#jello journal

[jellofish4000]

Definitely Maybe

07/11/2023

A map of the Earth rounded out in the palm of my hand. A giant globe. You’re sitting on the couch across from the fireplace. Earlier you were laying on the floor. My guitar sits in the corner, long abandoned from when you first sat on the couch and before you laid down on the floor. An old, unpolished floor. Rough oak covered in a thin layer of dust. Two glasses of bitter red wine I poured for us when we first walked in, yours now a little more empty than mine. Behind me, the box is playing with the volume down to three. I listen along half-mindedly as I play with this globe. You, too, played with the globe before you laid down on the floor and after you abandoned my guitar in the corner (after you first sat on the couch): After I poured us red wine and before you laid down on the floor. I can smell the ashes in the fireplace. This room is too small for a fireplace. I can’t light a cigarette in this room but you did anyway. The smell of smoke is still lingering in the air and pulling out the smells from the fireplace. The ashes are dead clumps underneath charred logs of wood but the dry cigarette smoke seems to have revived them. I can smell the warmth of frigid winters past. Everything lingers in the air, trapped in the space between the molecules that aren’t us or the guitar or the couch or the fireplace or the wine glasses or the box or the globe. The windows are old, their cream colored paint now a yellowish hue and peeling from the frames. They are jammed shut and probably have been for a decade now. Any smoke from the fireplace will stay here forever. The smoke from your cigarette. The dust that has settled in the fabric of your blue jacket. The scent of fresh biscuits baked in the sorry corner of a kitchen. The trails of earl grey brewed as their pairing that follow behind. The buzzy, muted sounds you made with my guitar. The notes of cabernet sauvignon that hit me strongest when I turn my face to the window. The white noise from the box playing at a three. Everything we said and anything we might say. Here it lays and here it will stay forever.

[fortheturnstiles]

i ❤️ day drinking

[babiesweat]

[anastasiaoftheironwood]

World Press Freedom Day Event - Livestream and in-person from Bird & Beckett, San Francisco, CA.

Wednesday, May 3rd, 2023 – 7pm Pacific

WORLD PRESS FREEDOM DAY

“Don’t Hate the Media, Become the Media! How Your Local Story Can Inform The World”

A live streamed and in-person event with Lisa Loving, author of Street Journalist: Understand & Report the News in Your Community. Journalist Lisa Loving wants you to know how you—with a cell phone, and a full understanding of the techniques, tools and ethics of journalism—can report on the stories around you and inform the world.

The intensity of individual, mob and institutional attacks on working journalists and their media outlets is unmistakable in our current age. World Press Freedom Day pushes back. So, too, does the work of many thousands of individuals locally and worldwide who take the tools of journalism in hand to accurately report the news they encounter in their day-to-day lives in order to responsibly and effectively inform their communities on issues of immense immediate importance.

After the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in 2020, the city of Portland, Oregon – one of the whitest towns in America – erupted in 200 days and nights of protest in support of the Black Lives Matter movement against racism and police violence. In the same moment, activists and observers – including everyday people who started out simply pointing their phones at the rapidly escalating police violence – launched a new movement in grassroots media. Their work landed in MSNBC, CNN, the New York Times and news outlets around the world.

What can we learn about the future of news from these grassroots pioneers of breaking news reporting? Can we build on their experience – and their work that continues today – in creating a smart, informative news media now?

And what about you?

What if you or someone you know had the tools to bring real information to the table and actually inform people – in your local community and beyond?

Join Lisa Loving, author of “Street Journalist: Understand and Report the News in Your Community,” for an intimate chat on tools YOU can use to create a media platform and bring your local story to the world.

Lisa Loving wrote the book on citizen journalism from lived experience in creating community media in Portland a decade ago. With the 2019 publication of Street Journalist, she made it her mission to make you realize that “the power of journalism is in your hands.” She writes “While many people believe there is some sort of special degree or license that makes a journalist ‘legitimate,’ the truth is that anyone with the interest, brains and organization can make a crucial difference with their voice.” She’s trained hundreds of ordinary people in the tools of independent journalism, making it clear, as has been demonstrated on far too many tragic occasions in recent years, that anyone with a smartphone has the basic equipment to report what’s going on in their neighborhood. This evening she’ll make those points tangible, and engage in dialog to clarify the issues.

DON’T HATE THE MEDIA, BECOME THE MEDIA –Jello Biafra

[yuukimiyas]

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ im so super tired from work :< but overall today was a v good day!! now im gonna get comfy & play genshin!! <33 i hope you all had the v best day ever!!

[felonious]

[grungeincluded]

[vulpine111]

These are the jello molds I'll likely order if I have enough left after I order the desk, chair, and my VIP ticket to Swans. (Oh and pay rent of course!)

[nmotypdfsfg]

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie’s Memory Log Day 1:

part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 5 here | part 6 here

(ao3 link here)

The only reason Steve volunteers to keep a journal to track Eddie Munson’s skim-milk memories, is because of the twerps.

They have school, they can’t commute to the government-protected hospital that’s all the way in the city. That, and they gave Steve this well-rehearsed, tearjerker performance about how grateful they would be.

About how grateful Eddie would be.

Pfft like shit on a stick, he’ll be grateful. The dude doesn’t even remember how old he is, how the hell is supposed to be grateful for Steve Harrington jotting down notes in binder?

But those kids have been through Spielberg-level disaster shit. Steve has too, but they’re just kids.

So he’ll do it. He’ll do it for them and only them.

Eddie knows his name today.

He’s pissy - he’s always pissy cause Eddie is battered up beyond belief. But still, he’s extra pissy today because Dustin is his favorite visitor and he hasn’t stopped by in almost a week.

Eddie knows Dustin’s name today too.

And guess who’s his least favorite visitor?

“Harrington.” Eddie grumbles, mouth full of lime jello. “Who paid you to be here today?”

Remembers Steve’s name… last name.

“No one.” Steve makes himself comfy in the vinyl armchair. “Call me crazy, but I’m not too big on taking lunch money from sophomores.”

Speaking of which…

“Do you know you know how old you are?”

Eddie crumples the plastic jello container. “You’re a patronizing sack of shit.”

Steve rolls his eyes, starts to write down:

Eddie doesn’t know his age.

“Twenty.”

Eddie does know his age (20).

“Swell.” Steve fakes his amusement. The kids are much better at cheerleading Eddie along in this process. But Steve’s poker face is nonexistent. Sarcasm and assholery occupy every seat in his brain these days.

They go through a few more questions before Eddie begins to get tired. He’s tired a lot, even though the coma knocked him out for almost four months.

Guess holding hands with Death really takes it out of a person.

Eddie doesn’t know his birthday.

But Eddie does remember it’s in the winter (has a memory of seeing leafless trees from an early childhood birthday party).

Eddie remembers his uncle’s name.

Eddie doesn’t remember which street he lives on.

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

“I’ll let you rest.” Steve folds the binder shut, sort of desperate to do anything to get Eddie to stop whining. Seriously, he thought this guy was funnier pre-bat attack.

Eddie doesn’t remember he has a sense of humor.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Eddie settles into his pillows.

Steve shrugs, puts his hands behind his head. “I took the bus from Hawkins today. The next one doesn’t leave for another few hours.”

“Still… it’s a city, right? You can go explore or whatever. Be a tourist.”

Yeah Eddie’s persuasive skills aren’t completely back either, it’s all very half-assed.

“Been here before.” Steve lounges deeper into the squeaky chair material. “I’m good.”

“Probably haven’t seen everything is all I’m saying -”

“Do you want me to leave that bad?”

Steve doesn’t shout, but his tone takes up space. Makes the room feel crowded with accusations and cutthroat honesty.

Eddie stares back hard. Sometimes, he doesn’t look like Eddie Munson - he looks like this war victim with knotted-up hair and sulky brown eyes.

Like a John Doe cadaver - tagging his foot with the possibility of Eddie Munson.

Anyways, that’s how he looks right now as he stares at Steve. Barely Eddie.

“Just. I don’t know you.” That’s a shitty ass comeback for someone with a memory-tank that’s perpetually blinking with the low-engine light on. 

Eddie continues with his weak argument. “Were we close enough back home that you’d stay here while I sleep?”

Eddie doesn’t remember Steve ignoring him in high school for four years.

Steve finds no reason to lie. “No. We weren’t close at all.”

“Right.” Eddie nods once. “So why do this? What are you getting out of this?”

This is a complicated situation to explain to anyone, let alone to someone with fuzzy comprehension abilities. But Steve gives it a whirl:

“Look, we have mutual friends that are… younger. Dustin’s age. And whether I like it or not, they’re like siblings to me now - I’d do anything for them. But they’re in school, they can’t be here every day like I can.”

“Why can you be here?” Eddie asks.

“I lost my job.”

Eddie attempts sympathy. “Sorry.”

Eh, Steve gives him a B-minus.

“Didn’t like it anyways.” Steve reassure him plainly. “The point, I’m doing this for them. For you too, but they’re the anchors in this.”

Eddie thinks for a moment - readjusts to laying on his side, facing Steve. “Won’t you need a new job eventually?”

“Nah. Trust Fund Baby.” Steve points both thumbs at his chest.

“Yeesh.” Eddie rolls to the other side, away from Steve. Disgusted by his comment, yet still chuckling very quietly.

Okay… Eddie does remember he has a sense of humor (just a teensy bit).

His breathing becomes long and hard - sleep heavy breathing. It doesn’t take long, sleep seems more natural to Eddie right now than being awake.

Steve watches him for a moment. There’s always the ghostly-distant fear that Eddie might stop breathing. He’s done it before - four months ago and once more while he was still at the hospital in Hawkins.

Max is still asleep. Steve hates thinking about that detail because it’s cruel. This twisted game that the universe is playing is truly unjust. 

Like an Almighty Asshole rolled Eddie’s stupid dice and decided, ‘I’ll let one of your friends wake up, but he won’t remember that he battled along side you in the trenches of darkness. Take it or leave it, douchebag.’

Steve will take it.

Eddie is still sleeping when Steve decides to head out - the bus will be arriving soon and he’s gotta get a window seat. Needs control over the window cause he gets carsick way too fucking easily these days.

“Heading out?” Eddie mumbles, eyes not even open.

“Yeah - sorry.” Steve doesn’t know why he whispered that. “Didn’t think I should wake you.”

“I gotcha. I’m assuming you’ll be back tomorrow?”

Huh… Steve thinks there might be a hint of implication that Eddie wants him to come back tomorrow. Interesting.

“Your memory isn’t as shitty as you think it is.” He’s overly smug when he says it. 

Eddie gives him a closed-lip smile. Only Dustin and Wayne receive those.

“Want me to pick up some food on my way in?”  Steve decides to give generosity a try, since Eddie is tolerable enough to give him a smile. “Get you off of this lousy hospital meal-plan temporarily?”

The smile is gone. “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

Right.

Eddie definitely remembers how to be Stubborn with a capital ‘S’

But Steve is a Trust Fund Baby, so he’s unfazed with difficult behaviors. He can match difficulties all damn day if he wanted to.

Which he does.

“Suit yourself, Munson.” Steve acts so uncaring. Very uppity and douchey. “I’m thinking Chinese takeout for me personally.”

“Cool.”

“Cool. See you tomorrow then.”

There’s a pause, so Steve takes that as his sign to turn the handle, get the hell out of here.

“Steve?” Eddie calls weakly just before he shuts the door behind him.

He cracks it open, peeks his face back in. “Yeah?”

Eddie sighs. “Kung Pao Chicken.”

“Excellent choice.”

Eddie gives him another closed-lip smile.

Steve grins wildly, with all of his teeth. “In fact, I think I’ll do the same.”

And as Steve claims his middle seat on the bus, he pulls the binder back out of his backpack to add one more note for the day:

Eddie remembers that he likes Kung Pao Chicken.

[storm-angel989]

🎀IM SORRY FOR BLOWING UP YOUR INBOX! But Val/Vox(idrc which one) x Anorexic Daughter Reader?🎀

PLEASE READ BEFOREHAND

Hi Friend,

You’re not blowing up my inbox- I keep every request in a google doc and when inspo hits I work on it! If I ever decide I won’t do a request I won’t just delete it- I’ll post and say it directly <3 

Preface for this work:

 I’m considered a plus sized equestrian/plus sized human. Eating disorders come in all shapes, sizes and issues. I believe it’s Blythe Barid who said “If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with you go to the hospital. If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.”

Stories like these are based on my own experiences and issues- and on this topic, I’ve had quite a few. Please remember that all bodies are worthy of love and respect, care and concern. It's a tough concept to wrap our heads around, and admittedly I still struggle with it. 

A little background info: 

ED’s are a huge part of my writing that I haven’t published. Ana and Mia are characters I have created (or maybe my own food issues created them). Either way, they’re  separate entities for separate stories- demons that I imagine have their own place in hell as well as in my writings (all of which have been in existence far longer than Hazbin). That being said, naming your ED is something I did and I have done. Even for the purpose of writing this story, the entire thing felt wrong without Ana running the behind the scenes. 

With this one I tried to pain the pain, the anger and frustration behind that never feeling good enough feeling. I would be open to doing part two if folks would be interested. Please also know I’ve written on this topic in several other forms if you explore my masterlist (or I can directly send you the links if you PM me). 

<3 Mandy 

I stepped on the bathroom scale and looked at the number that flashed below. The words of my coach echoed in my mind- I needed to lose the summer weight, or else I would be benched for the rest of the season. She had helpfully provided me with a journal to keep track of my weight, what I ate in a day, activities I did and how many calories I burned in accordance with my VoxTech watch. 

A month ago, I had met her goal, thus ending the weekly weigh-ins. According to her, I had lost enough weight to maintain my place on the team. It was on me now to make sure that I maintained that weight, or lost more. In her exact words, you could never be too skinny. 

“Bebita? Breakfast,” my fathers voice called from the hallway. “Come on, before it gets cold.”

The number told me I hadn’t gained weight, but I hadn’t lost weight either. I picked my backpack up and slung it over my shoulder. 

“Sorry, Dad! I’m late! I’ll eat at school, I promise,” I answered back as I rushed out the door. 

Surely skipping breakfast wouldn’t hurt. 

Skipping breakfast turned into skipping lunch. Skipping lunch turned into avoiding dinner. Sugar free jello and skinny pop became my go to snacks as the numbers in my book slowly but surely began to get smaller. Somewhere, a little voice inside my head began to cheer my successes on the scale. Over time, I learned that she had a name. 

Ana. My secret diet partner. My invisible cheerleader. The willpower I needed to keep going on the hardest days. And most importantly, someone who paid attention to me, 

With each passing day, Ana grew louder. She encouraged me to keep my diet a secret from my family. After all, they wouldn’t understand. Pleasing her, it became almost like an addiction- a game I played with myself to see just how little I could become. Food became nothing more than numbers, an obsession that consumed every minute, every second of my thoughts and desires. 

In my household, it wasn’t hard to keep it to myself. Hell, one could argue that I wasn’t technically even keeping it a secret. My father had a very important job, after all. And my Auntie Velvette and Uncle Vox also wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make the connection. A quick, I ate earlier, sorry! And I got off scott free. Ana cheered with each no thank you I uttered. My head between my knees after practice had become a ritualistic practice. Waiting for the black spots to fade, taking deep breaths to try to regain the energy to stand up and walk out to the awaiting limo. It wasn’t like there was anyone waiting at home for me anyway. 

On the daily, I kept a careful eye on my voxtech watch. The first time my blood sugar dropped, I got a call from Vox. Paniced waves rushed through me. A suggestion from Ana to bribe to a friendly tech demon. A brief trade later, I had constant vitals being sent from my watch, my real ones hidden behind a password. With this newfound freedom, outside of homework and practice, my time normally devoted to hobbies or hanging out with friends became time to sleep. After all, I was working on the perfect body. I needed my rest. 

For almost six months, Ana and I were best friends. 

Saturday morning. Game day. One of the busiest days for my father. After all, lust and depravity raked through the weekends like wildfire. Or at least, that was what he claimed. I stood in front of the mirror trying desperately to tighten the drawstring 

“Hey bebita?” I heard my fathers voice call from the hallway. “Baby, are you up?”

“Yeah, Dad. I have a game today,” I snapped as I tied another knot in the string. 

Why the fuck wouldn’t these stupid shorts stay up? I fumed to myself. Every part of my body ached, and even yanking on my shorts sent black spots and exhaustion rushing through my body. I leaned my head against the mirror and tried to take a deep breath. I could do this. I had to do this. 

The next thing I heard was my fathers voice, felt his hand shaking my shoulder. It took every ounce of energy to open my eyes. 

“Bebita? Reader, can you hear me?” Valentino asked frantically. “Princessa, wake up, now!”

“I’m fine,” I muttered as loudly as I could. Somehow, I managed to push myself upright. 

“You most certainly are not fine,” he replied sharply. “I’m taking you downstairs to the doctor, right now.”

Doctor. That meant I would miss the game. No, I had an obligation to my teammates. Somewhere in my head, Ana screamed.

Get up, fatass!

You really want to fuck this up for everyone?

You better not let him take you to the doctor, you do that and you’ll never find perfection. 

“I’m fine,” I growled, louder this time. I pulled myself to my feet and black spots dotted my vision. I felt my fathers arms around me and in seconds, I was off the floor and in his arms.

“Put me down, I can walk,” I tried to yell. Inside my head, Ana screamed louder, demands and insults about my current predicament. I pressed my hands to my head and curled my fingers in my hair, “Dad let me down NOW!” 

He ignored me as he carried me down the hallway. 

“Vox? Velvette? Both of you, with me. Now. We have a problem.” He said loudly. 

“Woah, what’s going….” Vox’s voice began. 

I shoved my hand against my father as he walked through the living room.  To my relief, he set me down on the couch. 

“What?” I snarled as three sets of eyes stared at me. “What the fuck are you looking at?” 

Vox checked his phone and then walked over to me. With one finger, he lifted off my Voxtech watch. 

“Hey! Give that back!” I demanded. “I’m going to be late to my game!”

All three of them ignored me. Wordlessly, Velvette walked away and returned moments later, bathroom scale in hand. She set it infront of the couch and gave me a hard look. 

“Step on.” 

“Fuck you,” I snapped as I stood up. I tried to ignore the black spots that danced just out of sight. “My weight is none of your fucking business.”

“Reader!” Valentino said in dismay. “That’s no way to talk to your Aunt.”

“I’m leaving, I’m already late. Thanks, Dad,” I continued sarcastically as I kicked the scale aside. 

Inside, Ana cheered. I bent down to pick up my backpack and the world around me spun. Three steps,  and Vox’s hand gripped my upper arm. The last thing I heard was Ana’s voice screaming indistinguishable words. 

When I came to again, I found myself in a room of gray and blue. Wires stuck out from my chest, and I tried to cough and spit the feeling of something painful in the back of my throat. I tried to reach up, to shove my fingers down my throat, and my skin met padded white cuffs. 

What the fuck?

You’re going to have to work hard to get yourself out of this one, Ana taunted. Great job getting caught, fatass. 

“Hey, baby, it’s alright, Papi is here,” I heard my father’s voice say somewhere far away. 

“Mr. Valentino, I promise we’ll be in touch when she’s more stable,” a new voice said. “For now, it might be best to give her some space to…”

Indistinguishable arguments. My fathers refusal and reminder of who exactly was in charge here. My Uncle Vox and Aunt Velvette chiming in, a mix of talking him down and agreement. 

Panic shot through me as the haze slowly began to wear away. Realization. Through the fog, only one word came to mind. 

Fuck.

[jellofish4000]

Midnight Freeway

07/01/2023

When you’re driving late at night to some place that’s too far away: That’s when it all starts to make sense. The worse drivers become worst once the sun goes down. The night seems to flip a switch inside them. They are nocturnal. Their senses go into overdrive like a cat that’s been asleep all day and doesn’t know where to put their energy once night falls. People in a rush to get to the nightlife. People in a rush to get to the emergency room. People in a rush to escape the musty confines of a bar. They all swerve in and out of lanes, leaving you unscathed just barely. A barrel down the freeway under the guidance of the bright, reflective lanes. Then there are those who can’t handle the lights. Everything becomes too blinding against the backdrop of a smoggy purpleish-grey. The lights from their dashboard are too distracting. The lights on the lampposts are too distracting. The reflection of their headlights against every surface is too distracting. They drive alongside you just barely in focus. Their brains scramble the colors and betray their eyes. And as you sail forward, flashes of blue and red illuminate the corner of your vision. Ambulances and cop cars and twisted metal and heads in hands. Hands up to the purpleish-grey. White sheets tucked into gurneys and navy clad arms holding out breathalyzers. All the people left on the sidelines and all the lives forever changed just a flash in your peripherals. Your car is your sanctuary. It is yours to control and protect. You follow some rules and you break others. You keep moving forward on your way to somewhere just like everyone else. All the things that could go wrong threatening to collide. Sirens, the road signs that are so much larger than you realize, traffic cones, high beams, electronic billboards. Yellow, white, green, orange and red. Trees, steel poles, and walls of cement. You, in your car, trying to control your space. You, in your car, trying to get from one space to another. You in your car, amongst the sea of cars, flying through the freeway. Use your turn signals. Check your blind spots. Keep your eyes on the road. Never, ever, go backwards.

[mystery-twin-mystery-bags]

🎨 Artists File #16: @jellobunnz

The Mystery Twin Mystery Bags project is a Gravity Falls-themed fundraiser for Gaza aid. If you’d like to learn more about us, please check our pinned FAQ!

Image Description: A graphic made to look like Stanford Pine's journal entries with aged paper, coffee stains, symbols, and ink splatters on it. Written in the top left corner in bold letters is "JelloBunnz" Below in cursive reads: "(she/they) Tumblr, Twitter: jellobunnz" Below is a photo of a dark-haired anime character looking scared and blood all over their face. An arrow points at it with a note in cursive: "Double jointed. FASCINATING." Next to that photo is Jello's art of Mabel Pines smiling in her outfit from the episode, Double Dipper. She is holding a microphone while she is surrounded by stars and music notes.

Check us out on our other social medias: Twitter Instagram

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Jason was surrounded by green. Green that felt thick like jello, yet lucid like air. Green that bit at his skin like frostbite, yet burned like explosions on his back. 

Explosions. Bomb. Joker. Mom. Dad. 

Jason bolted up, gasping for air. That was the Lazarus Pit, wasn’t it? But what about the explosions? Why the Joker?

As if thinking the name summoned the demon, Jason could hear the laughs echo around the room. He threw the blankets off and checked the time. 

6:13 am. 

Weird time for a house filled with vigilantes. Even if he went to the library to get a book, Bruce would probably be asleep. Or by the time he woke up, he would have to get ready for work. 

“If you need me for anything, it doesn't matter if I’m busy, come get me. I want to help you. You don’t need to figure things out on your own anymore.”

But his Bruce said that. Not this raisined version of him. Not that he was thinking of asking this fake version of Bruce for help. He was a big boob. 

Though, if he got ready on the slower side, he could probably find Alfred. 

Jason soon realized that he probably hasn’t been in this room in a long time, because all of the clothes in his closet were the same. 

Wait. Something was missing though. 

His runaway bag was gone. Why did he run away? The journal said coming about going to Ethiopia to find Sheila Haywood, but Jason would’ve assumed he’d go with Bruce. Not on his own. 

Jason will figure it out once he sees the case report. There’s no need to draw conclusions when the facts are within reach. 

He decided against changing just yet, because his clothes were really dusty, and he’d rather not be sneezing all day. 

So he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Jason and Dick shared a bathroom. It’s like, one of those bathrooms that connect to two different rooms. And if Jason remembers correctly, Damian probably shares the bathroom with them too. There were two toothbrushes in the cup in the center of the vanity, but considering that Jason probably hasn’t used his room in years, he took a new toothbrush from the cabinet under the sink. 

Hey! Dick no longer uses bubblegum toothpaste. Is it possible to be proud of someone for that?

“I got eight hours of sleep, why am I hallucinating Jason?”

And Jason did what any reasonable human would do, and punched the person, because he did not sound like Dick, or Bruce, or Alfred, or any of the people he met last night. 

“Ow! Ok! Fine! Not a hallucination.” the dude who looked to have permanent eyebags like a racoon rubbed his arm.

Jason suddenly realized he had a fifth sibling he hadn’t met yet, and punching them was probably the worst first impression “I’m sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t thinking-“ 

And Jason and him just stood in the bathroom staring at each other. This racoon dude also looked really familiar. 

“Who revoked puberty from you?”

“A lady with a magic stick.” 

The dude just nodded. And then a smirk formed on his face, “How spooked is everyone?”

“Bruce won’t even look at me.” 

Maybe Jason should get the dude's name, but also, if this dude thinks that Jason already knows everything, then maybe he can get some information. 

“You’re gonna use this to guilt trip him, aren’t you?”

Jason thought about it, he didn’t really want to guilt trip Bruce, but, information . “Obviously. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to go about it. Have any suggestions?”

The dude grabbed his toothbrush from the cup, “You could get your Robin suit out of the mem-“

The door opened behind Jason, “It is too early to be listening to your irritating voice. I thought you would be at your apartment.”

Nonono, Damian would maybe ruin Jason’s plan to gather information, “Hush, child, the adults are speaking.” Jason turned back to the mystery sibling, “you were saying.”

“Don’t tell him anything about the past five years. Todd does not remember. He Probably doesn’t even remember your name.”

“Damian’s lying. Of course I remember.”

Damian crossed his arms“Then what’s his name?” 

Jason squinted at the man hoping the faint trickle of familiarity would turn into recognition. And then it hit him like a car iron. “Tim Drake. Camera kid.”

Tim stopped brushing his teeth for a moment and tilted his head to the side, “I never told you about that.” Tim spat into the sink, “if you had to go out on patrol with the rest of us, would you be Robin again?”

“Drake what—“

“The adults are speaking.”

Jason spit into the sink, “I wouldn’t wear the emo Robin getup Damian has going on right now, but if my old uniform is somewhere in storage, I’d put it back on.”

Tim seemed to smirk at the Emo Robin comment, though he flicked Jason’s forehead,  “If you had your adult brain in there, that would not have been your answer.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to be Robin anymore? Robin is magic.” 

A look of pity crossed Tim’s face, though it didn’t feel patronizing. It honestly felt like it was masking another emotion from showing on his face. “You just, kinda out grew Robin.” Then he winced, “Trust me, a ripped 6 foot tall Robin is not a pretty sight.”

Jason suddenly had a mental image of a man in a Walmart Robin suit that was ripping at the seams burned in his head, “Why would you give me that mental image? I need to bleach my brain. ”

Tim just shrugged, “payback.” He turned around to leave and visibly shuddered, “In a shake, garter snake.” he waved his fingers over his shoulder.

“See you soon, fat racoon.” Jason grinned, because he very much feels like as an older brother, he would teach his younger brothers corny goodbyes. Though maybe he didn’t. Who knows

Tim had been out of the bathroom, but peeked his head back in and grabbed a comb from the counter, “Gotta run, skeleton .”

“ Drake ! You can’t say that!”

Tim walked away again, “What I say is fine, spiky porcupine!”

There was definitely a growl that came from Damian, but Jason couldn’t say he wasn’t laughing.

Alfred was cutting up some fruit by the time he made his way down to the kitchen. 

“Ah, young Master Jason. I didn’t expect you to be up this early, considering how much adventure you had last night.” Though Jason didn’t see the way Alfred’s knife faltered momentarily. 

Jason shrugged, “And more adventure awaits. I gotta figure out what happened in the past five years. Need any help?”

A wave of nostalgia hit Alfred. Not many other people in the house could be trusted to cook without burning the house down, and even though maybe Cassandra or Damian could be, cooking with Jason felt special in a way that would hurt if he tried to teach another one of his grandchildren. “Would you mind preparing the pancake batter?”

And Jason gave Alfred that smile that was brighter than the sun, before they fell into their rhythm, working side by side. 

As usual, Duke and Damian were the first downstairs in their Gotham Academy uniforms. Alfred placed a bowl of fruit in front of Duke and a cup of chai in front of Damian. “How come Todd is allowed in the kitchen?”

Jason frowned, “Wait, am I not usually allowed in the kitchen anymore? Or is it because I’m not in the manor often anymore?”

“What makes you think that, Master Jason?”

“My room looks pretty much the same. There’s nothing to show that I’ve grown up in it.” he stopped mixing the batter, “Did Sheila Haywood get custody of me? Is that why I stopped being Robin?” Why must Bruce raise all his children to be detectives?

There was a clatter that came from right outside the kitchen, followed by a, “I didn’t tell him anything, Bruce, I swear.”

And then there was a mischievous smile that formed on Jason’s face, “Yeah, he didn’t. He didn’t even tell me why I was dunked in the Lazarus Pit.”

Bruce came into the kitchen and leveled Jason with a look, “If Dick didn’t tell you either of those things, how do you know them? Did you remember something?”

Jason went back to mixing, “You’re forgetting you’re not the only detective in the house, old man.”

Dick snagged a chocolate chip from the container Jason had gotten out, “He found an old notebook and eavesdropped on me and Damian’s conversation.”

“Though Todd does remember some things. He remembered my mother and I. And I suppose Drake.”

Then Tim came in making a beeline for the coffee maker, “I don’t think I count, gremlin, I was the boy next door.”

“No, you were the camera kid. Bruce, I was right . How many times did I tell you there was a kid following us? How many times did you say, hrf.” Jason put down the bowl to emphasize his point.

Bruce sighed, but there was a slight smile on his face, “Fine, Jason, you were right—“

“Exactly. Now, since I proved to be more observant than you, you have to give me something?” Jason was obviously trying for the teasing tone that Dick usually uses, but it came out less certain. Like Jason didn’t know where he stood with Bruce. Which was fair considering last night. 

Bruce picked up on it too, and reached a hand across the counter, “Jason, I’m sorry for acting really distant last night, I just– it’s a lot different seeing you like this again. Though, that doesn’t change the fact that I would give you the world if you asked for it. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Bruce looked around the room, and then glanced at the floor, “That goes for all of you.”

And all the boys just stood there, gaping at Bruce. 

Though Jason was frowning and looking down. He shook his head, “But not… older me, right?”

“Doesn’t matter if you’re old and wrinkly, or too little to walk, I would give any version of you the world.” he had a hand on his heart, “but I- I can’t kill for–”

“No!” Jason had taken a couple steps back and had his hands up like he’d been caught, “I would never want you to kill someone. I would never want anyone to kill someone. Not for me.”

Bruce stood there frozen for a second. Everyone was frozen. Because the youngest three were suddenly given the knowledge that their older brother, the one who always seemed to be out for blood, was a pacifist. And the three people in the room who knew Jason, were hit with the fact that death and all the hardships Jason had to go through had changed him so much.

Though Bruce nodded, “Ok. ok, Jason.” Bruce cleared his throat, “What did you need?”

“I’m just… really confused. And no one’s telling me anything, and I-I know something bad happened, I just don’t know what and I don’t want to draw any wrong conclusions, so can I ask? What happened?”

The grief looked like it was about to tear Bruce apart. How are you supposed to tell your son that he went through hell and back. That he’s lost almost everything he’d gained in the three short years he had lived with them. How are you supposed to tell your son that he died ?

“A lot. A lot happened in the past couple years, Jason. Zatanna is coming over tomorrow to hopefully get you back to your normal age and all your memories back. Going over what happened during that time would just be…”

“Like digging up old graves?” Jason supplied. He must have noticed everyone flinch, “Sorry, that was probably a bad choice of words. Can’t I be given one piece of knowledge? I’m just trying to figure out how everything fits together, and the one piece I can’t seem to let go of is…Sheila Haywood? Did I really get a mom back? Are we close? Can… Can I see her?” 

And the hopeful look in Jason’s eyes was an exact mirror of the look he had in his eyes days before he disappeared. “No, Jason.”

The hope in his eyes flattered, because maybe just couldn’t see her. Right now. “To which one?”

Bruce didn’t say anything,

“Oh. I lost another mami .” And even though Jason was looking at the ground, it wasn’t hard to tell there were tears pooled up in his eyes, “How?”

Bruce clenched his jaw and looked to Alfred. He would not be able to make it through any more of this conversation.

Alfred wiped his hands on a towel and brought out a handkerchief to wipe away the tears that had fallen from Jason’s face, “Your mother, she was being held hostage. And you tried very hard, you tried so hard to save her, but in the end… there just wasn’t enough time.” 

“But, I-I could’ve been faster– I could’ve–”

Bruce rounded the counter and kneeled so he was eye level with Jason, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jason bit his lip to keep it from wobbling, before burying his head into Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce immediately wrapped his arms around Jason.

“It was the Joker , wasn’t it?” Jason mumbled into Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce held onto Jason much tighter.

[pastel-peach-writes]

Innermost Thoughts | Ellie Willams Blurb

╰┈➤ PLOT: Ellie has a crush and damn, she's got a lot to say. (Quick something to keep the gays fed <3)

╰┈➤ WARNINGS: Ellie's Journal Entries, POV Switch, Third Person, Cursing, Sapphic Yearning, Blurb, Not Proofread

⍣ ೋ Enjoy!⍣ ೋ

And when I look at them, my stomach gets all squeezy. I get sweaty, and my palms suddenly take all my interest. Dina used to tease me about it, Jesse too. But now I think they're used to it. When I stare, they don't mention anything anymore.

I may hear a scoff from them, but nothing teasing like they used to. "Ellie, go talk to them," Jesse would say to me.

"They won't bite... Unless you want them to," Dina would add. Damn, Dina. Making those corny ass jokes.

But now, Jess and Dina steal glances at each other while I'm looking at the love of my life them. I can feel them looking at each other. Is that weird? Not to me. I could always feel when someone quickly looks at someone else.

I can never feel their presence on me though.

Am I not good enough to look at? I know I may be a little smelly and grouchy, as Joel says, but I'd like to think I look nice. I take care of my hair when I can and Dina says my green eyes and freckles are a deadly combo. I think my knife and anger combo is more deadly, but sure, Dina. The freckle and green-eyed combo wins.

God. What the fuck does it take to get a sapphic person to fucking look at you the way you look at them? Do they even think about me at night? I do. Do they wish of holding me or me holding them? Sharing meals when we can? Snuggling up under a blanket, spilling our most inner secrets, and then staring into each other's eyes even though it's pitch black.

My lesbian heart is yearning. My lesbian heart is aching. Why can't--

––

"Hey, Ellie," their voice pulls Ellie out of her writing rant. Ellie quickly shuts her journal and sits on it. The person in front of them raises their brow and chuckles. "Don't worry. I wasn't going to peek,"

Ellie shrugs, a teasing smile on her lips. "Can't chance it."

The person rolls their eyes. They smile. That smile is the smile that makes Ellie's heart swell and her legs turn into jello when she stands or stiffens when she's sitting. "Yeah, yeah," the person waves Ellie off. "Come on, they're waiting for us."

They hold out a hand for Ellie to grab onto. Ellie quickly grabs her notebook and pencil. She shoves the items into her beaten-up backpack before taking her crush's hand. "Alright, let's go."

WC: 420

[felonious]