. Just listen.” Steve grins at them before walking away, continuing his call. “Dustin!”

“Uh…” You stare as he spins around in a circle. “He might look crazy, but I promise he’s right. Listen.”

You watch the realisation fall over their faces, making you smile.

They fan out, calling out his name and following in Steve’s lead, trying to communicate with the boy on the other side.

As you go to join them, you catch something out of the corner of your eye, reflecting on the glass of the window. You can still hear Dustin’s voice droning in and out, like a radio that hadn’t been sent to the right frequency. But it didn’t sound the same as before. Something was different.

Your refection was blurry, making you squint. Goosebumps started to trail across your skin, making you shiver. It wasn’t your reflection.

Robin was the only to see how you blinked into a state of paralysis, immediately calling out for help as she rushes over to you.

It seemed like Vecna had something else to say.

Chapter Seven: We Are The Pariahs

taglist: @kryztalglear . @learninglinesintherainn . @officerrrfriendly . @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean . @spacedoutdaydreamer . @endurexxsurvive . @em16cor . @gray-cheese . @chaosofmanyfandoms . @kitdjarin1 . @some-day--some-how . @cultish-corner . @marirxse .

[eclipse-ofthe-sun]

hw raviolink thoughts today. thinking of all the ways they could have their first kiss....

one idea is the heat of battle, link holding back a hoard of monsters while ravio is behind him is working to destroy an enemy camp or something they're trying to acquire. The fight is long and tough, link starts to feel the fatigue, and suddenly there's a huge BOOM behind him. terrified, he bolts from the monsters and rushes to where he last saw ravio. cue ravio running towards him from the explosion, hood pushed back off his head and a wiiide adrenaline grin on his face. they almost collide with each other, link pulling ravio close and holding him tight, swearing and almost yelling at him to not scare me like that, oh my god, ravio, i'm glad you're okay. ravio just grinning wider and looking up at him with pride and a giggle bubbling up. they realise the monsters are approaching, enraged that their plan was foiled, and they have to jump back into the fight - but link quickly steals a kiss from ravio before either of them can think about it. remind me to yell at you later for that stunt, he says, and to give you a proper kiss. its a wonder ravio wasn't hit in the seconds he was stood there, starstruck, as link started again at the monsters.

orrrr, perhaps it happens when they're reunited. theres a new quest, a new foe, and for some reason ravio was deemed right for the job. the preparations are long and stressful before they set out on their journey, and the night before they're set to leave they decide to have a bit of fun. link has some liquor in his cupboard and they drink and chat and drink all night, perhaps more than they should've, lounging on link's bed. its almost like they're back in the war, sharing a tent and sharing warmth in the dark cold nights, keeping their minds off the horrors out what lays just out of sight in the darkness. ravio lets slip something, an offhanded well of course i had a crush on you back then, but there was more important things happening, and link just looks at him. remembers all the times when he didn't have to be the hero around ravio, how he was so relaxed he was around the other, no expectations on his shoulders, the joy of the others company, and asks a surprisingly shy and now? and ravio just stutters and blushes and its so cute and link had never thought about this before but he does know he has missed ravio every day since they parted and he's awfully endearing and link's feeling braver than the triforce of courage could ever make him feel. and when he leans in closer, ravio doesn't lean back, just looks down at his lips and whispers an unsure if you'll have me and they kisssssss they kiss all night and in the morning they face their quest together, together again.

or perhaps it is a battle again, but one of them does get injured, and they're terrified and its dangerous and they barely make it to safety. and its in that safety that the one not injured just crumbles from the fear and the weight of their worry and how could they have gone on without the other? how could they have been alone? and they realise they can't sit on their feelings anymore, they can't live another day not showing the other just how much they mean to them. a tearful kiss, a whispered i can't lose you, and a firm warm hug where neither of them let go

OOOORRRR they're at a formal event. a party, a ball, some fancy event that the princess is throwing for a military victory, an anniversary, a birthday. and the hero of hyrule is an esteemed guest, of course, and he's allowed to bring anyone he wishes. he brings ravio, because he enjoys these parties a lot less than people assume, and if he has his closest friend with him then at least they can shit talk annoying people together, and giggle about outfit choices and stick to the buffet tables and have a bit too much wine. it's just that link wasn't expecting ravio to look so gorgeous in his formal wear. his hair is done all nicely, as well, and there's a shy smile on his face as he asks link what do you think? and all link can think about is grabbing him by the waist and kissing him. it's not something he can stop thinking about all night. so when they finally take a reprieve on a balcony, away from the eyes of the other partygoers, link gets to finally take the time he wants to just look at ravio. how wonderful he is. and when ravio looks back at him, blushing as he notices the staring, it's easy for link to finally put his hand on ravio's waist and cup his face and ask to do what he's been yearning for for longer than just this night

i fear im going insane here. its all their fault.

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter One Preview

A/N: hi everybody!!! I am super duper stoked to present u all with the first 2k words of Of A Feather, aka the "what if Jason's bio mom didnt SUCK" fic. Im hoping to have the full chapter ready for publishing in the next week or two! Big thanks to everyone who's talked to me abt this fic so far, and an ESPECIALLY big thanks to @jayladfanpage for basically being my jaybin encyclopedia while i work my way through this fic!!! This warning will be more applicable in future chapters but it should be noted that this fic is NOT canon compliant and does significantly change/recontextualize a couple things about Jason's background, but you the audience get to find out about all that in real time alongside Jason lmao!! Anyways, without further adieu, please enjoy this preview ❤️

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well, that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part, you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty box pizza in the oven. This will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days, food brings you little, if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning, you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place, too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your spare blankets. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of tv static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then, you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you dare to touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens, and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your tv, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the tv on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shakey as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him is. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during that first trimester, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed. Despite his size, he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost form the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice crackling. And then, in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

SO. What do we think folks. Are you hooked? I hope youre hooked. Please be hooked. I wanna talk to people about this fic so damn bad. Please send anons or dms or literally anything. When the chapter is complete I'll be putting it up here as well as on my ao3, which I'll link to! Thanks so much for reading and i hope yall are enjoying yourselves so far! Send me an anon or a dm if you'd like to be included on the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @leirobles

[phantatrix]

Afternoon Delights

My piece for the Caffeine Rush zine!

Also cross posted on Ao3

[A journal entry about my oc Polaris visiting a coffee shop for the first time.]

-Day 45. Afternoon-

Now that I have some time on my hands, I can finally update my journal again. The previous night had been one blur of escape and exhaustion. It’s been getting harder to remember to log my adventures and maybe once my job’s wrapped up, I’ll finally figure out where to even begin. But for now, I’ll write about something calm, something sweet. I’ve been told that the small, mundane joys are the ones worth writing about and I need to uphold my promise to write about as many of those joys as I can. And so here I am in what’s called a “coffee shop.” I’ve never been in one before, but after asking some of the locals where I can go for a pick-me-up, they pointed me here to a small family-owned coffee shop. It has a cozier vibe than I expected–it’s pretty cute actually. The adrenaline’s long since worn off and I need something to last me the rest of the day until I can check into an inn later on. There are too many options on the menu and too many words that don’t make sense. I don’t know what to get…

xxx Thank the gods for the barista (I found out they’re called baristas.) She was just the kindest and helped me decide on a good coffee drink. She laughed when I told her there weren’t any coffee shops under the sea and she reassured me that I wasn’t the first siren by far to visit her shop. After we talked for a bit— she wanted to know what brings me to town, my life in the ocean, my travels, et cetera et cetera— she knew just the coffee drink for me (who knew you needed to figure out someone’s life story to determine what drink they need?) Now I’m writing in this journal, passing the time until my “mocha” coffee drink is ready. Chocolate does sound pretty good. I hope it’s as good as she described it.

xxx Ugh, how embarrassing! I fell asleep at the table and jumped out of my skin when the barista came back with my mocha coffee drink. She laughed but she wasn’t mean-spirited about it. She told me it happens all the time with the customers who come in here. At least I’m not the only one who’s embarrassed myself here. Anyways, all it took was one sip to lift my spirits and now I see why the townsfolk really recommended this place! If it wasn’t so hot I would’ve downed the mug in one gulp. Gods, I needed this badly. Here I am journaling in a coffee shop on a nice afternoon with a nicer mocha coffee drink and my exhaustion’s poofed away! What a welcomed change of pace… I need to ask the barista how she makes such delicious mocha coffee drinks. I would love to learn how to make my own. I’ll try and fill in another update later when I get to the inn. I want to savor every moment here while I still can.

[blueberrystudios]

The Hour Of Joy

WARNING! BLOOD, MURDER MANIPULATION, GORE AND GRAB TISSUES!

Zuri looked up at her father, with so much hate in her eyes that the hanged king didn't care. He looked down at her as he smiled wickedly a sadistic grin

Howdy:"look at you...so small and defenseless as you were as a child .." the king said coldly as Zuri was all beaten up she kept her guard up not wanting to be weak and vulnerable to her father

Zuri:"...I...am NOT... defenseless!-"

She yelled as she was met with a kick to the gut...she winced in pain...but she never gave up... Howdy held Zuri up by her throat as she glared down at him as her tears spilled down her cheeks

Howdy:"poor poor Zuri ..weak and frail like your sad excuse for a daughter like Akasuki"

He mocked as Zuri exploded

Zuri:"...I may be weak and defenseless....BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN IM NOT A COLD HEARTED BASTARD LIKE YOU!"

She continued

Zuri:"AT LEAST IM HAPPY THAT MY NIECE IS HERE WITH ME! AT LEAST I TOOK MY WHOLE LIFE TO SEE MY BABY GROW UP TO BECOME THE WOMAN WHO SHE IS!"

With anger and rage...Howdy killed her in an instant as Zuri's lifeless form falls...

Site 74 pony station

The commander of the mobile task force, stuck in a heavy containment breach as the staffs went berserk and haywire. Since they were all given scripts of each line and play they acted different...in which is where they are at now attacking and killing one another

Eric being stuck in the mix called for back up

Eric:"GUYS I NEED BACK UP AT SITE 74 PONY STATION!-"

Just then...Eric dropped the phone and held his head in pain the reality around him began to warp...his adrenaline started to rush as he got up and made a run for it he doesn't know where he's going, what felt like an hour...felt like an eternity and forever...Eric never stopped running....he didn't look where he was going...

....he didn't know he ran into a restricted area...

???:"Big bro!-"

He froze...

Eric:"...what?-"

???:"ERIC!"

....Nai....

Eric:"NAI LIL SIS!-"

'Nai':"BIG BROTHER!-"

Eric looked around aimlessly like a chicken with no head...

???:"ERIC!"

???:"ERIC OVER HERE!"

???:"ERIC!-"

As he ran to the different voices...he began to panic and started to sweat badly his eyes blood shot. Slowly with every 2 minutes he was starting to lose the reality around him...he started to hyperventilate and clenched his chest tightly trying to calm his racing heart...then...in the distance...was Nai... aimlessly his steps were slow....he can't tell if his little sister is there or not...as he got there...getting a closer look...

A rope yanked him up by his neck as he struggled and kicked in the air...the rope tightened as his face turned blue... There in front of him...is the Ambassador of Alagadda...

His eyes grew wide in fear...slowly...losing consciousness...slowly....losing air...slowly...and steady....he closed his eyes...

But what fell out of his hand...a bag of flower seeds for Nai and his mother....

Site 19

Callia opened her eyes...as she looked around...she was in the hospital still trying to process what happened....Maria spoke up

Maria:"thank God you're awake...I thought I lost you for a second"

Callia:"Maria...are the others okay?"

Callia asked her...the general stayed quiet...she doesn't know how to say it...she doesn't know where to begin...or where to start...

Meanwhile Makaila and her father SCP 049 waited in their containment cells...

Makaila:"Father for how much time do we have left?-"

049:"soon my dear...soon..."

Then the alarms went off...one of the SCP's caused a containment breach without hesitation they broke out of their cells and dashed off. As they ran...Makaila had a bad gut feeling in her stomach feeling a knot...it cannot be the fish with fried vegetables...it was different...

049 noticed as he quickly stops

049:"my dear are you unwell?"

Makaila shook her head...it wasn't the pestilence affecting her...

Makaila:"father...it's too late..."

She said with tears down her beak mask

Makaila:"father I feel it crystal clear....Zuri and Eric are gone..."

Her father pulled her into a tight embrace since Makaila had a broken heart...it was hard for her to keep herself up...all she has left is...her husband and father....

Heavy containment zone

Lola continued to run...she ran down the halls as her life depends on it...her legs ached for her to stop but she never did...

In the shadows she felt like she's being watched...

The Black Lord smiled...

The yellow Lord glared

The red Lord held out his weapon

The white Lord only stared until it was the right moment...

Sally:"now" said the Black Lord as Eddie triggered off the Tesla...

As Lola ran the Tesla shocked her as she fell to the ground...the effect of the electricity is killing her slowly... The yellow Lord glared

Frank:"it's no wonder humans like her are so weak..."

The white Lord spoke up

Julie:"huh...you don't say Frank"

Said Julie as she electrocuted Lola again...as her heart stopped...worst case is seeing the world pass by with her eyes open....

Sacrifice of Sin

Nai sat in the small room...her eyes dull with no light...her skin was no longer peach but pale as a ghost...

She held herself close...the only reality is the small window....with the moon light only...she sighed ...

Zuri said that she'd visit her again...she never showed up ...

Eric said the same thing...never came back...

Callia said the same thing...never came back...

Maria said it too...but never came back...

So did Lola...she never came back....

Lastly...her fiancé....he never came back....

Did they all forget about her?...was she not that important?....

Nai sighed...the loneliness is eating her alive...she had lost her smile...

???:"Nai"

She shot her head up

???:"hey lil sis-"

Nai:"...guys...?"

She had tears in her eyes

???:"hey sweetheart how are you?"

???:"it's been awhile hasn't it?"

Nai:"yes it has...it's been 4 months..."

She choked on her tears as Nai began to cry

Nai:"you guys said you'd come back why did you leave me alone-"

???:"oh sweetie I'm so sorry..."

Nai:"guys I'm so scared-"

She began to cry nonstop and she couldn't control her emotions...

He held his hand out, Nai looked up....

Nai:"...Walter?-"

Her fiancé

Walter smiled as he pulled Nai to her feet. As before Nai saw his genuine smile his kind soft ocean eyes...his tan skin...she missed him dearly...gently Walter caresses her cheek as if Nai is a delicate rose...he kissed her forehead and embraced her in his arms as she hugged him back...

But Nai felt a pain in her chest... Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at him...it wasn't her fiancé....it was the Hanged king...

Nai:"....n...n...."

Nai choked on her own blood as she looked up at Howdy...who had a blank stare....the 4 lords of Alagadda...stood around them... As Howdy took the blade out...he stabbed her heart again as Nai fell to the ground....she spat up her own blood as she looked up with painful eyes....

As she took her last breath.... everything...stopped....

....I serve my king with my blood... blissful suffocation.... sacrifice of sin....

HELLO!!!

You have reached the end of this twisted tale! I am so glad that you all enjoy my story so far! Despite being a small au story! No words can explain how happy I am!

I am super happy that this au went out as planned and have reached the reverse end of this tale!

But over all, my au wouldn't be done if it wasn't for the support of my friends and family! I appreciate them dearly as they are my family no matter if we are blood related or not! They supported me along the way in my journey up to now!

Even though I went through my ups and downs, losing sleep to make this lore right as possible THIS IS WORTH A SHOT!

Remember kids!,

"set your heart ablaze! Know your limits!"-Rengoku Kyojuro

Cast:

Doctor Zuri Saelee @i-ate-your-dog-srry

Captain Maria @littlesiren79

Commander Eric @ericvelseb666

Doctor Callia Snickets @buenos-diaz

Doctor Lola Collins @extracted-distracted

Senior researcher Nai Saimori Ridgewell @blueberrynai23

The hanged king: Howdy Pillar @partycoffin

Black Lord: Sally Starlet @partycoffin

The Yellow Lord: Frank Frankly @partycoffin

The Red Lord:Eddie Dear @partycoffin

The White Lord: Julie Joyful @partycoffin

The Ambassador of Alagadda: Sunny @partycoffin

The Tragedy Queen: Akasuki Saechin Kocho @blueberrynai23

SCP 049-K: Makaila Guillibeaux @blueberrynai23

Genevieve: @silky-silks

Pao, Ay and San: @blueberrynai23

Films that inspire my au:

Incantation

Emesis BLU: Fortress Films

The conjuring 3 the devil made me do it

Games that inspire my au:

SCP secret files

The last of us part ll

In loving Memory

Maria Angelica Archuleta

Ying Saechao

Tachan Saechao

I'll see you on the flip side!

[cam-stopped-eating-candles]

Choir members death study Drabble for day 14 <3 @june-doe-event

I might edit this later and work it into a more cohesive fic for ao3 (there’s some expansion on penny being in a coma I wanna do)

(Uh content warning yeah pretty bloody lol)

It happens in just a few seconds, nobody is given any time to process. Folks crowd around the scene, some sporting red freckles on their faces and nice white shirts. It’s an agonizing wait for those who don’t die on impact. They almost envy those who fell meerly fell asleep and never woke up.

Ocean was impaled with the thin metal handlebar jutting straight through her stomach, tingling her spine. It was like being drugged, everything being so much more sensitive, the colors, the lights, the heightened awareness of just what’s happening. It was life or death, win or lose, but there’s nothing she could do to manipulate her outcome. Even with her great wit and achievement she’s no better off than any of the rest of her choir mates. The shock and adrenaline kept her awake; she wished it didn’t.

Noel couldn’t bear the tingling sensation that shot through his wrists. He reaches out his hand, and just wants to feel goddammit, anything. He doesn’t know what he’s touching, somebody's shoulder maybe? He doesn’t know what to say, he can’t think of anything to say. In the heat of the moment, he doesn’t have any poetic last words before he loses feeling up to his elbows. He didn’t like tragedy so much when it actually struck him.

Mischa lies on his side, blood running from his head and chest down the slight hill like water from a river. He gently drifts off Clutched tightly in his dead hands is his wounded fragile heart; a splintered chunk of wood staked through it. Everyday he wished he never left home, and that day was no exception.

Ricky suffocates in the grass, landing face down, he can’t breathe through the thick musky smell and blood clogging his airway. The pressure on his back decides every short staggered breath he lets out, he won’t be able to get back. Slowly losing oxygen, he sees stars dancing through his eyelids as his brain short circuits. He figured his time was coming, but not like this.

Constance tightly embraces herself, a death grip on her elbows as everything fades as soon as it starts. Her gums taste sweet through the cracks in her teeth. All the giddy rush of joy and euphoria fades away when it all sinks in. She doesn’t want to die now, of course she doesn’t, not when she finally sees how beautiful everything can be. If only she let herself enjoy it when she could.

The breath knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground like a rag doll, Penny tumbles through the dirt, along with the cart. She clings to the safety bar that’s soon ripped out of her hand.

Having otherwise bled out, sharp scraps of metal just nearly missed major arteries in her neck, by some miracle of god (or whoever else). Her throat nearly crushed under the weight of loose debris, her head hung limp against her shoulder, her body contorted on the grass, it’s not a sight for the faint of heart. A life flashing before her eyes wouldn’t be so true as a life fading before her eyes. Facing the sky, she still tucks her doll under her arm against her body. Her fingers tangled in her silky hair, pressing her close to her side.

She ignores the suffocating smell of iron, be it from blood or the broken ride. It clogs her nose and her throat but she can’t cough it up. Her body is awfully warm for September, her face on fire, she can’t stand it. The cyclone’s colorful lights still blink faster and faster, and the other rides play their merry tunes.

While she lays motionless she has all the time she needs to think. She tries to assess her situation but she just can’t focus on anything but the pain that shoots through every inch of her body. Her mouth that gasps for air, the dirt that soon cakes itself into mud around her neck, her arms. The debris that uncomfortable pins her leg to the ground, twisting her hip and the joints that go with it in ways they shouldn’t go.

By the time ambulances arrive at the scene, everything looks grim. Others are pronounced dead as soon as they hit the ground, ribcages crushed like bugs under the heavy metal car, stomachs and such ripped from their abdomens, spines and necks snapped like twigs. She’s lucky to feel the suffocating weight lifted off her neck as people yell, soon dragged off the scene from under her arms, barely conscious with her head lolled against her shoulder.

She screws her eyes shut, flinching at any attempt to move her. She tries to fight it off, it stabs right through her, It all aches from her hip to her neck. Can’t they see they’re not helping? If she could scream she would, but all she can do is sputter up her every empty breath. If she could thrash her body instead of silently hyperventilating, she would. She would have made sure she didn't drop her doll.

She knows she can’t just lay there, her own blood turning the cold dirt to warm, wet mud. She’s not ready to bleed out on the ground and die. It’s not the right time. Not here, it just wouldn’t be fair. She never even got to make anything of herself yet. She prays she would if she’s just given the chance.

But the way the splints of wood and steel dig into her calves as she’s haphazardly pulled out of the wreck makes her wish she had just passed out already. she can’t just give up, but the earth feels so nice when it’s not being dragged against her raw nerves. Laying in the cold, she just wants to sleep, and wake up again when this is all over. Worms need something to eat after all.

Blood from god knows where leaves a path like a snail, indicating the exact place she struck the ground and cracked her skull on the frozen ground. Being tussled around on her side she drools and sputters up whatever she had been drowning in as she’s loaded onto the stretcher.

Only three other children keep their hearts beating long enough to have the privilege of being loaded onto an ambulance and driven just short of an hour to the nearest hospital. All but one had passed away on the agonizingly long trip.

Minutes before they arrive, Penny’s body finally caves; it gives in to the urge to just fall asleep until things look brighter. Nobody will give up on her just yet, they have to salvage this situation somehow. Just one line survivor is all they need to turn it from tragedy to miracle. She may never be able to talk again, breathe on her own, but at least she’d be alive.

In critical condition, she has doctors and nurses constantly monitoring her every vital sign. Through her comatose, nothing looks like it’s going to end well. The state of her life is kept highly confidential to the press, all they know is that she hasn’t died quite yet. Extremely lucky, they all say as they hold their breath and bite their tongues.

So much for “making new friends” with a fun time at the fair.