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loostssoul · 3 years

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if you kissed me - Rodrick Heffley | 1.9k

Yeah yeah i know i haven't written since a million years ago. and yeah yeah i know this is my first real fanfiction i posted on tumblr. fair warning, i'm not the best writer, i honestly just do this for fun and i'm totally up to criticism because i do want to make my writing better. if this is literally inaccurate, im sorry its been like 5 years since i've read the books. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fluff-fest that I created in the span of a few hours.

paring: rodrick x reader genre: fluff. lots of fluff

Credits to the maker of the picture! 15 Days till the Contest | 9:42 PM, Saturday

Plick, plick, plick

My speakers were blasting so loud I almost didn’t hear the sound of pebbles hitting my window.

Plick, plick, plick

I rubbed my eyes and slammed my laptop shut, walking toward my bedroom window. Peering down, I saw a figure a few yards down from my second-story bedroom, looking back up at me. Dark brown, messy hair that stuck up around his face. A red and black flannel, black ripped jeans, and, (of course) a tee-shirt with “Loded Diper” clumsily written on it. A grin spread on his face as he saw my face come into his view, causing me to blush. Rodrick Heffley, Crossland High bad boy, and my boyfriend.

I unlocked the latch to my window and stuck my head out, taking in the cool air and letting the neighbors enjoy the music I was playing (they never did). I looked down.

“Y/N!” He whisper-yelled

“Evening, Heffley.”

“I need to tell you something!”

“What’s so important that you have to scratch my window instead of using the power of modern technology to call me?”

His mouth opened to give me a response, but nothing came out. I smirked, “Come on up.”

I opened the window wider as he climbed the trellis that lined the back of my house. I backed up to my door and locked it. Precautions, my parents liked Rodrick but they definitely wouldn’t approve of him in my room at night. I looked back and I saw him, every feature of him illuminated by the light of my room. His cheeky smile and chocolate brown eyes. He slowly closed the window and walked toward me, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. I still got butterflies whenever he touched me.

“Hey, Spiderman. What did ya climb in here to tell me?” I asked

“I got Loded Diper into a contest.”

My eyes widened, Loded Diper, my boyfriend’s rock band, wasn’t exactly known for being the best. It was mostly known for his mom’s insane dance moves during the Plainview Talent Show. But of course, i'll never say that in front of his face.

“You did?! That’s awesome Rodrick!”

“Yeah! It's a battle of the bands contest, we’re going against two other bands. I really think this is gonna be our big break!” His eyes sparkled in excitement.

His happiness was contagious, he was like a goddamn puppy. I pulled him into my arms. “I’m proud of you Rod.” I muttered and smiled into his collarbone. I felt him inhale the scent of my hair and twirl my locks around his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, breaking the hug. “I’m having practice tomorrow with the band, you wanna come?”

“Sure. I go to every practice anyway, why miss out on this one?” I shrugged.

He chuckled and looked at me. Really looked at me. That’s one of the reasons why I fell for him. It never seemed like it, but he paid attention. We’ve only been dating for 4 months, but he knew me like no one else did, and I knew that in the way he looked at me. I felt his hand cup my face, his thumb rubbing my cheek in small circles. I looked up at him, noticing how tall he was, how close he was. Was I the one who leaned in? Was he the one who leaned in? Did we just do it subconsciously? Did he want this? Was he ready? Was I ready?

The ringing of Rodrick’s phone filled the room. The daze we were trapped in was gone and we separated, our faces red. Rodrick picked up the phone, it was his mom.

“Yeah, mom? Mom...I’m in the middle of something. I’ll do laundry later, ok? Now? C’mon… Alright, fine. Bye.” He hung up. “Sorry, I gotta blast.”

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked him as he started toward my window.

He looked back at me and planted a kiss on my forehead, the farthest we’ve ever gone with physical touch as a couple.

“Tomorrow”

~~✰✰✰~~

14 Days till the Contest | 1:22 PM, Saturday afternoon

“Should we take it from the top?”

Practice wasn’t going so well. I could feel the nervousness, the tension. Drums were slightly off beat, the guitarist’s fingers would fly to the wrong places on the fretboard, lyrics would go all over the place. The contest was two weeks away, and Loded Diper was already feeling the anxiousness. I sat on the floor of the garage, on top of a picnic blanket I found. To Rodrick’s dismay, his mom forced him to let Greg watch band practice, as a form of “brother-to-brother bonding time.” Greg sat next to me, mockingly covering his ears.

“Oh thank god, it's done.” Greg said with an immense amount of sarcasm and uncovering his ears.

Rodrick threw a crumpled-up piece of paper at his head, “Shut up.”

“Both of you, be nice.” I laughed. “I think you guys should take a break for a while, maybe shake off the nerves.”

“Good idea Y/N, 20 minute break everyone!” The lead singer said. Everyone spread out, grabbing a piece of pizza ordered earlier and laying down. Greg ran out of the garage, yelling, “I’m free!”

Rodrick stood up and began gulping down a bottle of water. He wore a black tanktop and black ripped jeans, sweat dripping down his forehead. I ran up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. He turned and faced me, running his hands through my hair, lost in thought.

“You ok, Rod?” I asked him.

He sighed, “nerves”

I leaned my head on his chest, “You’re gonna do great, you’ve done so many gigs in the past. Think of this as one of those!”

He smiled at me, “You know what would make me feel a lot less nervous?”

“Oh god. What?”

A really common thing Rodrick did was try to bargain a kiss on the lips from me. It's been an ongoing joke, a meaningless bit he did all the time. I’ll do my homework if you kissed me on the lips. I’ll smile in the picture if you kissed me on the lips. It still hasn’t worked.

“I might be less nervous if you kissed me on the lips.” He whispered to me.

I rolled my eyes, “If that’s what it takes then I think you’ll lose the competition.”

He let go of me and laughed, my favorite laugh. “Worth a try.” He shrugged, going off to join his bandmates and the pizza. But as I watched him smile and laugh with his friends, I lost myself. I thought about the previous night. The way we fit into each other, the closeness, the fact that was so close that I could see my reflection in his eyes.

Maybe I should just say yes.

~~✰✰✰~~

The Day of the Contest

For the past 2 weeks, Rodrick has given me the “kiss-bargain” joke 9 times. Every time, I deflected it with sarcastic remarks, and every time I regretted not agreeing.

I sat on the front steps of my porch, waiting for Rodrick to pick me up. I regretted the jean shorts and plain black tee-shirt I had on, as a cold breeze brushed my skin. I pulled my black leather jacket on, which I painted “Loded Diper” on the back in white paint. Then, I heard it. The echo of heavy metal turned to full blast, and… the faint sound of something big getting knocked over. Oh god, they’re here. The white van with “Loded Diper” written in huge words screeched to a halt in front of my house.

The window rolled down, revealing my boyfriend and his excited grin. “Get in.”

~~✰✰✰~~

30 minutes till Loded Diper preforms

It felt surreal to be backstage, and really exciting. Energy was flowing through the room, as all the other bands talked and played. The rest of the band members seemed excited, full of adrenaline. Except for Rodrick, he’s been nervous ever since soundcheck. His leg was bouncing,he twirled his drumsticks around, drumming them on random objects, and his eyes stared into nothing.

“Rodrick, you want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Huh?” He didn’t take his eyes away from the ground, his voice seemed far away.

I lifted a liquid eyeliner pen I had in my pocket, “Eyeliner. I just did mine, we can match!”

He lifted his head and noticed me. I had my eyeliner smudged, just like he always does during a gig. He grinned, “Yeah. Yeah sure.”

I’ve done his eyeliner many times in the past, and I loved doing it because I had to be as close to him as possible. So I hopped onto his lap, pressing myself close to him, trying to comfort him with my warmth.

“Close your eyes.” I ordered.

As I applied his eyeliner, I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. It was heavy, and fast. I’m pretty sure I would still hear it if I wasn’t as close to him as I was, even though the loud music blasting through the theatre.

“Done”

He opened his eyes, and butterflies flooded my stomach. We were close. Very close. Should I do it? Should I lean in?

Rodrick probably sensed my flustered-ness. He smirked, “Cat got your tongue?”

I rolled my eyes, blushing hard. “Shut up.” I said, playfully punching him.

~~✰✰✰~~

“5 Minutes until Loded Diper performs!” A man exclaimed to us.

Rodrick was as nervous as ever. We’ve been standing on the left wing of the stage, watching the other bands play. It felt like a bunch of Loded Diper copy-pastes. A bunch of high schoolers, weird names, very aggressive playing. But they were still pretty good. Rodrick was biting the nails of one of his hands and tapping his other hand on the wall behind him. I looked up at him and held his hand, stopping it from fidgeting. He smiled nervously.

Now or never Y/N…

“Hey, you said that if I kiss you, you won’t be as nervous. Right?”

He looked at me, wide eyed. He seemed to be trying to compute what I said.

I stood on tiptoe and put his face in my hands. It was that night all over again. Every detail of his face, of him was in full view. His eyes, his eyeliner, his scent, his lips. I leaned in.

His lips were soft against mine, but they were tense, flustered. I was terrified, It was the wrong place, the wrong time. Until I felt one hand in my hair, another on my waist, pulling me closer.

How long was the kiss? A few seconds? It felt like minutes, hours. Sparked ignited. Butterflies flew in my stomach. His scent was the only thing I smelled, his warmth was the only thing I felt. The music faded away. Everything faded away. It was just him and I. Until we broke apart, taking in deep breaths of each other. We wanted more, but Loded Diper was playing in a few seconds.

“Hey, Rodrick.”

“Yeah?”

“If you win I’ll kiss you again”

We both knew I would kiss him regardless.

I didn't edit this because editing is for wimps (just kidding be responsible and edit your work)

please like and reblog because it gives me serotonin and i need that

#rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #fanfiction #rodrick heffley x reader #doawk #devon bostick

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jawabear · 3 years

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My neurons are firing away! I really loved Don't leave and I saw that you said you'd do sequels, so I have a request for a Don't leave sequel 🥺 Like S3E4, when they go on that mission to catch Gilberto, and they need people they can trust, so y/n joins them, saying/thinking she can do it. But she's with Javi when he finds Gilberto and since he's pointing a gun at them she gets flashbacks from the time she got shot. So she gets through the mission with adrenaline rushing through her body 1/2

(2) Don’t Leave (Javier Pena x Reader)

Not my GIF (but y’all should know how much I love it)

A/N: Hey, here’s a second part to Don’t leave, as requested. Thank you anon! I hope this is good? I think its kind of a mess because I was basically rewriting the episode which was a little difficult. I had to use Spanish but I do not speak the language so it is most likely wrong so I apologise for that. This a little bit of a mess but I hope you can still enjoy it. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay Safe

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Fem!reader, sexism, soft!Javi, alcohol, mental breakdowns, mentions of death, guns, me thirsting over how good Javi looks in this episode, mentions of medication, crying, confessions, tiny bit of fluff, my terrible comebacks

Summary: To catch a criminal, Javi needs people he can trust, but the person he trusts above all else is the one who he doesn’t want to take

It had been a couple of weeks since she came back and was settling back in quite well all things considered. Javier made sure to keep an extra eye on her where he could. The smallest sign of struggle and he would be straight to her side to help in any way he could.

It was very sweet of him. It made her heart race. But she felt so much guilt as well. He had practically become her minder and that was an idea she didn’t like. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone in the DEA, especially not Javier. But that’s what she was. Or felt like at least.

But she carried on as best she could given the circumstances. She didn’t want special treatment and made that quite clear to the Ambassador. She went back to desk duty which wasn’t so bad, it was what she was used to. But as strange as it’s sounds, now she had a taste of field duty, she wanted to get back out there. However, considering what happened last time, that wasn’t one of her brightest ideas.

It was late at the embassy which was pretty much empty. There were a few agents lurking around the building but most of them had gone home already. (Y/N) much preferred the embassy after dark. It was quieter and more manageable, especially with her fragile state of mind. She find it somewhat comforting sitting in her office. It was quiet. But a peaceful quiet. Not the painful and lonely quiet of her apartment, which was why she stayed a lot longer than necessary.

A knocking on her office door disrupted that silence. She lifted her head and saw it was Javi. She smiled to him and motioned for him to come in. He looked a little distressed.

He didn’t say and thing as he made his way into her office, closing the door and sitting in the chair opposite her, putting his head in his hands and letting out a heavy breath.

“Javi?” She said quietly bringing her chair round to sit in front of him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She copied what he had done when she came back. She put her hands gently on his thighs as comfort to him.

“Shit (Y/N)” he muttered as he lifted his head a little, his posture still slumped over though “we could have him”

“Have who?” She asked.

“Gilberto Rodríguez”

Her eyes went wide with shock “are-are you serious? How?” She asked.

“Feistl just called. They tailed Guillermo Pallomari, the head accountant for the cartel. Lead them straight to Gilberto’s front fucking door”

“That’s...this is big Javi”

“Yeah. I know”

“What are you going to do?”

“We’ve gotta fucking go after him. We’ve got a secure location on him. We have to take it as soon as we can. But..” he paused for a moment “I need people I can trust. But there are fucking few out there” he said in a light laugh.

(Y/N) paused and looked at him. She looked at the way his thumbs rubbed over her hands. She saw the desperation in his eyes. The look of it being his only chance.

“What about me?” She asked quietly.

“What about you?”

“Take me with you”

“No” he said firmly with the sake of his head “no no no. No I’m not putting you through something like that again”

“You can trust me, can’t you?”

“Of course (Y/N). Of course I trust you. I trust you with my life. But I can’t trust myself to protect you from what ever happens. And I can’t...I can’t watch you get hurt again”

“There’s no guarantee I’ll get hurt Javi”

“There’s no guarantee you won’t get hurt” he retorted quickly.

“Javi,” she began quietly “I think, in this instance, catching one of the godfathers of the Calí Cartel is more important that me”

He squeezed her hands and dropped his head “fuck” he whispered “fuck. Alright, fine” he looked at her again “but you do exactly as I say, when I say it. You don’t fuck around. And you don’t get hurt. If something goes wrong, you get yourself out first. Got it?”

“Yes sir” she smiled “who else are you bringing along? If Calderón is working for the cartel, then who knows how many of his me are too. And this doesn’t really seem like a four person job, If we include Feistl and Van Ness”

“Don’t worry about that” he said with a slight smirk. “I’ve got an idea”

Javier’s idea was calling in a few favours from some old friends in Bogotá. Colonel Martínez and his most trusted men. Javi explained the plan of diversion to them all hours before the plan would be put init action to catch Gilberto.

“(Y/N), I want you to go with him” Javi said quietly to her.

“What?” She was slightly annoyed by his order. She wanted to stay with Javi.

“You’ll be safe with him”

“N-No, Javi, I want to stay with you”

“(Y/N)” He said sternly. He took a step towards her and rested his hands on her arms, rubbing them softly “Please. Please. Go with Colonel Martínez. You said if I let you come you’d do as I say”

She nodded “okay..” she whispered.

He brought his hands to her cheeks and tilted her head up slightly to meet her gaze “you’ll be okay” he assured her softly. She smiled as gently squeezed his wrists.

“You be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks”

“I won’t” he looked at his watch and pulled his hands from her cheeks. ”You better get going” he cleared his throat and glanced to his left to see that Colonel Martínez has been watching that whole ordeal play out. But as per usual, he show now expression on his face.

“Peña is right” he said as he strolled over to them “our window is getting smaller, we should go now”

“Yeah. Yes. Right, okay” (Y/N) nodded “I’ll um...I’ll head to the truck” she said before making her wave over to the chicken loaded truck. Javi watched as she jumped into the back, his heart sinking a little as he wondered if he had made the wrong choice.

“How long has it been?” Martínez asked in his usual stoic voice.

“How long has what been?” Javi asked looking at him.

“Cuanto tiempo llevas enamorado de ella?” (How long have you been in love with her?)

Javi let out a sudden and nervous laugh as he ran his hands through his hair “¿Qué te hace pensar que estoy enamorado de ella?” (What makes you think I’m in love with her?) He asked.

“I know the look of love when I see one Peña. What I saw was love. From both of you” there was a sudden softness to Martinez’s voice. Javi didn’t reply to him because he knew he was right. “Don’t worry” he said patting Javi’s shoulder “I’ll make sure she’s okay”

Javi could only nod before Martínez was walked to the truck and jumping in the back, the two metal doors being closed behind him. He just hoped she would be okay.

The ride in the back of the truck was dark, silence, smelly and hot. On a list of things she wanted to do before she died, riding in the back of a chicken truck was not very high up.

Her head rested back against the metal wall as she took in deep breaths. She couldn’t tell if she was nervous or excited. She was just daring to go. But she had to be sensible, smart. She had to be calm. But she was getting anxious. Mainly, she just wanted to be with Javi again.

The truck came to a sudden stop which signalled that they had arrived. (Y/N) lifted her head and her gaze met with Colonel Martínez who was sat opposite her. He gave her a subtle nod which she returned before pulling her pistol out of her vest.

From there, everything seemed to happen so quickly until she found herself in charge of making sure Gilberto’s three wives cooperated but not getting in the way or trying to relay false information. All three women have her looks. But (Y/N) couldn’t blame them. It was strange to see a woman in such a position. A woman in field duty? Laughable if nothing else. But (Y/N) was living proof that a woman was just as good on the field as a man. She was just waiting for her man to hurry up and make it.

Thankfully it wasn’t all that much longer until Colonel Martínez had motioned for her to follow him outside. When she did she saw a Police car pulling up being the Chicken truck with Calderón, Javi, Feistl and Van Ness inside. Her heart jumped a little to see that Javi was okay and that he has made it.

The four of them got out of the car and Javier and Calderón walked towards her and Martinez while Chris and Dan stood by the car.

“Colonel Martinez” Calderón said.

“Capitán” Martinez gave a subtle nod to him. Javi rested a comforting hand on (Y/N)’s arm but said nothing to her, so she said nothing to him. “sabes lo que está sucediendo aquí?” (You know what’s happening here?)

Calderón looked (Y/N) up and down giving her a slightly evil look. Before looking back at Martinez. “sí, creo que sé” (yes, I think I know) he said with a slight nod.

“te estoy dando una oportunidad. para hacer lo correcto y no follar esta opperación” (I’m giving you one chance. To do the right thing and not fuck up this operation)

Calderón looked back towards (Y/N) “si lo que he oído es cierto, no seré yo quien lo joda” (if what I’ve heard is true, I won’t be the one who fucks it up)

(Y/N)’s Spanish wasn’t the best, it was pretty awful all things considered. But she could understand when she was being insulted. That, and the fact she saw sudden anger wash over Javier’s face. But still he said nothing but squeezed her arm.

“This is no job for a woman” Calderón said “especially one who can’t hold her own”

“Maybe. But look who’s being allowed to help and who isn’t” she retorted calmly, which was more than could be said for Javi who was growing more visibly angry by the second.

Calderón back up to the car and Van Ness was quick to grab the keys to insure he wouldn’t drive off.

Martinez looked at Javi “Está aquí. Lo encontraremos” (He’s here. We’ll find him) he said. Javi gave a subtle nod back before dropping his hand from (Y/N)’s arm. Suddenly, it felt cold there. She was over come with the sudden urge to just jump in his arms, but they had something more important to be dealing with right now. “Véalo” (Watch him) he ordered to one of his men before walking back into the house.

“You still got your kids drawing?” Javi asked Chris as they all followed behind.

(Y/N) followed behind Javi up the stairs, trying not to get too distracted by how good he looked. Now was not the time.

They made their way into what appeared to be some sort of bathroom. No doubt one of many that was located in the grand house, but it was a bigger bathroom than she had ever seen. Off on the far wall were two extra room. They took one each, kicking open the door and holing their gun to as the search it. Both came up empty.

Javi gave her a look before looking back around the room, the same as her. He walked over to the large jacuzzi looking bath and walked up the wooden steps.

They both froze in place when an all too loud creak came from under his foot. He shifted his weight once, twice, to make sure he wasn’t hearing things. He wasn’t. There was definitely something not right about it.

He carefully and quietly step back down to the floor and gave her another look. She adjusted her stance and moved a little closer to him. She held her gun up to the steps as he bent down. He slid his hand over the bottom step. He reached down further and she swallowed thickly. Javi gave her another look and she gave him and nod.

The steps flew up and the two agents both too a step back.

There was Gilberto Rodríguez. His gun pointing directly at them.

(Y/N)’s heart began to race. Partly from adrenaline that was still flowing through her, but partly from fear. Seeing the gun pointing their way made her mind flash with images from that day. Only this time, it was worse. All she could see was a bullet going straight through Javi, and this time she wouldn’t be able to save him. She wouldn’t be able to jump in front of him. Instead she would be left to watch him die. Watch the blood flow from him.

She blinked her eyes quickly to try and wipe away the images but her hands were becoming shaky. She couldn’t stand there for much longer, not with a gun in her face. “suelta el arma” (drop your weapon) Javi said, surprisingly calmly.

Trujillo appeared on the other side of Javi to (Y/N) with his gun raised as well “suelta el arma” he repeated the same as Javi, in a less calm tone.

Gilberto hesitated for a moment before he slowly lowered his gun and dropped it to the floor in front of him “No dispares. Soy un hombre de paz” (don’t shoot. I am a man of peace) he said as he held his hands up in surrender. He grabbed the steps in his hands and shakily pulled him self out of his hideout. Javi grabbed his shoulders and pulled him out quicker, holding his gun to the back of Gilberto’s neck.

It was then that Martinez appeared holding his gun out but almost dropping it when he saw the Cartel Godfather at gun point. “Vamos” he said. Javi nodded and traded Gilberto off to him when he noticed that (Y/N) wasn’t moving.

“(Y/N)” Javi said quietly as he placed his hand back warmly on her arm, Trujillo and Martinez taking Gilberto away. She jumped slightly at his touch and looked at him “you okay?” He asked softly.

She blinked, swallowed and nodded. “Yeah” she said “yeah. I’m...I’m fine. Just...let’s get out of here” she said before walking past him, he followed closely behind her all the way down stairs.

The living room was almost full of Police. Gilberto was sat on the sofa whilst his three wives looked upon him with sadness, confusing and everything else along that line.

It was now only a matter of time before they would listed as heroes. They had taken down one of the Godfathers of Calí. That was no easy feat. But they weren’t in the clear just yet.

After managing to get Gilberto back to Bogotá and handing him off to the authorities, (Y/N) and Javier found themselves back at the embassy. (Y/N) had been quiet ever since they got on the plane to come back to Bogotá. It was obvious to Javi, and obvious to her, that the mission had effected her. She hadn’t said a said a single word to him for a few hours now and it just felt strange.

She went ahead of him when they got to the embassy and headed straight to the ambassadors office. Walking through the main office to get there, she was greeted with a round of applause for her work with Javi in arresting Gilberto. She gave them all a polite smile but walked quickly out of the office space, ignoring all the congratulations she was getting.

(Y/N) knocked on the door of Crosby’s office and she heard a “Come in” from inside so she opened the door and walked in. “(Y/N)” he greeted her, sounding a little surprised as he sat at the table on the right side of the office.

“Ambassador” she greeted back.

“I was expecting Peña to walk through the door” he motioned for her to take the seat opposite him and she did.

“Ambassador,” She said “I’m going to be frank with you. I can’t keep this up for much longer. I thought I would be okay, but being out there today...”

“Is this your way of telling me you resign?”

“No. No. Not resign. Just...I know I’ve already had so much time off for my injury but...I don’t know, I just need to not be in this. I need to just...need some time...”

“How much time?”

“I...I don’t know”

“Well (Y/N), let me be frank with you. What you and agent Peña did today was an impressive feat but comes with a lot of complications now for both the Colombian and American government. But I will congratulate you for your achievement. And, in all honesty, regardless of how it played out, I was going to sign you off anyway. Off work. If not just to get you back to how you were, then to get Peña to stop brining it up in every meeting we have”

“Sir?” She asked, a little confused at what he meant.

“He’s been hounding me to sign you off since you came back. Every meeting we have it’s the first and last thing he says. Keeps telling me that you need more time, and that you’re not in the right state of mind to work efficiently”

(Y/N) didn’t really know how to feel at that. It was sweet that Javi would do that in her behalf, but it was now properly evident to her that she hadn’t hidden her struggles as well as she originally thought.

“Four week” he said “I’ll give you four weeks. I don’t want to see you anywhere near this embassy building within that time”

“Yes sir” she nodded “thank you sir” she stood and reached her hand over to him, he shook it and she left for the door.

Just as she was leaving his office, Javi appeared and gave her a soft look “(Y/N)” he said quietly “what are you doing?”

“I um...asked Crosby for some time off. He’s given me four weeks” she mumbled.

“Good. You need it” he said to her.

“I...I better let you go in there”

“Yeah” Javi laughed slightly “no doubt I’m in for a fucking talk when I get in there”

She managed a smiled and nodded “I better go. I’ll see you later Javi” she said before walking past him towards her own office.

Javi let out a heavy sigh as he walked up the stairs towards her apartment that was just a few floors about his. Having to address the Colombian nation about the successful DEA operation of capturing Gilberto Rodríguez had taken it out of him. He needed to be with someone who he could relax with. He needed to be with (Y/N). He stood outside her door and knocked three times.

Then he waited.

He waited.

He waited too long. He knocked again. Still there was nothing. He pressed his ear against the door and could hear nothing from inside. This made him worry. It was unlike her to keep him waiting for so long. He tried the door handle but the door was locked. This worried him even more. Luckily he had a spare key in his back pocket that he carried with him everywhere. He pulled it out and pushed it into the lock before turning it and getting the door open.

The inside of her apartment was definitely not what he was use to.

It was a mess. Papers were thrown everywhere. In the kitchen, on the table were painkillers and other tablets scattered across the wooden surface. A half drunk glass of whiskey to go with them. She didn’t drink. The whiskey was technically his. She brought it for him so that he would have something to drink whilst he visited. But she hated alcohol.

He walked through her apartment looking for her and came to a sharp stop when he heard the sound of running water. He looked in the direction of the bathroom and saw the door was cracked open slightly. He took cautious steps towards it and pressed his hand flat against the door before slowly pushing it open.

There she sat on the shower floor. Fully clothed. The water drenching her completely. She hugged her knees close to her chest as she stared at the floor shaking. Whether she was shaking from fear or the water perhaps being cold, he didn’t know. But to see her like that broke him.

Javi walked into the bathroom, pulling off his jacket, shoes and socks as he did before he stepped into the shower and sunk down to the floor beside her, his back to the wall and his knees bent, his arms resting loosely on them. She immediately found comfort in him. Leaning her head onto his arm and bringing her hand up to grab at his bicep. “I-I thought I could do it” She stuttered quickly, quietly, her fingers flexing around his arm, trying to find the right place to hold, but it seemed she couldn’t. “I-I though I could...” she didn’t finish the second time. She couldn’t finish. The more she spoke, the more images of horror flooded her mind pushing her closer and closer to the point of crying.

She didn’t actually know if she was crying. She had been. But now she couldn’t tell it was tears or the water falling down her cheeks.

Javi didn’t say anything to her. He loosened his tie from around his neck and placed it beside him on the shower floor. He reached under his arm and grabbed her free trembling hand and pulled it through the gap and held it tightly in his hand. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a few soft and loving kisses to her knuckles. They were slow, lingering kisses. Each one lasting longer than the last.

His head then gently fell against hers, his cheek resting against the top of her wet hair. He turned so that it was his nose resting against her head. Breathing in what was left of her sweet scent, which wasn’t a lot, most of it had been washed away by the water and he no longer had her smell to comfort him. But in that moment, he didn’t much care. She was more important. She needed his comfort. He pressed a gentle kiss to where ever it was his lips were placed before slightly lifting his head from her and moving down

Javier nosed the side of her head, moving it round to her forehead and down her face, rubbing it against her own nose. She lifted her head slightly and let out a few shaky breaths as he continued the sweet action. The touch was so...absentminded, that she wondered if he meant to do it. But it made her heart swell. It made everything okay.

And then he kissed her.

He didn’t start off with the intention of kissing her, but he sure as hell didn’t regret it. Nothing had ever felt more right than the feeling of her lips against his. He felt right then that that was where he was meant to be. With her. Kissing her. Loving her. Doing what he should’ve done years ago. Doing what he should’ve done when he first realised he was in love with her. Doing what he should’ve done when she needed him most, when she had taken a bullet for him. Not just to help her, but to help him too.

He needed her. He wanted her. He wasn’t ever going to leave her.

She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back, pulling him from his thoughts before she barely pulled away from his lips. His nose still gently rubbing against hers.

“I love you” she whispered.

Her words lifted a great weight off his shoulders. So much so that he let out a breath of relief. “I love you too” he said in the same quiet voice. She laid her head back on his shoulder and he brought his arms round to wrap around her to hold her close. “You’re going to be okay (Y/N). I promise”

08/01/21

Taglist: @linkpk88 @phoenixhalliwell @lunaserenade

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal #angst #fanfic

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 4 years

Text

Where Earth Meets Sky

A scene that takes place in my au where Oscar becomes the Avatar of the atla universe.

Oscar pokes his head out of his chambers. The Earth Kingdom guard stationed at his door looks down at him. Oscar gulps and closes the door again. Despite being guests at the Southern Air Temple, some things never change. His masters’ protectiveness certainly never will. Oscar sighs. He reconsiders trying to meditate in here, but his rooms feel stuffy and confined. He wants to be outside, but avoiding both his Earth entourage and the Air monks has proven to be impossible so far.

If there’s one thing Oscar absolutely hates about being the Avatar, it’s that he no longer gets any time just to himself. The quiet peacefulness he knew living on his aunt’s farm is long gone. He knows his masters have his best interest at heart, that they’re just worried for his safety, but it wears on him.

Why did it have to be him?

Oscar knows that he’s always been the Avatar. Even before he knew, since the day he was born and drew his first breath, he was something greater than anyone else on Remnant. This was always his destiny, no matter how much he wishes it wasn’t. He wonders what it would have been like if it was someone else, and he got to stay on his aunt’s farm, a normal person.

Not that he’d been completely happy with his life there, but he hadn’t been unhappy either. It had been nice. Not that there aren’t nice parts to being the Avatar. It’s just a heavy burden.

Oscar sits down on his bed. A really heavy burden.

He’s supposed to maintain balance between the four nations, but how is he supposed to do that when even his predecessor, the great Water Avatar, Ozpin, could not? Ozpin was renown for making more strides than anyone else towards a new era of peace, for being perhaps one of the strongest Avatars there ever was.

Then, Ozpin was cut down, his life tragically shortened, by a murderer who thirsted for the power over all the elements only the Avatar has. A murderer who is still out there, probably planning to hunt down Oscar himself as he sits here thinking.

Oscar puts his head in his hands. He didn’t choose this. He didn’t want this. He’s not ready to be this. He’s not even that great of a bender. His connection to Earth is strong, but in the way of a farmer, who asks his soil to grow his crops as best it can. His link to Fire grows with each passing day, sure, but it’s not the burning heat that’ll engulf enemies in an instant so much as it is the campfire that will hold the dark of night at bay and provide warmth.

Oscar isn’t a fighter. He knows he’s expected to one day go up against Ozpin’s murderer. He’s not sure how he can. If only he could talk to Ozpin, but he can’t even get privacy out of his suffocating rooms to truly meditate and make the connection with his past self.

Sunlight gleaming in through the window catches Oscar’s eye. He runs his hands down his face and turns to look at it. His room overlooks an impassable drop off. Another thing meant to protect him from danger, but only works to make him feel even more isolated.

A sky bison flies by. Oscar sighs. If only he could be that free. He walks over to the window and gazes at the creature. Oscar can see the silhouette of someone on its back, but then the bison zips around the side of the temple and is gone. Only the distant, lonely mountain range remains.

Oscar groans. What was he expecting? Whoever they are, they probably don’t even know he’s here. Why would they stick around? He goes to his bed and flops down on it. If only he could fly too.

Wait…

Oscar looks back to the window. Sure, he hasn’t started his airbender training yet, but he’s the Avatar. Airbending isn’t outside the realm of possibility for him. He glances once back at his door, half-expecting his guard to have read his mind and come in to stop him. No such thing happens.

For the first time in a while, Oscar grins. He returns to the open window and climbs up on the ledge. The moment he realizes the great height he’s at, Oscar hesitates. This is absurd. He should just go back inside, where it’s safe.

And stuffy. And suffocating.

Oscar closes his eyes. He reaches out to the air, and asks it to listen.

Nothing happens at first. Then;

A breeze pushes past Oscar. He looses his balance. Panic rises from his gut. The wind twists, capturing Oscar in its center. It lifts and carries him. Despite having nothing between him and the largest drop down of his life, Oscar’s fears fade away. He’s not going to fall. He’s certain of it.

The wind takes Oscar and deposits him in an empty courtyard tucked into a secluded corner of the temple. It’s the perfect spot for some personal meditation time to try and focus on connecting to the Avatar Spirit. There’s a well-tended flower garden. It’s quiet, away from the loud hubbub and general going-ons of the temple.

Oscar sits down cross-legged on a grassy spot by the garden, closes his eyes, centers his breathing, and tries to make the connection. He’s not actually sure what it’s supposed to feel like. He’s meditated lots of time, felt perfectly calm and at ease and yet nothing extraordinary has ever happened.

Ozpin has never tried to reach back to him. Sure, the Water Avatar was notorious for being secretive, but he wouldn’t refuse to connect with his successor. Would he?

Everyone always assures Oscar Ozpin wouldn’t. That what he’s trying to do is extremely difficult and could take time, but if Oscar’s being honest, it feels like there’s this gaping wound, a hole, in his soul where Ozpin should be.

It scares Oscar. What does it mean? Did the last Avatar reject him? Has he somehow done something wrong? Destroyed millennia of tradition, culture, and history without meaning to?

Oscar groans and tries to refocus. Thinking like this won’t help him make the connection. He needs to—

“LOOK OUT BELOW!!!”

Instinctively, Oscar earthbends the ground to move himself out of the way. A mass of cream-colored fur speeds over his head and dives into a sloppy landing. The mass’s great paws scramble against the cobblestones, don’t find purchase, and slide into the garden. Geysers of dirt and flowers shoot up in every direction. Oscar covers his face with his arms to protect himself.

When the mass settles, Oscar sees it’s the sky bison he saw from his window, and it’s a fairly young one. The bison grumbles loudly, not at Oscar, but at a dark-haired girl who slides off its back. The girl wears the robes of an air novice. They’re the most haphazardly worn air robes Oscar has ever seen. When he first arrived at the Southern Air Temple, he’d noted how meticulous the monks were with their clothing right away. Not a thread or a wrinkle out of place.

This girl, by comparison, seems to be trying to compete for the most wrinkly, dirty clothing ever. Her long red-orange cloak’s hem has numerous tears. There’s burrs stuck to her that definitely didn’t originate in this courtyard. In some ways, she’s more smudged dirt-stains than she is person.

“Yeah, Sorry, that one was my fault. I thought we could definitely make that barrel roll.” The girl scratches behind one of the bison’s ears. “What do you say to trying it again in a little bit?”

The bison rumbles an answer.

“Alright.” The girl gives her bison an affectionate pat. “Maybe tomorrow, then.” She looks around and notices Oscar for the first time. Her eyes widen. “I didn’t think anyone came out to the courtyards on this side of the temple anymore. Are you okay?” She notices his Earth robes. “Oh my spirits, you’re the Avatar! I’m so, so sorry, your avatar-ness. I will be more careful in the future. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar reassures her, hoping to end this conversation as soon as possible. He hates when people give him special treatment because of his position. “No harm was done.” He pauses. “Except maybe to the garden.” He gestures to its ruins.

The girl can’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah, that tends to happen when Luna and I go flying.” She scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stick around for a bit to clean things up.”

“Sure.” Oscar nods. He’d really like privacy, but he’d also like to not be stuck with cleaning the mess himself. He returns to his meditation and the girl begins picking up uprooted flowers. Her bison follows behind her, clumsily trying to help.

Oscar manages to meditate for a whole minute. The squish of the girl putting the flowers back into the dirt is a soft sound, but his ears, which spent years attuning to earth and soil, picks up on it easily. He fidgets. She’s being too rough. Even without looking, he knows that. Oscar takes a deep breath. He tries to ignore the girl and her poor gardening skills, but he can’t take it.

Oscar gets up and goes over to the girl. He kneels in the dirt next to her. “Here.” He takes the plant she’s about to replant from her. “Be more gentle. The roots are delicate. They’ll break easily. You’re forcing them into the ground too roughly.” He expertly scoops out a hole in the soil and lowers the plant into it. Then, with his free hand, he packs dirt around it. “Like this.”

“Oh. Sorry.” The girl lets out an awkward laugh. “I guess Earth isn’t really my thing.”

“That’s okay.” Oscar smiles at her. “It’s mine. I’ll help you.”

His meditation probably wasn’t going to work anyway, and it’s been far too long since he’s had the chance to do some gardening.

As he and the girl settle into an easy, natural rhythm with fixing the destroyed garden, Oscar finally asks for her name.

“Promise to not get me in trouble with the monks?” She asks in return.

“Promise,” Oscar answers.

“Ruby Rose.” Ruby takes her hand off the flower she was holding while Oscar packed stabilizing dirt around it and holds it out to him. “And you are?”

“I thought you already knew?”

“I know you’re the Avatar, silly, but what’s your name?”

“Oh. Oscar. Oscar Pine.” Oscar can’t help the big smile that takes over his face. Usually people stop asking after they find out he’s the Avatar. The rest doesn’t matter as much to them. Feeling playful, he adds, “I’ve never seen an air nomad crash their bison before.”

Ruby blushes, which is rather cute in Oscar’s opinion. “Yeah, we’re not exactly supposed to.” She glances over her shoulder at her bison, who has opted to take a nap while they work. “But we never do what we’re supposed to anyway, right, girl?”

The bison opens its eyes, huffs, lumbers over, and affectionately licks Ruby with her massive tongue.

“Eww, Luna! You know your spit doesn’t wash out easily!”

Oscar can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t encourage her!” Ruby pouts at Oscar, and then throws herself against Luna’s side in a hug that can’t possibly reach all the way around the bison. “That’s my job,” she mumbles into Luna’s fur.

They finish fixing the garden too soon in Oscar’s opinion. It’s been far too long since he’s just been able to relax and talk to someone without worrying about how they’d react to his status, or how to be respectful of their status, or any of the other things the Earth Sages drilled into his head he needed to remember.

“So.” Ruby wipes her hands together to clean them of dirt. “Have you ridden an air bison yet?”

Oscar replies, “Yes. To get here, the monks picked us up in Ba Sing Se and flew us.”

“Correction. Have you ridden a fun air bison yet?” Ruby grins conspiratorially.

“No…” Oscar looks between Ruby and Luna.

“Do you want to? I promise not to crash into any more gardens.”

They do, and, when they do, Oscar just looks at Ruby, who looks back at him. They both start laughing.

#rwby #rosegarden #ruby rose #oscar pine #avatar!oscar au #whirls writing

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egg-waffle-sandwich · 3 years

Text

Top 10 most powerful beings in the universe (weakest to strongest)

Super Mario: has been a middle aged plumber for the past 40 years and can jump at inconceivable heights, destroy lives by simply standing on them and suffers no head trauma despite decades of hitting head off blocks

Spongebob: Practically indestructible. Has been squished and pummeled countless times but is able to simply remove his limbs and attach them again. And is also a mutant talking sea sponge

Sans: ability to mold time itself to his command, breaks the reality of his universe at its seams and can teleport. All while deciding to act like a weak, fat loser. (If sans is this low on the list, you know we have some REAL SHIT later on)

Bob Ross: not the conventional power of sheer strength, but of charisma. Has positively changed the life of so many people and had a huge positive impact on society as a whole. One thing I will die happy knowing is that Bob Ross will forever be in the history books.

Sonic: is able to break the sound and sometimes the light barrier with no effort. Traveling at supersonic speeds (faster than light) has some really wacky effects on time, so sonic is technically able to time travel and it is practically impossible to kill, able to react and move at insane speed

Boyfriend from Friday night funkin: the boyfriend has no fear whatsoever and always comes out of a battle unscathed. Here are some examples of incredible not scared-ness-

Two deformed monster kids,

a demon who presumably has the ability to just kill and eat people,

a red-head with a gun (fun fact, pico is canonically BF’s ex),

standing on a moving car on a motorway (highway for you Americans 🙄🙄),

being transported into a videogame and forced to fight an evil spirit trapped inside,

someone who is working in the army and has guns, tanks and lots of other weapons,

a man with a bomb for a head,

a zombie clown who can turn into a giant lovecraftian behemoth,

an evil nun who is actually a demon,

a scarecrow that has excellent singing skills,

a robot that can alter the fabric of reality,

shaggy (who later in the list we will discuss his powers in the game)

A cute cartoon called Bob who turns out to be able to tamper with your game window and send you to creepy webpages

And his own girlfriend who we see in week 7 had devil horns

And not once does he show any signs of being majorly scared.

Phineas and ferb: you may be thinking “but mr sandwich, these two are only children who sometimes make big things, definitely not more powerful than sonic the hedgehog or sans,”

BUT THATS WHERE YOU’RE WRONG

Because I’m multiple episode we see these two children create contraptions that break the laws of physics. Like in that episode where they made a time machine, or that huge rollercoaster which is impossible to build in 20 minutes, or that tree robot, that phone that just teleports you anywhere, and that giant house thing that is really tall and just extends from the ground… WHERE DID THEY PUT ALL THAT DIRT?

And guess what. They are only like, 10-11, by the time these kids understand science and maths better, maybe when they are 30-40, they will be able to create so much more, like a machine that instantly kills every living thing in earth, basically rendering every living thing unable to stop them

Shaggy (yeah I know, old meme):

Shaggy has been a teenager for 70 years. Capable of breaking the laws of physics and brings with him an aura of physical tomfoolery.

(From this point on I’m going to go off meme and Friday night funkin logic) in that fnf mod, shaggy is able to change reality to his will without as much as lifting a finger. He even outright says and I quote: “I don't even need a finger snap to, like, bring every dead being in this planet back to life!” This late teenager has the ability to presumably do anything he puts his mind to. He even bends the very reality of the game they are in by increasing the number of arrows from 4 to 6, then even 9. Something which hasn’t been done in any other fnf mod (at least that I know of)

Rick from Rick and morty: (I can already tell I’m going to sound like such a loser making this part)

Rick, the smartest being in existence ever. Even in all of the parallel universes that exist, this Rick set in the Rick and morty universe is the smartest one. Able to create practically anything. A save state machine, a box that make blue helper people magically exist, a reality splitting thingy, the list goes on. This Rick disposes of entire universes multiple times, the time the love potion infected everyone on earth and just left to another universe, the vat of acid episode where he just kind of abandons an entire universe. There’s probably another one. I can’t think though. But anyways, this Rick has the ability to travel between realities, an trait unseen by all of the previous people (except shaggy I guess).

And at number 1, the Minecraft player: (this is kind of a general term for the player of minecraft, the player is just referred to as “the player” at the end of minecraft). Anyways, the player has many incredible abilities, such as being able to come back from the dead, interdimensional travel, killing a dragon, creating potions and reviving zombies from the dead, but the most impressive feat is the sheer strength. The heaviest block in minecraft is gold, at 19.3 metric tons. That is already loads, but you can carry 64 in one slot, and 37 slots altogether (including the off-hand), 37x64 is 2368 blocks, which is 45,702.4 Metric tons, nearly twice as heavy as the Statue of Liberty. BUT THERE’S MORE. You can carry 27 stacks of gold in a shulker box, and 37 shulker boxes in the inventory, so 1,233,964.8 metric tons, about 1.5 times the weight of the golden gate bridge. THAT A LOT, but more yet still, using commands, you can put a chest, inside a chest inside a chest inside a chest and so on to infinity with 26 stacks of gold inside every one, resulting in infinite weight, THE PLAYER IS INFINITELY STRONG, their sheer strength literally has no upper bound. The player is the most powerful being to ever exist

Edit: update for max weight that player can carry

So netherite is made from four gold and four ancient scraps, and with that you can make netherite blocks which is made from 4x as much gold and also the netherite scraps, equating to about 77.2 tons, using the shulker box method, that is about 4,935,859.2 tons without armour, over 4.8x the original max

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

Veronica decides it's time to have a certain conversation with her daughter and in doing so, take a trip down memory lane (post-canon)

“Mom?”

The minute she hears Lily’s voice and her key in the lock, Veronica considers throwing all of this out. Stuffing everything back in the box and stashing that at the back of her closet, underneath three coats she’ll never wear and more importantly, Lily will never touch. That way everything stays away from her and they can both go on as normal.

The urge is there, and it’s strong, but she resists it, leaning forwards on her elbows and looking through the photos laid out on her bed. She chose the best ones, the ones from the beginning. After Heather Chandler but before Kurt and Ram. Ones where she’s smiling and he looks normal, even with that damn trench coat. He looks normal, calm, relaxed, and it’s hard not to be hurt by it.

“Mom?”

“I’m up here,” she replies, her throat dry and her voice cracking. She’s doing this for Lily, she tells herself. There’s a list of things she won’t do for Lily, and it could fit on a post-it note. But that doesn’t make this any less terrifying. She feels like she’s standing on the middle of a railroad track, waiting for a train out of the blackness and ram into her.

“Hey.” her daughter swings around the doorframe, her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder and her jacket over her school uniform. And with her presence, Veronica only finds herself more afraid. But at least now that she’s here, she’s in too late to back out. Especially since she’s not-so-subtlety glancing at the photos spread out across the bed, craning her neck to see if she can make out a familiar face.

“Come here, kid,” she says, holding her arm out to her, a little laugh in her voice. Lily drops her bag and discards her jacket before jumping onto the bed, her chin resting on Veronica’s shoulder, giggling as the bedframe shakes under her weight. And oh, what that giggle does to Veronica, taking her breath away and breathing new life into her at the same time. Reminding her what it means to be here, why she still wants to be here. Her daughter is a marvel in more ways than one. She’s the most beautiful person Veronica has ever seen, which shouldn’t be surprising given how much she takes after her father. Her hair is the same shade as his, curling a little at the bottom and hanging below a chin that’s identical to his. There’s a similar scattering of freckles across her cheeks that Veronica loves and Lily hates, insisting they make her look younger than she is.

‘What’s wrong with looking younger?’ is what Veronica always asks when she complains about it.

She still takes after Veronica in some respects; she got her height and her face shape and her laugh (definitely a good thing). She has the exact same pickiness with her food that Veronica did at her age and the same lack of enthusiasm for math class. While her mom is insistent that Lily is the absolute double of her when she was thirteen, in both body and spirit, Veronica’s not so sure. There’s a spark in her daughter that she could never imagine her having when she was thirteen. Strong-willed, and open mind and an open heart, funny and a little weird, she’s everything Veronica could have wished her to be.

Ever since Veronica first held her, she’s been equal parts in awe of and confused by her. Every time she smiles, or laughs, or dances, or makes a joke, she has to wonder how this happened. Every proud swell in her chest when she gets a good grade and every rush of love she feels when she holds her close makes her wonder how something this good came out of something that bad. How someone so beautiful and kind and brave and wonderful as her Lily came out of something so brutal and violent and ugly as her relationship with JD. It’s an eternal mystery to her. How she can love Lily with every ounce of her soul and yet have nightmares about what brought her into the world. How can she love her daughter’s eyes when they’re so like her father’s? If someone asked her ‘if you could erase JD from your past entirely, would you?’ she would never be able to give an honest answer to it and she’s the reason why.

“Oh my gosh, is that Aunt Heather?” Lily asks, picking up one of the photos. She and MacNamara grin back at the camera after a game of croquet in Chandler’s backyard. Veronica winces at the bittersweet-ness of it and tries to put her guilt in the corner. It’ll come back for her later, tonight most likely, and she’ll take it like she always does. Chest up, hands clenched. But now isn’t about her.

“Yeah,” she answers. “That’s us when we were 17.”

“Wow,” she breathes, hurriedly lifting another one and holding it up to the light. Veronica can’t blame her daughter’s excitement; trips down memory lane are few and far between for her. She’s looking to the future as much as she can and wants to push Lily to do the same. So when Lily gets these little glimpses into her past, she grabs them with both hands and a white knuckled grip.

She picks up another photo, one from after high school, of Veronica in the hospital, exhausted and elated, holding a sleeping baby Lily wrapped in a white blanket. Three days old. On the back, the day she got her name is written in marker.

“The day I got my name?” she echoes, looking over at Veronica with a raised eyebrow.

“It took a while,” she replies, her hand clenching into a fist. Like a lot of things she tells Lily, it’s a half truth. “But then your grandpa got me those flowers.” She points to the white flowers sitting on the windowsill. “And then I knew your name. Lily.”

“You had nine months to name me.”

“I kept putting it off,” she sighs. “Thought it would come to me naturally.”

Like she said, half true. The full truth is a little more dramatic. Maybe one day she’ll tell her that for months, she was planning on giving her up for adoption, that she crossed the t’s and dotted the i’s agreeing that she’d never have contact with her unless expressly permitted by the adoptive parents, and only on their terms. Maybe she’ll tell her about the sheer panic she felt coursing through her body as the doctors took her away, how she practically screamed for them to wait. And how once they put Lily in her arms, she became a different person.

Maybe one day she’ll tell that story. But for now she strokes her daughter’s hair as she looks through the pictures, her heart hammering against her ribs as she gets closer and closer to one in particular.

“And who’s this?”

There it is. The one that makes her hands tremble and an invisible noose tighten around her neck. No matter how many times she rehearsed this, she knew she’d never be ready. She could say the words over and over until they stopped sounding real, but that doesn’t change anything, not in her heart. It doesn’t stop the pain from crashing down on her, tearing at every scar until she’s bleeding.

“That’s your father.”

Of all the pictures of them, that one’s her favourite. They’re lying on their backs on his bed, her pressing a lazy kiss to his cheek, him laughing and in the middle of telling her something. Probably something about how much he loved her. Worshipped her. It’s funny; when it comes to remembering him, they’re either so sharp and clear that it’s like she’s still seventeen and it’s all happening for the first time, or they’re blurred and rough, the picture blurred and his words faded or entirely silent. But she loves the look on her face in this photo. High on bliss and falling further every day. Back then it didn’t feel like falling. It felt like flying; when he held her hand or whispered words of adoration to her, her feet left the ground and she danced on the air. The two of them danced together, and she was so dizzy she couldn’t see him for who he really was.

“My father,” Lily echoes in disbelief. She turns the photo over in her hands and after a moment’s hesitation, touches her finger to JD’s cheek. Out of every picture, this is the one he looks the most human in and that’s why she showed it to her. “Woah.”

“You have questions,” Veronica says, tucking Lily’s hair behind her ear. Her eyes have doubled in size since those words left her mouth, her lips parted in a never ending sigh.

“Yeah,” she says after a while, the word little more than a whisper. She clears her throat, breaking through the daze she’d fallen into, and lowers the photo. It doesn’t leave her hand though. She looks up at Veronica, excitement sparking in her brown eyes and tugging at her lips. “What was his name?”

“Jason.” His name feels wrong in her mouth, likely because it’s not his name. Not the name she knew anyway. “Jason Dean. I called him JD. We all did.”

“Jason Dean,” she repeats, testing it. She can see why he chose JD instead. Jason wasn’t the name for the rebel outcast, the one who sat above silly girls like her and dumb jocks like Ram and looked down on them with a contempt and self-pride. Jason isn’t the name for the one who saw through the world’s cracks and would built the new society. He chose JD for the same reason he chose his trench coat; to keep control over himself until he could find someone else to control.

Lily swallows heavily, the next question weighing heavily on her mind. Veronica’s hand instinctively runs down her back with a touch she only learned when Lily was born, telling her it’s okay. That she’s okay.

“And… he’s dead.”

“Yeah.” That’s the one thing Veronica has willingly told her about her father, and it’s at least true. She nods stiffly, her chest expanding as she takes a long, deep breath, her eyes shining. She looks at the picture of a long while, her gaze so intense it might burn a hole through the photo.

“Can I ask how he died?” she asks, her voice cracking.

“Yeah,” she repeats, her own voice weak. A heavy weight sits in her chest, crushing her lungs and her heart and making it almost impossible to speak. She closes her eyes tightly, wraps her hand tightly around her daughter’s, and battles through it. Just like she’s done for thirteen years. “He… he killed himself.”

“Oh, Mom.” Lily turns and wraps her arms around Veronica tightly, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Her body shakes against hers and she feels her tears warm on her shoulder. Veronica hugs her back, squeezing her shoulders and kissing her head, and for the first time in a while, doesn’t stop herself from crying. There’s a beautiful relief in crying in front of someone, even if that someone is Lily. She doesn’t feel so isolated anymore, even if she and her daughter are crying for two different reasons. “Mom I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she tells her, cupping the back of her head and tangling her fingers in her hair. Lily pulls back, her eyes still red. “Oh, sweetie.” Since becoming a mother, she’s discovered that there’s a sort of ache in her chest unlike anything she’s felt before that only comes around when she sees Lily hurt. One that feels like someone is hollowing out her insides with a dull knife. She wipes her tears with her hand, rubbing her cheeks gently. Lily looks down at the photo in her hands, her eyes conflicted and holding dozens of questions, ones that Veronica might not have the answer to. At least not the answer she needs to hear.

“Did he know?” she asks in a small voice. “Did he know that I was coming?”

“No.” She’s surprised at the amount of truths she’s telling. And unsurprised at how it’s way harder than lying. She prefers the latter for a reason. “No, he didn’t. Here, look-” She hands Lily another photo, one dated November 2nd, 1989. Her and JD on the couch, her half-asleep on his shoulder, unaware the photo is being taken. Her hair is a mess and her tall frame is folded and curled into a ball. She knows now why she was so tired that day. “This was two weeks before he… before he died. And you were there.” She taps her stomach in the photo. “I just didn’t know yet.”

Lily nods, her hand clenched into a tight fist, her nails no doubt leaving marls on her palms. It’s a lot to take in, Veronica knows, so she sits with her hand on her daughter’s knee, gently stroking, waiting for her next question with anxiety ticking in her heart.

“What was he like?” she asks finally. “My dad?”

You don’t want to know she thinks.

But she’s prepared for this more than anything else. She’s picked the very best bits of the truth and all her favourite lies.

“Your dad,” she begins, pulling her closer and letting her drape her legs over her lap. “He was so smart. All the teachers hated him because he just gave such amazing answers in class. He could talk or write his way out of anything. And he did.” Lily’s eyes grow wide and gleam with excitement, her mouth falling open in awe and anticipation. Veronica strokes her hair, hiding the sharp pain in her chest. Behind Veronica’s own smile is memories of a draino-stained rug and two boys with bullets in their chests. There’s a bomb in a boiler room and a gun at her chest. Manic eyes and a deranged smile. “He could come up with an excuse for anything.” She clenches her jaw, the words turning from prickling and difficult to outright bitter. “He had all these ideas about how to make the world a better place.”

Just not the right methods. She thinks about it a lot now; how much of it was about making the world a better place and how much was about wanting to watch it burn?

“Tell me more,” Lily urges, biting her lip now. The bed creaks as she shifts onto her knees and bounces, looking up at Veronica expectantly with a tiny hint of an apology on her face. “I mean… if you want.”

“Well… he loved books,” she tells her. “He read all these books in class when he was meant to be working.”

“That’s just like me!” she gasps. Frankly, that’s news to Veronica, since she hasn’t seen her daughter read anything more than the Harry Potter book on her shelf and even that’s generous. There’s nothing she would change about her but she’d also do anything to come home on evening and see her reading instead of watching TV. But she can’t deny her this, not when her eyes are lighting up and she’s grinning so breathlessly and beautifully. Who can it hurt, really?

“The first time he got my attention,” she begins. “He quoted this poet at me. Baudelaire. He saw I had messed up and he told me ‘we’re all born marked for evil’. And then I was like ‘wow’.”

It was more than a wow. In over a decade, she still hasn’t felt anything like it, the rush of heat on her cheeks, the way her gut pulled her towards JD like a magnet. No, she wasn’t the magnet. He was, and she was caught in his field, helpless to beautiful eyes and crooked smiles. Before she even knew his name she was crafting him in her head, desperate to know more about the boy in the long coat who hid behind his books and who seemed to have no fear as he brawled with bullies and jocks. She’d soon learn that there was a lot he didn’t have.

“Baudelaire,” Lily repeats, no doubt saving the word to look up later. “Why did he say that to you? What did you do?”

“That’s a need to know basis,” she replies, tapping her nose lightly. Sure, trading her integrity for popularity is far from the worst thing she’s ever done, but she’ll still keep that as far away as possible. It somehow manages to make her just as ashamed as everything else does. “But once he said that to me I knew. I knew I wanted him.”

“Is that when he asked you out?” she presses. “Or did you ask him?”

“Not exactly,” she says. “I um… I was at this party. And I fell out with my friend. And I left and I was so, so pissed. So I went to his house. He let me stay over.” Her skin prickles with warmth, her mind going back before she can stop herself. His face, his hands on her body and in her hair, his lips on her neck.

“And then…”

“Again, need to know basis,” she tells her, chuckling as she pouts. She’s no doubt sharp enough to work it out for herself. “And that’s when… When it happened. We stayed together after that.” When she started falling and he started loving her.

That’s when everything went to hell.

As Lily leans against her, her head resting on her shoulder, Veronica feels the weight of her mistakes piling up inside her. Heather Chandler. Kurt. Ram. Martha. The whole school, nearly. He was ready to burn it all down, all in her name, out of his twisted kind of love. Sometimes she’ll be nice to herself and tell her it’s not her fault, she couldn’t have known what he was. Other times she’ll remind herself exactly how many people got hurt because of her and her teenage fantasies. Does it matter if she didn’t know?

“Do you still miss him?” Lily asks out of the blue. The question hits her like a bullet and buries itself right in the middle of her heart. Little does her daughter know she has asked herself that question every day since 1989 and she still doesn’t know the answer.

She misses the way he made her feel. She misses the way she’d shiver when he kissed her neck and how safe she felt when he held her, even with the irony. She misses the way he kissed her, desire in every touch and so much passion it made her head spin. She misses him smiling across from her in class and sitting outside at lunch, him rubbing her back while she complained about whatever had annoyed her that day. She misses leaning against him, her cheek on his shoulder as he played with her fingers, the two of them in a soft and comfortable silence where she could forget her problems. Even though he was the one who caused most of them. She misses feeling understood by him and no one else has managed to get close to it.

But she doesn’t miss being afraid. She’s doesn’t miss sitting at Kurt and Ram’s funeral with guilt slithering through her veins, nor does she miss him insisting they did something good. She doesn’t miss him trapping her in his arms in that cemetery, whispering ‘our love is god’. She doesn’t miss how empty and powerless she felt around him, how blindly she would follow him. She doesn’t miss how her mind stopped feeling like her own. She doesn’t miss walking on eggshells around him, every word tinged with anxiety and how scared she was the moment he was out of sight. And she certainly doesn’t miss when she looked in his eyes and saw that there was nothing there.

Most of all, she misses the girl she was before him. She misses the clean conscience and simple life. She misses being reckless and silly, happy without remorse, telling little white lies and daydreaming about a better world. All that died when he did and she’s left with the scars and lessons. She might be wiser but what good has that done her? Some might say it’s better and she might agree, but that doesn’t mean she has to be okay with it.

“Sometimes,” she replies, pressing a kiss to Lily’s head and rubbing her arm. “He’d be really proud of you, you know.”

“He would?” she asks, her face lighting up. She’s confused about almost everything in regard to JD, but she knows there’s one good thing about him being dead. As far as Lily is concerned, her father is whatever Veronica says he is. And if she says he’s the loving dad type whose heart would swell if he could see her now, then that’s exactly what he is.

“Of course he would,” she tells her firmly. “How could he not be?” She tucks her hair behind her ear, tilting her head up to make her look at her, stroking her cheekbones. “Because you, Lily Sawyer are an amazing, smart kid. How could he not be proud of you?” When Lily grins up at her, an excited joy radiating from her face, she can’t help smiling back, even if it doesn’t match what she’s feeling inside. It puts a lid on it for now.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, her face falling as she misses the father she never had. “I wish I could have met him.”

“Of course, baby,” she replies, narrowly avoiding the latter statement and the way it twists her gut. If she had a dollar for every time she wished something about JD, they wouldn’t be living in this little two bedroom apartment.

Lily looks down at the photo again, touching JD’s face, her eyes wide and searching for any likeness between herself and her father. The scene feels so intimate that Veronica feels bad for even being here. Ever since she started planning this, she had debated whether or not she was doing the right thing. And while she’s still not entirely certain she was, she’s as close as she’s ever going to get.

“Mom can I… can I hold onto this?” she asks delicately. “Or just… just one photo of him if I can’t have this one? I’m sorry, I just want something of him.”

“Of course you can, baby.” Lily slides the photo into her jacket pocket, taking more care than Veronica had ever seen before. She slides her arm around her shoulders and hugs her tightly, resting her cheek on the top of her head as she nuzzles into her neck. “I’m glad I told you. You deserve to know about him.”

“Can we talk about him?” she asks. “Like… later. Whenever.”

Her mind jumps to ‘no’. With a pit stop at ‘do you know how much I had to put in to be able to talk about him once’. And a detour to ‘trust me, the less you know about him the better’.

“Of course we can,” is what she says instead, squeezing her hand tightly. “Just… it might be a little hard sometimes.” Lily nods against her, her hair tickling the bottom of her face. Her hand wraps around Veronica’s and grips tightly, the beginnings of anxiety evident in her touch. Veronica kisses her head, her hand trailing up and down her back with a feather light touch.

In a weird, roundabout, stupid way, she’s jealous of Lily. She gets to live with the good version of JD in her mind, the charming and loving boyfriend who would have grown into a devoted dad. Everything she wished he’d been and maybe he could have been if only they had met before.

#heathers the musical #veronica sawyer #jdronica #heathers fanfic #jason dean #you: áine this is not the nbr epiloge me: no. no it is not.#im writing a lot atm can't tell if thats a good thing or no #anyway push me against a wall and talk lily sawyer to me #veronica sawyer: world's best mum

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delimeful · 5 years

Text

the shapes in the silence (7)

warnings: panic, fear, general asshat-ness, cursing, injury

Chapter 7

Patton covered his mouth with his hands, stunned for a moment. Virgil was reminded of the first time he’d run into the moral side at this size; was this just how Patton reacted to all small and cute things?

He clicked at Patton, reminding him to breath, and then leaned forwards a little protectively as he burst into a flurry of questions.

“Roman? Oh my goodness, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

Roman waved his hands to stop his questions. “Woah, Patton, I’m fine. Just a little… littler.”

Virgil snorted, and Roman side eyed him. “In fact, Puff is the one you should be worried about. He has a scratch along his side.”

Patton turned his concerned dad gaze onto Virgil, and he squinted at Roman, betrayed. Snitch!

“Oh no! We’ll get that fixed up right away, little buddy!”

“What’s going on?” A voice from a few paces back made everyone but Patton jump. Virgil tilted his head back to look at Logan, who only took a moment to spot the tiny anomaly among the group.

“Roman? Is that truly you? How-” Seemingly lost in thought, he knelt next to Patton on the stairs and reached out to wrap his hand around the small side.

Virgil took half a second to process the way Roman’s smile fractured, his hands lifting as though to ward Logan off, and without any further thought, he lunged forwards, teeth snapping shut an inch from the logical side’s fingertips. Logan yanked his hand back with a startled “Ah!”

“Puff!” Patton scolded, and he flattened his wings to make himself a smaller target but refused to move from his new position standing protectively above Roman. Just in case that wasn’t clear enough, he growled softly at Logan. No grabbing. Disallowed.

“Woah, Puff, it’s- it’s okay-” Roman tried, and Virgil snorted. He knew firsthand that being grabbed was not fun, and since it was pretty much his fault Roman was stuck like this in the first place, he wasn’t leaving him alone that easy.

“It’s alright, I don’t believe his intent was to injure me. My apologies, Puff.” Logan cut in, hands carefully at his sides. “I was merely surprised, and acted thoughtlessly.”

Virgil settled back a little at the reassurance, ignoring the shock that came with being apologized to, genuinely, twice in one day.

“Okay, well, before we can sort out all of this, we’ve got to handle that injury!” Patton interjected, reminding them of the task at hand.

“Of course. I will go retrieve the first aid kit.” Logan stood up, and Patton offered his hands to Virgil. He looked down at Roman for a moment, and once he got a nod, climbed up to sit in the crook of Patton’s arm.

“Um… Do you want a lift, kiddo?” Patton hesitated before setting his hand down on the stair Roman was on. The tiny side stared at it for a long moment before looking up at Virgil and seeming to gather himself. He stepped onto Patton’s hand, and then settled himself into the center of it, before giving them a hearty thumbs up.

Patton grinned and stood, lifting the other two carefully up with him, before walking over to the couch and setting them down on the small table in front of it. Roman stumbled slightly as he slid off the side of Patton’s palm, and Virgil hopped down to sit next to him.

“There we go!”

“I have the kit.” Logan announced, descending the stairs to set it down on the table next to them. “What sort of injury are we dealing with?”

“It’s a cut.” Roman informed him, already more at ease despite his size. Virgil was impressed. It’d taken him a lot longer to adapt fully. “Shallow, but long.”

“Antiseptic, stat.”

Patton, now wearing a nurse’s cap, handed him a little canister, and Virgil settled down onto his haunches for treatment, sighing. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad, easily ignored.

...Still, it was nice that they cared.

One dramatic session of nursemaid later, Virgil’s side was carefully padded with gauze and taped over, which left them finally free to discuss the matter of Roman’s predicament. Roman himself had taken to standing on top of a tissue box to be taller, which everyone graciously didn’t comment on.

“The curse shouldn’t have lasted this long. It has to be something beyond the Dragon Witch that is interfering with my size now.” Roman hummed. “The Dark Sides, maybe?”

Virgil flicked an ear, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Logan seemed to agree that it was unlikely, raising an eyebrow before scribbling something in the notebook he’d been writing Roman’s rather dramatized account in. He stood, drawing everyone’s attention.

“While I have a few hypotheses, I believe it would be most useful for me to look into this matter further. I will return to my room to continue researching, so please inform me if things change.”

“Alright, seeya Lo!” Patton waved, and looked to the other two. “What do you two say to a movie marathon in the meantime?” He offered brightly. “Relaxing might do you some good!”

“That… does sound nice- woah!” Roman admitted, and Virgil grabbed his shirt before jumping to the couch and settling into the cushion next to Patton. “Yeesh, warn a guy!”

Virgil stuck his tongue out, curling up and facing the TV as Patton put in one of Roman’s many Disney movies. He glanced briefly down as Roman sat himself right against him, where he’d been before in the cave, and managed to not snort. Anxiety, feared Dark Side. Demoted to chair.

He draped his wing over him as a blanket anyways.

Patton left them after the third movie, yawning and whispering confidentially to Virgil that he would be up to make pancakes in the morning. By the fourth, they were both barely conscious. Virgil snapped awake a couple of times after almost losing track of Roman’s form because of the bracelet. Eventually, figuring the creative side didn’t really have to worry about Anxiety when he was busy using him as a beanbag, he carefully pulled the band off Roman’s wrist, tucking it under his other wing. Roman’s only reaction was to mumble something ridiculous in his sleep.

By the fifth movie, they were both out like rocks.

When Virgil woke up, the menu music for Hercules was playing on loop, and Roman was back to his normal size. More concerningly, so was Virgil.

He instinctively pulled on the feeling of utter panic, trying to grasp his other form, but nothing happened. What the hell?

Roman shifted, and he held his breath until the faint crease in the other side’s brow faded. Somehow, they’d ended up sprawled across the whole couch, with half of Roman slouched on top of him. He grit his teeth. Of course.

Okay, okay. He just had to carefully maneuver his way out of this mess. Roman was a heavy sleeper, right?

He carefully began shifting his body off the couch inch by inch, slowly untangling their legs and prying Roman’s hand off his hoodie. There were a couple of close calls where Roman would sleepily shift over to try and regain the meager warmth Virgil must have been providing, but eventually he managed to slide to the floor.

Finally. He stood up, ignoring the twinges in his joints, and shoved his hands in his pockets, immediately finding a small charm bracelet in them. He looked at Roman for a long moment, considering. If he was small, and wearing that bracelet while Virgil was around… he shivered. He could accidentally crush him! The bracelet would stay with him for now.

Mind made up, he padded over to the TV to turn off the slightly grating menu music. As the screen went black, something pulled painfully on his side, and he pulled his hoodie up slightly to see a familiar bandage stretched over his side. Huh.

Well, he could always peel it off once he was safely back in his room-

“Puff?”

Virgil jumped into the air like a startled cat, landing about three feet away from the couch and TV. “JEEzus, Princey!”

Roman frowned sleepily from where he had sat up on the couch. “... Anxiety? What?”

Shit. Excuse time. “You have to get through here to get to the kitchen.” He blurted. Roman stared at him blankly, and he scowled. “Yeah, newsflash, idiot. I live here, too.”

Roman’s frown deepened, and he looked down at himself, probably remembering that he’d been way smaller last time he’d been conscious, and Virgil stalked around the couch to get to the kitchen, a bit irritated he hadn’t thought of a better excuse to get the hell out of here.

“Halt!” Roman called, and Virgil groaned internally at the return of his trademark Prince voice.

He turned. “What.”

Roman was twisted around to face him over the back of the couch, and his expression wasn’t promising. “Where’s Puff?”

Virgil stared at him with an eyebrow raised, hoping to convey his level of unimpressed. “Who, your lizard? It’s not my job to keep track of him.”

“He was just here, why would he leave? You are acting incredibly shady; Turn your pockets out!”

Virgil rolled his eyes, tugging his hands out of his hoodie to display how very empty it was, apart from the tiny bracelet which he carefully did not share. “You think I smuggled him out of your grasp like a piece of candy? Honestly, I couldn't care less about whatever new pet you clueless idiots have gotten yourself.”

He turned to leave, and Roman shouted. “Hey! I’m not finished with you, villain!”

Virgil felt his temper flare, and he shot a glower over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m finished with you, asshole. Your lizard probably got sick of you too.” He lied through his teeth.

Roman reeled back for a moment, and then a blink later, vanished from sight. Virgil froze in disbelief, hearing a small ‘oof’ as a no doubt shrunken Roman landed on the couch, out of sight. He’d- Did he just make Roman shrink again?

For a long moment, there was a stretch of silence, and Virgil realized that with how Roman had reacted to the others, Anxiety was the last person he wanted to see at this side. He just had to go to the kitchen, get out, and come back as Puff ASAP.

He sighed loudly. “Sinking out of an argument, real mature.”

There was a tiny exhale of relief from the couch, barely perceptible.

Careful not to step too loudly, Virgil walked into the kitchen, hurrying to rifle through the cabinets and grab something. As long as Roman stayed put long enough for him to get out of sight-

A tiny cry of pain from the living room derailed his thoughts entirely. He dropped his poptarts, scrambling back out into the living room. “Roman?!”

There was no response, which was not reassuring at all. He speedwalked over to the couch, watching the floor under his feet carefully. He spotted Roman instantly.

The small side was half-limping under the couch like his life depended on it. He didn’t want to scare the smaller side, but… Letting him crawl around on the floor where anyone could step on him? Uh, no.

Virgil knelt down, setting his hand in front of the gap under the couch to stop his progress. “Roman? What the hell happened to you?”

Roman tumbled back, and made a squeak of pain as he put weight on his ankle. Virgil winced, moving to try and offer him support, but Roman immediately started scooting himself back.

“No! Don’t touch me!” He yelled, his voice cracking angrily. Virgil stopped dead, before slowly leaning back.

“Yikes, okay. Look, not touching. Did you fuck up your ankle?”

“What do you care?” Roman spat, still watching his hands with a keen gaze. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Gonna take that as a yes. Look, I’m pretty sure there’s a first aid kit in the kitchen. You gonna let me pick you up or what?”

Roman eyed him with the suspicion and alarm of a cat next to a cucumber. “I think not. I can make it there perfectly fine on my own.”

Virgil stared at him, and then leaned back. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead.”

“You can leave.”

He inspected his nails. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

Roman sighed, aggrieved, and started walking across the plush carpet.

He got exactly five steps before his good foot tangled in the threads and he ate dirt. Virgil counted.

“That looked painful.” He commented offhandedly.

“You look painful.” Roman growled, and slowly got back to his feet. Virgil sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Would it help if I got one of the others, or something-“

“No!” Roman scowled up at him. “I’ve bothered them enough.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you don’t care about bothering me?”

“Of course not. You bother Thomas.” Roman said, very matter-of-fact.

“Succinct.” Virgil muttered, and set his hand down next to Roman again. “Then hurry up and bother me, already. Or are you chicken?”

Roman shot him a dirty look, but the insult seemed to put him more at ease. He stared at Virgil’s hand for a heartbeat longer, and then climbed on with stilted motions.

“Fine. Get me to the counter, then, Emo Nightmare.”

Virgil snorted, lifting his hand slowly to his chest before standing. “Who am I, your chauffeur?”

“Don’t fret, I tip very well.” Roman bantered back absently, staring down at the floor below with worry. Virgil wished he’d thought to put his other hand up as an extra safety measure, but with his luck, Roman would think he was trying to trap him.

“In what, bad nicknames? I’ll pass.” Virgil set his hand down on the counter. “You get this one pro bono.”

Roman scrambled off his hand, and immediately backed up several steps, probably eyeing a sugar jar as a potential hiding spot. Virgil ignored him, pulling open the cabinet he’d seen Logan place the first aid kit in and setting it down on the counter. He frowned, considering, before pulling a piece of ice from the freezer and setting it in front of Roman.

“That’ll help with swelling, I think.” He scoured his memory for the few lectures Thomas had gotten on basic first aid. Roman stared at him, and he raised an eyebrow, irritated. “What, too cold for Your Royal Highness?”

He snaps out of it, making a face at Virgil before carefully lowering himself into a sit, setting his ankle against the ice.

Virgil pulled out his phone, taking note of the time. The creative side had shown himself willing to throw himself off high furniture, so he couldn’t leave until he was at least treated. He could just ignore Roman while the swelling went down and that would make him less nervous, right?

“Why… are you doing this?” Roman asked, peering up at him.

Or he could engage in a conversation with the side who hated him the most. Sure. Why not.

“What, you want me to stick you in a jar or something?”

“No!” Roman retorted sharply, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I simply... don’t understand why you aren’t taking the opportunity to have your petty vengeance when I am clearly in such a sorry state. You must admit, it’s out of character.”

Virgil rolled his eyes hard enough to increase his growing headache. Ow. “What do you know about my character? I keep Thomas safe, and last time I checked,” he poked Roman gently in the chest, “you’re part of Thomas.”

Roman batted the finger away, looking unconvinced.

Virgil sighed, and put his phone away before leaning his head back, his elbows on the counter supporting him. “Do you even know how hard my job would get if you had to go sleep off a broken ankle for a week? Thomas would struggle to come up with anything creative for a new video, and then we’d lose all his fans because he took too long, and then we’d have no money and have to go live out on the streets where anyone can just walk up and stab you!” He shuddered. “Yeah, no thank you.”

“Wh- but you always shoot down my ideas!” Roman spluttered.

“Only the stupid ones. You always come up with something better, don’t you?” Virgil thought his explanation was fairly obvious, but Roman was staring at him, mouth open.

His shoulders rose up defensively. “What?” He snapped. “I make your job harder, you make mine harder, but-” I don’t want you hurt. “-you’re necessary to Thomas. Obviously.”

There was a dramatic flash, and when he blinked the afterimage away, Roman was sitting on the counter full-sized, looking as surprised as Virgil.

They blinked at each other for a moment, and the relief he felt- he hadn’t fucked up too badly!- was quickly overwhelmed by wariness. Normal Roman’s sword was a lot more deadly than the toothpick-sized one, and he wasn’t in the form Roman actually liked. After a moment of awkward silence contemplating the odds of getting stabbed for having an alter ego, Virgil realized this was his chance.

“Oh, great, you’re back to your normal big-headed self. I assume you can handle wrapping your ankle on your own, then.” He pushed away from the counter, voice forced into nonchalance.

“Wait!” Roman clamped a hand onto his wrist, and he barely suppressed a flinch. “Have you seen… a bracelet? Purple, maybe small?”

Virgil could practically feel the metal charm burning a whole in his pocket. He grimaced. “If I do, I’ll let you know.”

It wasn’t really a lie. He just couldn’t let him know as Anxiety. Roman sighed and released him, and he wasted no time in bolting out of the lounge like his life depended on it, heart racing.

He was going to take the longest nap of his life.

#sanders sides #g/t #Giant/tiny #dragon au #ts virgil #ts roman #ts logan #ts patton #i feel bad theyve been a bit background but dw theyll get their turn #tiny dragon virgil #tsits #the shapes in the silence #my writing #writing #taglist soon to follow!

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ramenandchill · 4 years

Note

Can you write about Hinata’s first time getting drunk. Like she goes out w the girls and comes home to Naruto or something and he thinks it’s adorable. I always ask you to write about NaruHina but I honestly just love how you write about them.

Omg yess I would love too!! Hinata getting drunk lives in my mind rent free lol. And I love Naruhina so much. Keep requesting it hun❤️

_______________________________________________

NarutoXHinata🍥🤍

Hinata comes home drunk and Naruto thinks it’s adorable.

————————-——————————————————

Tenten, Ino, Sakura, and Hinata all sat inside Konohas local bar. The bar was very welcoming and small. Ino suggested that the girls attended this bar because they served the best drinks. Everyone agreed, so they ended up there.

Sakura and Ino were both drinking pina coladas, while Tenten was drinking a Mojito. Tenten was a heavyweight drinker, so she was sure that a drink like a mojito would have no effect on her.

Hinata was drinking a Long Island iced tea. It was her favorite drink ever since Kiba let her taste his when team 8 had a reunion. It was her 2nd one and she was starting to feel a little woozy.

Hyugas had a very low tolerance for alcohol. Just a few sips would threaten tipsy-ness. A common way to tell if a Hyuga was drunk was to look at their cheeks. They often blushed when drunk, their faces turning beet-red almost.

“Guys! I have an Idea. We should do a contest.” Ino suggested.

“Well, spit it out! What is it, Ino-pig?” Sakura badgered Ino, shaking the girls arm even.

“Well, I wanna see, who could drink the most.” Ino sinisterly smirked. She wanted tonight to be a memorable one, why not have a drinking contest?

“Your on Ino-pig!” Sakura yelled.

“You too billard-brow!” Ino screamed back.

Tenten hovered both of them, darkly smiling.

“You both are going down.”

Hinata got nervous. She was already a bit tipsy, and she knew that a few more drinks would make her an incoherent, babbling, stumbling mess. How would she even make it home?

“Um, I don’t know if I should. I’m not that much of a drinker.” Hinata quietly remarked, as she always spoke softly.

“Oh come on, Hinata! Losen up, have some fun! It’s a girls night! Drink till your head falls off!” Ino laughed, slinging her arm around Hinatas shoulder.

Hinata thought about it. She should losen up. She was always at home, or doing boring things like grocery shopping.

“Ok. I’ll do it.”

“Woohoo!” The 3 other girls Hooted. It was often their missions to make Hinata jump out of her comfort zone. This time, the mission was successful.

“I forgot to mention that, my cousin owns this place. Watch this.....Scuse me Bartender!”

“Yes darling.”

“Can I order 12 shots of tequila, please. Put it on Rikus tab. He won’t mind.” Ino confidently ordered. Without any questions, the bartender immediately poured up 12 shots of tequila quickly.

“Wait, how did he know you weren’t lying?” Sakura questioned.

“I’m just the splitting image of my cousin. People even used to think we were twins when we were little. We both have lucious blonde hair, icy blue eyes. You know, the works.” Ino explained, flipping her blonde hair everywhich way.

“Oh shut up Ino-pig, let’s get drinking! Hinata you take the first shot.”

Hinata slowly reached for the tequila shot in front of her. She grabbed it and attempted to just sip from the glass, before Tenten stopped her.

“Oh Hinata, your just like your cousin. You can’t sip tequila you have to gulp it down in one go! Here like this.” Tenten took a shot and forced it down at top speed. She yanked a lime from her plate and sucked the wedge.

“Light work.” She said as she wiped her mouth of any lime pulp. Ino and Sakura both glanced at eachother In confusion and in awe. Didn’t the tequila burn her throat? Didn’t it sting like tequila always does? This girl was a monster.

“Ok Hinata, now you try. But instead, dip your finger in salt first to lessen the burn.” Tenten commanded.

Hinata dipped her finger into the salt and put it onto her tongue. She grabbed the tequila shot and looked at weirdly for a second. Then, she threw it down her throat, almost crying at the burn of the tequila. Hinata grabbed a lime off the plate in front of her and sucked it for dear life.

“Yea! Go Hinata!” Sakura shouted, patting Hinatas back. Hinata coughed and hacked intensely, her throat still burning a bit from the tequila.

“Alright! My turn.” Inos hand glided toward the shot glass full of tequila. She inhaled the tequila down her throat. Her eyes began watering a little, but she was still confident.

“I’ve still got it!” Ino yelled loudly across the bar, voice shaking a bit.

“Chaaaaa! My turn! I’ll beat you Ino pig!” Sakura cheered herself on. She grabbed the glass and slurped it down.

“Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I am superior!” Sakura applauded her self loudly.

Now it was Hinatas turn. It would be her turn for each time Tenten, Ino, and Sakura went. It had been 3 shots later, and Hinata was the drunkest she has probably ever been in her life. Stumbling, babbling. Spewing the worst things from her mouth.

“Hey, Hey, Hey! I’m the Byakugan princess, ya know! Give me another drink, will ya.” Hinata sung while trudging out of the bar, with Tenten carrying her of course. Tenten was used to carrying Hyugas around. She did it to Neji quite a lot. This, frankly, was her job.

“No, Hinata. You can’t have another drink. And why do Hyugas start singing randomly when drunk! This always happens!” Tenten ranted. She remembered when Neji got really, like really, drunk this one time. She could almost remember it like yesterday.

“Tattoo on my head, Hinatas my cousin, I like rum, hey hey! Doesn’t that rhyme Tenten?”

Tenten chuckled lowly under her breath. What was wrong with her boyfriend?

“Why can’t I have some more liquor! Liquor is my superpower!” Hinata slurred while Tenten hurled her into her cars passenger seat.

“This is gonna be a long ride.” Tenten sighed loudly. She started up her car and headed for Naruto and Hinatas house.

After 15 minutes, which actually felt like 30 hours because of Hinatas constant babbling, the 2 girls reached Narutos house. He was home, fortunately. Tenten couldn’t imagine spending more time with Hinata while she was drunk.

Tenten walked over the passenger seat of the car and opened the door. She grabbed Hinata and lifted her out of the seat.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go.” Tenten said, as she carried her friend over her shoulder to the door.

Tenten rung the door bell. Naruto opened the door, surprised to see Hinata slumped over Tentens shoulder, still lightly singing random words that barely made sense. Tenten stared him down.

“Is she....

“Yes, she’s drunk. Like really bad.”

Narutos face began contorting. He was beginning to huff, until he finally busted out laughing.

“SHES DRUNK!! NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS I WOULDVE THOUGHT HAHA!” Naruto loudly laughed in Tentens face.

“Well yea. She is. So here you go. She’s all yours.” Tenten said as she pushed Hinata onto Naruto. He caught her immediately.

“Huh? Tenten, your leaving me alone with this sexy man? Oh, who is he? The Byakugan princess is very pleased!” Hinata babbled once again. Tenten just rolled her eyes and chuckled. Naruto got wide-eyed at Hinatas words.

“Thanks Tenten. Tell Neji I said hi!” Naruto waved goodbye.

“No problem. I will!” Tenten yelled back and got into her car, vrooming away.

Naruto was already inside on his couch, with Hinata laying on him of course.

Hinatas cheeks were the deepest shade of red. Her pupils looked dialated and her eyelids were heavy.

“Say, Sexy man. Your so handsome! I, Hinata, the Byakugan princess, shall claim your hand in marriage!”

Naruto just stroked his girlfriends hair. She was so cute when she was drunk. Calling herself the Byakugan the princess and all. He really never imagined Hinata like this. He decided to play along with her little fantasy.

“Will you, Miss Byakugan princess, was it? Will you, take my hand into Marriage?” He said over-exaggeratedly. Hinata looked up at him, eyes beaming, face lighting up.

“Yes! Yes I-hiccup- Will!” She shouted, smiling. Naruto just kept patting her head.

“Say, sexy man?”

“Yea?”

“Thanks for being my husband. I love you.” And with that, Hinata was passed out on Narutos chest. She was snoring loudly already, probably because she was drunk out of her mind.

“I love you too, Miss Byakugan princess. My princess.” Naruto whispered.

(I hoped you liked it!!!!❤️❤️❤️ love you Gina🤍🤍 omg I love Naruhina lol)

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poc-movie-supremacy · 4 years

Text

Blackbird: Heaven is in your arms

Yes, this is part of the blackbird universe, but for now, it’s almost a standalone. Blackbird’s original intent was arrowverse characters coming home from war, so that’s why there’s a westallen one. I was planning on doing one for cynco and kanvers + kate and mary, but I’m not sure anymore.

Anyways, summary: The house is lonely without him. Iris at home waiting for Barry to come home from war.

----

Iris hates quiet. It reminds her of loneliness which is what she is and she wants nothing more than to forget that. Every night she places a record in the record machine. Last night it was “Cheek to cheek” by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. She cooks a meal for herself, usually something small, she lost her appetite a long time ago. Iris eats in the bay window watching the stars, sometimes the people outside if something interesting is happening. She wants to join them but it’s hard.

Iris wonders if Barry sees the same stars she does. She wonders if he misses her like she misses him.

After her dinner is half eaten, she turns off the record and goes to bed. At first she tried sleeping in their bed, but it was too big, too empty. That bed was meant for two people, not one. Iris sleeps on the couch instead. She wraps up her hair, changes into her pajamas and brushes her teeth. Turning off all lights except the lamp next to the couch, she gets the box and settles on the couch. The box is filled with all the letters Barry has sent her while he’s deployed. She always reads them before she goes to sleep. It always soothes her to, if not hear his voice, read his words. Sometimes they even chase away the nightmares.

Every single morning she wakes up with a crick in her neck. It’s better than waking up to an empty bed. She undoes the wrap, changes into her work clothes, a pair of red heels, black pencil skirt, blouse, and blazer and puts her hair up into a fancy braid that her mom loves. Aretha Franklin fills the apartment as Iris gets ready for work. The coffee pot chimes done just as she finishes putting on her makeup, so Iris pours herself a cup and grabs a chocolate muffin to eat in the bay window. She watches the people head off to work as she tries to think of anything but where Barry is. The minute she starts on that train, she’ll fall into a black hole of unwanted messy thoughts.

After finishing breakfast, she joins the crowds heading to their nine-to-five. Linda give her a smile when she opens the door to the Citizen. Her intern, Allegra, informs her of the interviews Mason wants her to do. Iris wants to choke him.

“Heavy workload?” Linda asks her during lunch.

“Sometimes I wonder if being a cop would be easier.” Iris complains.

“What do you have to do?” Linda wondered. She, Allegra, Kamilla, and Iris were sitting together eating lunch in the park next to the CCPN building. They befriended each other through work and have stuck by each other since then. Iris wondered what she’d do without them.

“I already finished editing my articles, now I just need to complete my politics article, and the one on the string of murders down on sixth street.”

Linda wrinkled her nose in disgust. “How’s the coppers handling it?”

“Baffled. I think they’re starting to get worried. I’m hoping my article will bring this to public attention and help the situation.” Iris said.

“That’s the hope.” Linda agreed.

After work, she goes home and takes a long bath. This time, Tina Turner is playing in the apartment. The same routine plays out again. No mail has been delivered, so she has nothing new to read from Barry. She hopes he’ll come home soon as she drifts off to sleep.

The rest of the weeks are the same. In these two weeks, she got one new letter from him. He says things are lightening up, and there might be good news in the future. He writes of the new people he’s met across the seas, the places he’s seen, and how much he misses. Apparently she’s been somewhat of a character to the soldiers. Iris West, possible goddess, and Barry’s long suffering wife. They want to meet her. Iris wonders what things he told them. She hope it’s all good things. She hopes his wandering mind stays on his shoulders so he doesn’t... nevermind.

On Wednesday, she wakes up and gets ready for work. Her brother reminds her that their parents wanted to see them on Friday, so she better not forget to come. She went to work as usual, but had to go see Wally before going home. She was tempted to stay with him in an effort to avoid going back to her empty house, but he practically pushed her out of his house. Iris could’ve sworn she saw him smiling.

The walk to their apartment was quiet. At least there wasn’t anyone on the street to distract her. She tried to come up with a reason for her brother’s sudden happiness. Barry’s homecoming came to mind, but that wasn’t for weeks so it was brushed aside.

Music was the first thing that struck Iris as odd when she opened the door to the apartment. It was the little ditty Barry wrote her for their engagement. He dabbled in music a little before he was drafted. It’s why they own so many instruments. A guitar, a piano, a violin, they’ve all suffered from disuse now. Arts, when concerning music, was never Iris’s forte.

As she stepped further into the apartment, cooked food could be smelled. She placed a hand on the taser in her purse just in case it was an intruder and walked softly further into the place.

A skinny man was hunched over the piano, fingers flying over the keys. He was in a formal army outfit sans the hat.

“Barry.”

Fingers stilled on the keys.

Slowly he turned around a tired, yet happy smile dancing across his face, lighting up his features. She dropped her purse, almost setting off the taser and started bawling. He quickly raced to her side before she fell to the ground. Easily, he lifted her up and twirled around crying himself. Her legs wrapped around his waist. His hug almost crushed her. She never wanted him to let go.

“Shh baby, Iris, baby. I’m okay. I’m alright I’m home.” Iris sobbed into his shoulder. He held her tightly, not caring one bit that his suit was getting dirty with her tears. For once, she felt safe. There was nothing better than being held by Barry Allen.

“I missed you, so damn much. The house-”

“I’m not leaving, not again.” He didn’t. Apparently this was his last deployment. Hearing that made Iris cry harder, but this time they were happy tears. He cradled her face in his hand gently wiping away her tears. His eyes swept over face. It had been so long since he last saw her, he wanted to re-memorize every last feature. Her golden brown eyes, her curly black hair, her tear drop face. He kissed her all over, eyes, cheeks, lips.

That was what finally calmed her tears. Giggling she asked, “You missed this?”

“I miss a lot of things.” He kissed the shell of her ear and along her jaw. “I missed your smile, and your voice. I missed your thoughts, and you kisses. I missed falling asleep next to you, dancing with you... Kara’s a good dancer, but she’s not you.”

“Well then,” Iris shimmied out of his arms, and grabbed his hand. She placed a record on the record player, The Temptations, “My Girl” and extended her other hand. “Can I have this dance?”

“Always.” He kissed her knuckles before pulling them into waltzing formation. Left hand in her right, right hand on her butt, so close together the holy spirit got squished. They’re married anyways.

He quietly sang along to the song as they danced. Iris pressed her cheek to his chest in an attempt to get as close as possible to him. Maybe she was being insane, but after months without him close, she never wanted to let go. After a few dances, they meandered to the kitchen to eat.

Barry sat down at the head of the table with Iris in his lap. She made up one big plate for the two of them. As they ate, they swapped stories about their time away from each other. He told her stories of the Diggles, Jesse Wells, Cynthia Reynolds, Kara Zor-el. Friends he made like Alex Danvers, Mary Hamilton, Beth Chapel and Yolanda Montez. In return she updated him on how his parents, her parents and Wally were doing. She told tales of her and her journalism adventures with Linda, Allegra, and Kamilla.

“Look like you’ve been having fun here.” Barry grossed.

“Not as much fun as I’ll have with you here with me. I missed you baby.” Iris says. Barry kissed the top of Iris’s forehead.

“I’m going to see if Bridge will let me take the day off. We could go on a date!” Iris left his lap much to his sadness. “Hunn, let me get some wine and ice cream. The good wine.”

Barry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Fancy.”

“Well it’s a special day,” Iris returned to his lap with a small tub of ice cream, two spoons, and two glasses of wine. “Happy homecoming.”

“Happy homecoming.”

After dinner, Barry did the dishes while Iris cleaned up the living room. When he was done, Barry rushed up to her picking her up and twirling her around. He carried her up to their bedroom and dumped her on the bed. Iris thanked her lucky stars that he didn’t comment on its near sterile-ness.

“I love you.” Barry stares at her below him. Her hair is splayed out on the pillow, her face is stretched out in a smile. Iris reaches up to pull him towards her. She peppers kisses on his face before leaving.

“I’m just going to get changed.” He watches her put on one of his old shirts and a pair of underwear. Slowly, he gets up from the bed to get ready for sleep himself. Their movements are a little robust, getting used to sharing this room again, but it’ll be ok.

In bed, she wraps herself around him, finding comfort in his hold. Softly, she traced some of his scars and tattoos with her finger. He turned off the lights, and for once, she knew she wouldn’t need his letters to chase away the nightmares.

#the flash #westallen #iris west allen #iris west #barry allen #linda park #allegra garcia #kamilla hwang #ella's flash fics #we're all fic writers here #blackbird

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missroserose · 5 years

Text

We’ll Become Who We Meant To Be

Donation prompt #1. For @ihni.

“I think that we all do heroic things; but hero is not a noun, it’s a verb.” --Robert Downey, Jr.

“Good morning,” Joyce Byers said with some irony.

She was sitting at the table in the darkened kitchen, lit only by the hood lamp over the aging stove and the bright cherry of her cigarette. Steve glanced at the clock over the range; it was past one AM. He avoided looking at the freezer, even though he knew the corpse of the demo-dog was gone; he’d buried it himself, yesterday.

“Sorry,” he said, felt a little like he was intruding on a private moment. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Joyce smiled, looking for a moment like an old priestess, careworn but welcoming. “That makes two of us. Come on, sit down.”

Steve sat, gingerly—Joyce looked so tired, the perennial circles under her eyes even darker than usual. Not that his own mug was any great work of art, in its current condition.

As if sensing his thoughts, Joyce asked, “How’s your face?”

He gave an embarrassed sort of half-shrug. The truth was, it hurt like a bitch. “Nothing broken. It’ll heal.” A pause, as he scrambled for something to say. “How’s Will?”

She gave a wry half-smile to match his shrug. “He’ll heal, at least.” A pause, as she took a drag on the cigarette, held it in for a moment, blew it out. “Or he won’t. But he’s a tough kid. Tougher than people give him credit for.”

Steve thought of the sight that met him when he checked on the kids a minute ago, sleeping preteens draped over each other like puppies sharing warmth. “He has good friends.”

“Better than yours were?” Her question prodded at a less physical sort of bruise, and Steve winced. Joyce shook her head in a vague apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. But you seem awfully lonely. The kids are great, but…”

Steve understood what she meant. “I guess. All my friends were...assholes, really. They were assholes because I was an asshole. Then...I fell in love with Nance, and she wanted...someone better. Someone decent.” The words started out hesitant, but soon began daisy-chaining together, one after the next, a magician’s scarf pulled from a sleeve. “And for a little while I thought, I could do it. I can be that for her. So I dumped my asshole friends. I gave up on being the cool guy, tried to be a decent guy instead. Tried to be the hero she needed. And now—”

He didn’t have to finish the story; they both knew how it turned out. Joyce simply looked at him, the cherry brightening as she took another drag.

Steve shrugged again, suddenly bashful. “I was just fooling myself, anyway. I’ve never been that type. I think—” His voice cracked a little, but Joyce pretended not to notice, for which Steve found himself decidedly grateful. “Honestly, I think she was right to dump me.”

The words sat between them, heavy pebbles polished to a high sheen by their constant tumbling in Steve’s mind.

After a moment, Joyce reached into her pocket and handed over the pack of cigarettes.

“Do you want to be a hero?”

Behind the mall, standing just upwind of the dumpsters and sweating in the humid June afternoon, Steve doesn’t feel like a hero.

He feels…ordinary. An ordinary wage slave, working an ordinary gig in a mall that, despite what the ads on TV would have you believe, is about as ordinary as you can get. Dozens of them, all across Middle America.

He finds the thought—the anonymity—oddly comforting.

Which doesn’t make the job itself suck any less. He lingers for a moment, working up the courage to cross the parking lot in his ridiculous sailor uniform. There’s just enough wind to ruffle through his hair, dry the sweat that somehow always accumulates there despite the mall’s air-conditioning. Taking the trash out is possibly the least glamorous part of an unglamorous job, but Steve appreciates precisely one thing about it—it means his shift is over, which means he can finally ditch the stupid fucking hat.

He takes a couple of breaths, savoring the warm soupy air after hours spent in refrigerated, fluorescent-lit hell. He fingers the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, debating whether to light one. He knows Dustin would get on his back about it—haven’t you seen the news? Those things will give you cancer, Steven!—but he’d like to see Dustin do this job without something to help him keep his cool—

“Boy, we’ve talked about this. You know good and well what happens when you mouth off in front of your sister like that. You want her to learn your disrespectful habits?”

The words only half-register in Steve’s distracted state, the anger in them leaving more of an impression than the actual meaning. It’s the response that catches his ear—he knows that obstinate baritone. “Are we talking about the same Maxine? She doesn’t need my help to be smart. She just keeps it bottled up around you and Susan.”

That voice doesn’t sound like Steve’s ever heard it. It’s…whiny, almost. Petulant, with an undercurrent of something he can’t quite place, something that’s wrong in it the way demodogs were wrong in the junkyard. Something that doesn’t fit.

“Then perhaps you should learn from her example.” The voices are coming from round the corner, where (Steve knows, because it’s an excellent spot for a smoke break) two protrusions along the mall’s side make a convenient alcove.

Steve knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he tiptoes a little closer anyway, careful to keep out of sight.

“Sure, if you want me to act like a little bitch, I’ll start studying right the hell up—”

Punches, Steve has had reason to discover, sound nothing at all like they do in the movies. The noise is somewhere between a slap and a thud—the tangible thwack of skin hitting skin, the darker, more visceral thump of the bones beneath colliding with barely a thin cushion of meat between them. Steve’s gut clenches, and without realizing he’d made the decision, he finds himself rounding the corner. ”Hey! What’re you—“

He hasn’t seen Billy Hargrove since graduation—since before then, really; Hargrove hadn’t bothered to show up to the ceremony, and Steve, who had endured what felt like hours of smiling and shaking his father’s friends’ hands, had found himself a little envious. Now he stands against the wall, posture defiant despite the fingers gathered in the collar of his t-shirt. His eyes meet Steve’s, widen, something of that same wrongness in them. “Harrington?” he says, his voice rough as if the word had been dragged out via fishhook—then his gaze drops, perhaps in preparation for the fist that’s pulled back, ready to strike again.

Steve follows that fist along its arm back to its owner. He doesn’t recognize the man, and there’s not much resemblance—broader build, haircut that might’ve once been military, square jaw. But the sudden hollow sensation in Steve’s stomach, as the man’s intense blue-eyed gaze turns on him, is horribly familiar.

This has to be Billy’s father.

It’s not his business. This is clearly a family affair. It’s not on him to interrupt. He should turn around and pretend he didn’t see anything. It’s not his place. He shouldn’t get involved. People will be angry at him if he tries to step in. He’s wearing a fucking sailor suit, for god’s sake—

Billy’s lip is bleeding.

And Billy’s father—is smiling.

The smile has an edge to it, a glitter like the fresh-cut edge of rusted rebar. It reminds Steve of his own joyless grin, captured in that stupid commercial for everyone in Hawkins to see in between reruns of M*A*S*H—and Steve’s hit with a terrible sense of deja vu, waits for the man to throw his head back. Hears Billy’s wild laughter in his head. I’ve been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone’s been talking about—

But he doesn’t laugh, only lets go of Billy’s collar, turns. Straightens. “Ahh. You must be the Harrington boy.” He takes a step towards Steve. “I’ve heard a bit about you. Seems you got a couple good hits in on Billy here last fall before he laid you out.”

Despite the casual tone, despite the sweltering heat, Steve can feel the words trickle down his spine, icy trails left as they pool cold in his gut. He wants to bluster, he wants to cower, he wants to run; he can’t move, doesn’t even know how his voice will sound when he opens his mouth. “I’m sorry—”

The man waves a hand, the same hand that had been pulled back in a fist just moments ago. “No, no. No need to be sorry. Boys will be boys, and my son—” here he glances back at Billy, who’s staring resolutely at the asphalt—“has an attitude problem.” He runs a hand through his hair, adjusts his collar. “In any case, I should be getting back to the family. I’ll let the two of you work things out.” A hand comes down on Steve’s shoulder, somehow far heavier than it should be. “And Billy?”

Steve doesn’t miss the way Billy flinches when the man says his name. “Yes?”

“Don’t be too long. I expect to see you in an hour for the movie.”

They stand for a moment after the man leaves, minutes or hours or days. The hair on the back of Steve’s neck eventually lays back down. Billy still refuses to meet Steve’s eyes.

Finally, Billy speaks. “Go on then.” He doesn’t look up. His voice sounds more normal, just…tired. Defeated. “You heard him. Take a swing.”

Steve blinks. And, for a moment…

…but that, as Dustin would say, is the Dark Side talking. And didn’t the green guy with the big ears have something to say about that? Forever will it dominate your destiny…

“I’m sorry,” he says instead.

Billy finally looks up again, and as those blue eyes meet his, all thoughts of Star Wars are immediately gone from Steve’s head. If there’s one thing Billy shares with his father, it’s that ability to project danger.

“Don’t be sorry,” Billy spits. “Just punch me and get it over with. We both know you want to.”

“And have you lay me out again?” Steve scoffs. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I won’t.” Billy lifts his chin a little. “I can take my licks. I’m not a pussy.”

And Steve…is tempted. Curls his fingers into a fist as he imagines the deeply satisfying slap-thud of landing a punch on Billy’s jaw. Payback for days spent with a swollen face, weeks of watching his supposed friends drift away, months of frustration at the constant snubs and taunts and put-downs.

It’d be a good thing, in the end, says a voice in Steve’s head. A preemptive strike. Show the enemy your strength, deter them from attacking in the future and causing greater damage. Heroic, even—

Do you want to be a hero?

Steve takes a breath. Uncurls his fingers.

“It’s not right,” he says. “Doesn’t matter if it’s him or me. You don’t deserve that shit.”

Billy’s eyes flash at that, and he pushes off from the wall. Gets up in Steve’s face. “Don’t tell me what I fucking deserve, Harrington. You don’t know shit about me.” He jabs a finger in Steve’s chest. “You don’t know what I’m like. What I’m capable of. Don’t you ever fucking pity me—”

Steve holds up his hands, steps back. Is about to turn on his heel. Serves him right for trying to be a decent human being to this asshole—

Billy’s hand is shaking.

He glances at Billy again. Really looks him in the face. In his eyes. And something there causes a fluttering hollow, deep in his stomach. An alien feeling.

Carefully, exaggeratedly, he looks down, then up. “Do I look like I’m in a position to pity anyone?”

He watches as Billy’s gaze rakes over his outfit. Watches his expression turn from angry, to vulnerable, to confounded. “...the fuck are you wearing?”

Slowly, Steve reaches into his pocket. Pulls out the cigarettes.

“Tell you what,” he says, keeping his voice casual. Taps out a cigarette, holds it out to Billy, a peace offering in a white cylinder. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what your father was so pissed about.”

“Like he needs a fuckin’ reason,” Billy mutters, but he takes the cigarette between his lips, reaches into his own pocket for a lighter. “I’m disrespectful, is all. A bad seed. Anyone can tell.” Flicks it, once, twice, but his hands are shaking too hard to get a proper catch on the wick.

“Here, let me,” Steve says on instinct, reaches up to help.

He only means to take the lighter from Billy, but his fingers brush Billy’s hand, and he nearly jumps at the sensation. Skin on skin, tingling, almost electric.

Billy goes still. Steve flicks his eyes back up to Billy’s face, half afraid he’s having some kind of fit, but he’s breathing—rapid and shallow, blue eyes fixed on the lighter, on the place where their hands touch. Those eyes raise to meet his—not quite a question.

Not quite a denial, either.

Delicately, Steve wraps his hands around Billy’s. He flicks the wheel on the lighter, holds Billy’s hand steady as he guides it to the cigarette. The space between them is so quiet, Steve can hear the paper shrivel beneath the heat.

Belatedly, Billy sucks in air, lights the cig properly. Steve snaps the lighter shut, withdraws his hands. Waits for the awkward moment to pass, for Billy to step away.

He doesn’t. Billy pockets the lighter. Looks up at Steve again. And there’s something…not wrong in this eyes, this time, but different. Clearer, like a window that’s been cleaned of grime.

“It was Max.” The words are mumbled around the cigarette, barely more than a bitter whisper. He takes a drag, turns his head to the side to blow it out. “Little bitch was pocketing a lipstick. Neil was already in a mood, was about to round the corner and see her. So I—I said some shit.” He shrugs, looks down at the bloodstained cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t remember what. Doesn’t really matter. It got his attention.”

Steve feels something sour turn over in his gut. “Does he hit her too?”

A flare in Billy’s eyes, the usual defiance reappearing; for a moment Steve is convinced he’s gone too far. Steels himself for more venomous words, maybe for a punch.

Then Billy’s eyes brighten again, and—a tear slides down his cheek.

“Not yet.” A trembling hand to his lips, another drag on the cigarette. “Not ever, so long as I’m around.”

Their gaze has gotten a little too intimate. Steve sucks in a breath, moves to the side, takes a few steps over to the wall. Leans with his back against it, pulls out a cigarette for himself. Billy joins him, and they smoke together for a moment, in silence.

Steve’s emotions are a jumble. Surprise, that Billy would care so much. Anger, that this would be the choice that defines anyone’s life. Fear, for Billy and for Max. And something else, something he can’t quite define, but that fills his chest with sweet-scented air.

Awe, maybe.

“Some people would call that heroic,” he finally says.

Billy gives a sort of half-smile, though it’s more bitter than sad. “Yeah, well. We’re family. We’re all we’ve got.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not true.” He bumps his shoulder, lightly, against Billy’s. “You’ve got me too.” He laughs, then, just as bitter. “For what that’s worth. No college. No apartment. Three bucks an hour scooping ice cream. No future.” He makes a sad little jazz-hands motion. “Ta daaa. King Steve, at your service.”

Billy turns, takes a moment to savor the sight of Steve in his uniform. “Could be worse,” he says.

“Oh? How, exactly, could it be worse?”

A little of the old cockiness comes back into his stance, as he shoots Steve a wink. “You look fuckin’ adorable in that suit.”

“Do you want to be a hero?”

Steve had smoked his cigarette halfway down by the time he answered. “Doesn’t everyone? Fight evil? Save the day? Get the girl? All the movie stuff?”

It was Joyce’s turn to shrug as she tapped her butt out in the ashtray. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘hero’. Some people want all of that. Some people prefer things…quieter. They want to have friends, and a life, and maybe someone to love. But put those people in danger, put the people they love in danger…and they’ll do anything to save them. Face down a monster. Spread a rumor. Take a beating from a bully.” She pauses, looks at his face meaningfully. “Does that make them less heroic?”

Steve hadn’t known that blushing could hurt. “I dunno. Maybe those people could’ve done more. Maybe…what they did wasn’t enough, in the end.”

To his surprise, Joyce sat back in her chair, thought it over. “Maybe they’re not heroes, then.” She nodded, as if she’d come to some conclusion, and smiled at Steve. “Maybe they’re just decent people.”

“There is only one heroism in the world: to see the world as it is, and to love it.” --Romain Rolland

help me raise money to fight MS!

#my writing #harringrove #writing prompts #bike ms #stranger things #ihni #commissions #for a good cause

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halitophobia · 5 years

Text

Blind Eye - One

Pairings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Hello! I'm a little new to the DBH world, but I'm in complete awe of the story and Connor haha....anyways, I have been thinking about writing a series for him for a while and decided to go for it. This is mainly for testing the water - I'm not new to writing fanfiction or Tumblr (at.all.), but sure am new to putting my own work out to the public. So here goes nothing...(P.S. I'd absolutely love feedback and constructive criticism ! Truly ! TRULY.) Uh.. P.P.S. This is basically chapter one - just want to see how it goes :)

Disclaimer ⟶ I for one, obviously do not own any of the characters from the DBH universe whatsoever

Warnings ⟶ (for this blurb specifically...) quite a handful lots of swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...? (for this series...) slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), all warnings from the blurb, angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3000

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 5th, 2038 - 11:53:07 PM

You hang up your phone, eyes covered from your damp palm, and let out a breath you hadn't realized was being withheld. Your hand sloppily drags down your face, and you squint out the car window. The streams of rainwater on the glass blur the scene, resulting in hues of spinning red and blue. You huff, narrowing your eyes at...seemingly nothing. You shouldn't even be here. You shouldn't have given in. If it weren't for the damn situation back at your apartment, you'd probably be enjoying a searing-hot shower; or better yet, shamelessly devouring an excessively large bowl of sugary cereal.

"Miss?"

You're pulled away from your somewhat pleasant thoughts by the gruff taxi driver sitting in front of you. You sniffle by accident, revealing other unwanted emotions, and swirl your hand in your bag. Silently praying to yourself, you wait for something circular and cold, or thin and crumpled to brush your fingers.

After a solid minute or two, your hand tightens on a cluster of bills. You yank them out, thrusting them toward the man. Avoiding his gaze, quite obviously, you knit your brows together, really hoping you don't have to say that famous line...

"S'all I have." your voice annoyingly childish.

He scoffs. "You're lucky I don't have enough energy to argue."

With your eyes still locked on the door cupholder, his hand slaps yours. You feel his chewed fingernails scrape your palm, the money following suit. He grumbles something about getting out of the vehicle, which you gladly act upon.

Entering the delightful weather, you squint your eyes and do your best to use your hand as a visor. Scurrying past members of the crew whining like toddlers, you stop before a line of familiar yellow tape that keeps you from your destination. An officer standing on the opposite side warns 'unauthorized persons aren't permitted past'. Tell me something I don't know...

Your lips part, a snappy remark waiting patiently at the back of your throat, when a short plump man waddles toward you.

"By God, is that actually you, Y/N?" he awkwardly chuckles, eyes halfway shut from the rain trickling down his forehead.

"Detective Collins," you reply, forming a tight smile.

"Let her in, the big man requested her." he smiles back.

Reluctantly, the officer lifts the tape, watching you swoop under. You straighten out and wait for the white-haired man to start blabbering about how long it's been.

"It's been a while, huh? Was just starting to get used to not having you around." he teasingly grins, bumping your shoulder.

Nodding, you follow him onto the porch of a house simply waiting to crumble apart. The detective continues to talk about what it had been like after your absence and you flutter the collar of your heavy coat. Feeling your throat physically invert from the horrid stench, you grimace, shaming yourself for forgetting about this part of the job. Your ears truly tune into his voice as he starts to talk about the case. The dusty clogs in your brain begin to turn, grasping at key facts such as 'presumed murder weapon is a kitchen knife', 'no sign of a break-in', and 'owning an android that is nowhere in sight'. You can't help but pull back your top lip in a hateful snarl. You don't like that word. You don't like that word at all. In fact, you never did. Shaking your head, you glance around, taking in both the chaotic environment you basically grew up in, and the evidence gleaming before you.

Lowering yourself eye-to-eye with the...late Carlos Ortiz, your gaze wanders over his abdomen. It's grimly decorated with multiple stab wounds which you can't help but study closer. Your eyebrows slightly lift, and one might think you were unimpressed, but you were just amazed at the rage embedded within the victim's gut.

"The victim fled to...the living room." a young voice claims, making your focus falter.

What's an intern doing at a place this brutal?

As the question floats through your mind, every muscle, pulsing vein, and wavering breath coursing through your body comes to a halt - for that is when you hear it. Or should you say him. No, I really shouldn't...

"And he tried to get away from the andro- what the fuck?" you close your eyes, preparing yourself for the new crime scene to unfold. Here we go...

"Y/N? What the...wh..." his knowing voice somewhat amuses you; you've never heard him this...speechless.

Steadily, you bring yourself to full height, still not having turned to see the Lieutenant. Feeling that instinctive mode envelope you, you tug a spiteful grin from your lips, finally shifting to see-

"Hi. Hank." his name crawls out of your mouth like a shiny, black beetle.

You watch his eyes widen, only to shrink into slivers. His mouth recoiling into that signature frown, and his breath creating angry puffs of steam. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" he spits, crossing his arms over his chest. Same old geezer.

You scoff. "That's no way to greet your little girl."

He glares harder and makes threatening strides toward you. "You are not my fucking little girl." he shoves a finger at you, "You better get out of my fucking way. This is my case, and you are not going to be involved." You raise your eyebrows, pretending to be shocked by his filthy mouth.

"And that's definitely no way to speak to your little girl."

His yellow teeth come to show and he growls at your ignorance. "Ben! Get your ass in here!" his words are poison. Within seconds, the round detective makes his way through, a knowing and pained expression pressed into the creases of his face.

"Hank?" a nervous crack in his voice says it all.

"Why on fucking earth would you let this snake onto the crime scene!" Hank fumes. You laugh and shake your head. Naturally, you sense fellow detectives and crew seep their way into the living room. Audience is right on time... "She's villainous, disastrous, manipulative, and downright fucking evil!"

You nod, shrivelling your nose, "You're one to speak, Hank." letting some loose hairs fall in front of your eyes.

He tousles his hair in disgust, "You really think they're just going to hand you your job back and everything will be fine and dandy?" Hank shouts, saliva shooting out between his teeth.

"Captain Fowler has been desperately trying to get me back on the team, calling me constantly like a horny frat boy!" you claim, making sure your voice comes level to his. "So, sorry to break it to you, but it's clearly already happened."

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it's happening again!" he turns away, circling back to you. "You just get to clip clop your fucking way back into my life and career without having to pass one goddamn obstacle!" his fingers tug at his grey locks, sweat collecting at his hairline.

"Oh yeah, life's tough, huh Dad? Not having to pass an obstacle, ever been kicked out of your own home with only thirty-two fucking bucks clutched in your hand and a bottle of beer in the other?" you bark, acknowledging the others in the room is long gone from now.

"How many times are you going to bring that up!? You decided to bring that absolute bag of shit in my house and have the audacity to let him stay!"

"You didn't have to throw us out!" your throat is stinging now. Your blood is scorching hot, and your jaw is nearly if not fully cemented together. "Drunk off your fucking mind, shoving us out the door and throwing glass bottles at our heads, I mean, what kind of father were you?!"

"You don't get to do that." his voice descends two octaves; dangerously steady. "Y/N Anderson, you do not get to fucking do that." your eyes have now burned into his and you find yourself digging crescent moons into your palms.

"Who's to say?" your words also deep and slow. You're leaning in to size him up, warn him, threaten him, whatever you want to call it.

"Lieutenant and Detective Anderson! If you two do not calm yourselves the fuck out, I'll have no choice but to remove both of you from this ca-" Ben's still here? Since when?

"I am not an Anderson." you correct.

Hank breaks the deathly-still eye contact and moves his head to inspect a crack in the wall. He shakes his head and mutters under his breath.

"You never were."

Your eyes pop open and that withering fire ignites inside you once again, electricity rippling down do the minuscule hairs on your fingers. "Fucking come again?" you yell, moving to get right into his face.

Let's just pause, shall we? This is the same pattern you two always fall into. You say something to sting him, he finds a way to bite you back, and you get offended. It's your stubbornness you've never gotten rid of. This mass of steel in the both of you, sitting at the bottom of your stomachs, never ever willing to budge. You've both a tree trunk up your asses and what's happened in the past has done quite the opposite than removing them. Just...come on, listen to this. This argument is a bicycle missing its back tire - going to go absolutely no where. This acid you throw back and forth, a cute duel of 'hot potato', engraves wounds to the both of you; it never ends. Honestly, you don't think it ever will. And what could have ever happened to cause a world war between the two of you? Let's just say these past few years have been utterly devastating and neither of you have taken it well.

Exactly four minutes and twelve seconds go by, and your hand is latched onto the Lieutenant's throat. His hands are suffocating your biceps, and in return, you decide to start kicking. Detective Collins wraps his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you away from your 'opponent'. You see a young man do the same to Hank - a little less effortlessly.

"Get the hell off me!" your father rages, whipping his arms from the brunette's grasp.

You sharpen your eyes and study Hank's ‘partner’. No. fucking. way. "This your little pet?" you rip your arms from your restrainer and proceed to enter the fighting arena. "After all that's happened, you end up getting a weasel to train. And even better, it's a fucking android?" your words are deadly now. You feel betrayed. Backstabbed. Run over by a damn bulldozer.

There's a slight hesitance in Hank's response, and to you, it only plasters upon his face, a large sign reading 'WARNING! I'm a loser!' "I wasn't-" he starts, but you're just too quick.

"An android!" you repeat, everyone already knowing the taste of your venom from the first time.

"Y/N dammit, will you let me-" Hank's voice is wavering, ever so slightly. Of course only you notice.

"This thing will corrupt the case! You really want to trust scraps of polished metal and plastic hair? It doesn't understand emotion or motive! How will it ever track down a suspect?" you growl, twisting your wrist within the steel rings holding you back.

"Telling me I had the audacity to invite a guy home," you continue, "yet you have the audacity to work alongside this piece of junk; the cause of-" you can't help it. It still hurts. Your words are discarded due to the contraction of your throat. Pull it together, no time for this shit. You cover it up, in the mere seconds of weakness. "I bet it’s got a name, huh? This your new so-"

"I did not agree to work with this thing!" his rotten finger is thrown at the bot, "I don't even remember the fuckin' name!" he says this as if he's defending himself.

"My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyb-"

"SHUT UP!" your voices in-sync, a combined evil no one would ever want to cross.

----

Satisfied by the first...'warning', Connor pivots away, wandering back toward the kitchen. Both your voices are woven with malice, he considers. Your blood is pumping at immense speed, and if it weren't for your human forms, you'd have already combusted by now. The emphasis on your sentences make it very difficult for him to differentiate swear words from others. Pausing for a beat, he peers over at you, deciding to analyze.

ANDERSON, Y/N

Born : D/M/2014 // Short Order Cook (currently unemployed)

Criminal record : Pick-pocketing, shop-lifting

Moving along small hints about you, Connor shifts his attention to your E/C eyes. Despite the low light, he notices the skin surrounding them is vaguely swollen and pink. Below them, your cheeks are gently stained - from rain? His processors scratch that thought. Probability claims...

Subject has been crying. (approximately 45 minutes ago)

Stress Level : 100%

Moving his attention directly across from you, Hank's level of stress is no lower. Connor sees Detective Collins making a phone call to Captain Fowler, only to be immediately rejected. It's midnight on the last day of the week, Captain Fowler doesn't give two shits.

Duty sprinkles itself back onto the android's head, and he turns directly toward various splatters of thirium. Easily, he drowns out your agitated argument, and continues on with solving the case.

----

You're out of breath. Completely and utterly out of breath. Your chest is heaving, your jaw is sore and your brain is dangerously pulsing in your skull. You've expectorated every single insult and swear your tainted ears had ever taken in. Your shoulders ache, for Detective Collins had restrained both of you a little while ago; either protecting you from each other, or the others daring to stay in the room. From the outside, you and your old man look like feral wolves, battling for the role of Alpha - except this is just family dinner; without the handcuffs of course.

The other officers have managed to have you on the opposite side of the living room, wraith still oozing from your pores. Hank looks as though he's on the brink of a stroke. He's drunk and probably already engaged for a second round of bickering. Bickering? Yeah..yeah we'll call it that.

This is why you shouldn't have come. You knew - every atom in your damn body knew something bad was going to happen. During the call before being dropped off, Captain Fowler insisted Hank wasn't going to show up. You'd gotten these calls over and over again. Your father's attendance had been downright awful. From what you've been told, people will find him hunched over bars, head low, and buzzing with alcohol. You laugh bitterly at the thought - nothing's changed. Hank Anderson everyone, yes, also known as the fucking prick of the year and Mr. My-Daughter-Can-Eat-Shit-For-All-I-Fucking-Care.

"Hey! Hey! Hey! Whadd'ya doin' with that chair?" Hank's voice is harsh and dry.

Everyone's eyes are now drawn to the android that is currently shuffling a fucking chair out of the kitchen. Dumb fuck...

"I'm going to check something."

Wow. Its voice is annoying. Its walk is annoying. Its uniform is ugly. Its snappy remark is really just- I mean, how could he do this to you? You stare at your father and squint your eyes. He barely looks itched by that thing. In fact, he looks amused. By instinct, you're butthurt. In a different reality, happening at the same time, he's just shot you in your back and made out with your fifth grade teacher. At least, that's how you'd imagine it. Painful and disgusting.

Clearing your littering thoughts, you glance around. Most of the team had moved back outside. You're just leant on your right hip, arms still clipped behind your back and you realize your nose is getting pretty fucking itchy. Ruthlessly, you rub your nose against your shoulder, earning a snort from Detective Collins. Oh, so he finds this funny...

"That asshole got his hands back," chucking your temple toward Hank, "why can't I?" you challenge, prepping for an argument toward Ben.

You watch his double chin twitch, his lips parting and coming together. He's afraid of you. Weighing in the facts, you don't think it bugs you as much as it should. To keep it that way, you roll your eyes and shift to your other hip.

"Connor, what the fuck is going on up here?"

So the bitch calls it by its name. 'I don't remember its name' my ass...

A pause indicates its dead. Or gone. Both would be great. "Sounds like your puppy's ran away." you show an exaggerated pout, "Con Con's gone gone." The silver-haired man glares at you, brewing up a comeback.

"It's here, Lieutenant!"

Of course.

The next 10 minutes consist of crew members hustling in and contemplating what to do with the assailant. You're long forgotten, wrists still enveloped in crisp metal. You watch the scene unfold, seeing a dark-skinned bot sulk past you, its 'hands' in the same situation as yours. You could cut yours off, knowing you have something in common with it.

As the posse mosey's on by, you burn holes into the side of your dad's head. Thouroughly enjoying the bird he sends your way. Then, due to the flow of movement, you catch...eyes with it. Your face scrunches up and you hold back every nerve sizzling to attack - you know your limits; especially with cuffs.

It holds eye contact with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. That is, until you see the corners of its mouth lift ever so fucking slightly. And just as you glance down to examine the expression, it's completely gone before your eyes. Was...was that a fucking smile? This collection of plastic and wires has the fucking nerve to fucking smile at you?

Oh, you've just dug your own grave, Siri.

----

I think I’ll definitely start chapter two.

#connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit connor #dbh x reader #detroit become human #detroit connor x reader #connor #rk800 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hank x connor #hank’s daughter #bryan dechart

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chapter-61 · 4 years

Text

small things

CARRY ON COUNTDOWN DAY 15: Floral

AO3, POST-CARRY ON

It starts with a yellow tulip.

When Simon wakes up on the couch for the fifth day in a row, he doesn’t feel like getting up. What’s the point? He doesn’t have anything planned (as usual) and Baz has classes. Penny is gone for two weeks to visit Agatha, so he’s on his own.

He supposes he could visit his therapist, but he’s been ignoring their appointments for a while and it’d be awkward.

After a moment of consideration, he decides staying on the couch is the better option. He reaches for the remote on the coffee table but stops when he notices the flower. Simon doesn’t know much about flowers but he recognizes the tulip. It’s yellow and wrapped in plastic.

He frowns at it and sits up. Unless he started sleepwalking last night, he’s sure he didn’t put the flower there. Which only leaves Baz. But Baz had left yesterday evening after dinner, when Simon didn’t feel up to conversation, or anything else. He had felt bad, but the feeling was overshadowed by his discomfort of being in someone else’s company, so he didn’t say anything as Baz kissed him goodbye on the cheek.

Simon is certain Baz didn’t bring the flower with him, though, because he surely would’ve noticed. And Baz isn’t a flower person, right? He’s never said as much, anyway.

Maybe someone broke in, but why would they leave a flower? It doesn’t seem like anything was stolen either, so it’s very unlikely.

Which brings him back to Baz. He could’ve come back at night while Simon was sleeping to put the flower there, but he can’t figure out why.

“I suppose.” His voice is still a bit croaky from sleep and disuse.

Wrestling with his wings, he manages to stand up. Dizziness overcomes him and he almost falls back down, but he keeps upright. Mostly. He keeps his eyes on the flower.

When he’s steadier after a few seconds, he finally picks it up and lifts it to his nose. It smells nice. His mouth corners curl up and the smile on his face surprises him. It feels foreign, but he’s still holding the flower, so the smile stays.

Simon puts the flower down delicately and finds he has the energy to walk to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. Along the way, he picks up his mobile phone to send Baz a text.

To: Baz (9:14) thanks for the flower

He replies almost instantly.

From: Baz (9:15) You’re welcome. It’s a tulip.

To: Baz (9:15) i know

From: Baz (9:21) Alright.

After breakfast, Simon puts the tulip in an empty water bottle, and mostly forgets about it.

Until a few days later, when he finds another flower in the living room. The last few nights he always made it to his bed, an achievement he’s weirdly proud of.

This time, he doesn’t recognize the flower sort. He picks it up and examines it closely. It’s really pretty. The flower is mostly bright purple (magenta, he can hear Penny’s voice in his head), with multiple layers of petals. The magenta petals have yellow ends and circle the middle part of the flower (the stigma?), which is the same bright yellow.

A quick google search doesn’t seem to bring it up, so he opens his texts instead.

To: Baz (9:20) what type is this?

From: Baz (9:23) It’s a zinnia, part of the Heliantheae tribe. It’s related to the sunflower.

To: Baz (9:23) it’s very pretty

From: Baz (9:24) Try to keep it in a place with a lot of sunlight.

To: Baz (9:24) ok, thanks

He finds another empty water bottle on the counter, fills it with a bit of water and puts the flower in. It’s really nice and bright. He puts it on a window sill in the living room, where the sunlight hits it perfectly. It lights up the room, and Simon feels slightly warmer inside.

A week later, Simon wakes up later than usual. Baz stayed the evening, and they watched a movie together. He doesn’t really remember what movie it was, he was mostly watching Baz. His feet were in Baz’ lap and Baz had been gently massaging them. Simon couldn’t keep his attention on the movie after that.

When he exits his room and passes the window sill, he smiles at the flowers. He had his suspicions before, but now he’s sure Baz put a spell on them, because they still look as fresh as the day he found them. They still smell amazing as well, and the apartment hasn’t smelled this nice in a long time.

He’s so busy looking at the flowers while he passes, he almost misses the new flower on the coffee table. Simon can feel his smile grow when he walks towards it.

He picks it up and is pleased that he recognizes it.

To: Baz (10:45) a daffodil?

From: Baz (10:47) I’m impressed. Yes, it’s a daffodil. A jonquil, to be more exact. Narcissus jonquilla.

To: Baz (10:47) :D

He puts away his mobile phone and adds the flower to his collection. Then, he has an idea.

To: Penny (10:53) hey do u still have that flower book somewhere??

From: Penny (11:07) Good morning to you, too. You’re lucky we just arrived in New York or you’d be waking me up at 3am. Why do you need it?

To: Penny (11:07) i’ll tell u when u get back

From: Penny (11:08) Fine, it should be on a shelf in my room. Don’t break it, please.

He scoffs and goes to Penny’s room. Between the magic books and cooking books, there’s the one he’s looking for. The Language Of Flowers, by Chlorissa Anthis.

Simon tries to contain his curiosity as he takes the book with him to the couch. He opens the heavy book to the index, and looks for the first flower.

Tulips

There are many interpretations for tulips, depending on their color. Generally, tulips represent love. A red tulip stands for strong, true love, while purple symbolizes royalty. White tulips represent worthiness or forgiveness, and pink tulips can stand for elegance or gratitude. The most complex meaning has to belong to the yellow tulip. They used to represent hopelessness or unrequited love, but are now more commonly used as an expression for cheerfulness and sunshine. More than that, they’re used to compliment someone’s sunshine-like smile or beautiful eyes.

Oh. Well. That brings a sappy smile to his face.

To: Baz (11:17) you think my eyes are beautiful?

From: Baz (11:18) I have no idea what you’re talking about.

To: Baz (11:18) suuuuure

He looks over at the purple flower now. A zinnia, was it?

To: Baz (11:19) what color is the zinnia?

From: Baz (11:21) Are you turning blind? Do you need me to pick up a pair of glasses?

To: Baz (11:21) ha ha. indulge me

From: Baz (11:25) It’s mostly magenta, but mixed with yellow towards the ends.

Simon quickly turns to the index again and looks for the zinnia.

Zinnia

The zinnia is a tough flower and stands for endurance in many forms. It varies from standing by a loved one through a difficult time to a joyous endurance of daily remembrance. If the zinnia is red, it symbolizes the steadfastness of the heart and family, like a beating heart. A white zinnia stands for goodness, and magenta for lasting affection, even through harder circumstances. Lastly, a zinnia can have mixed colors, which means the gifter misses their absent friend/lover and wants them to know they’re still thinking about them.

That’s very different from the yellow tulip. He starts to doubt whether Baz actually meant something with the type of flower, or if he just picked the prettiest. But then he can’t help thinking of the night before, when Baz felt so far away while he was sitting right next to him on the couch. Simon’s always missing Baz, even when he’s nearby. Maybe the same goes for Baz. He’s never thought of it like that. And he supposes the distance between them could be seen as an absence of the other person.

If the book is to be believed, Baz wants to let Simon know that there’s still lasting affection from his side. Which he knows, of course, because why else would Baz still visit almost every day? On the other hand, he had started to doubt Baz’ feelings for him lately, with the giant hole between them nowadays. That’s Simon’s fault, though. He’s the one that’s been acting weird and distant and he wouldn’t fault Baz for wanting to put an end to it. Which brings him back to the significance of the mixed colours.

He takes a deep breath and looks for the daffodil family now.

Jonquil

A jonquil is a very romantic flower, but it can also be a symbol of sorrow. Legend says that this flower originates from the Greek myth of Persephone. In its purest form, the jonquil stands for desire and sympathy. Desire to have love and affection returned. A single jonquil commonly means ‘love me, please’. In the absence of reciprocated feelings, it is clear that the flower can represent sorrow as well.

These flowers are getting more and more depressing, Simon thinks. Does Baz not know how much Simon loves him?

He looks back on his behaviour towards Baz over the last few months, and is suddenly appalled. They’ve barely had long conversations, most of them happening over the phones, and Baz had always been the one to initiate it. Baz had also always been the one to initiate touches, and he took Simon on trips around the city without Simon asking.

Has he really been that detached from the love of his life?

As is often the case when he doesn’t know the answer to a question, he texts Penny.

To: Penny (11:35) am i a bad boyfriend? be honest

From: Penny (11:38) I wouldn’t say you’re a bad boyfriend to Baz, but you haven’t really been in a happy headspace in a while. I think Baz misses you, though, and you miss him. What is this all about? I’m coming home in 2 days, you two better be okay!

Instead of responding to Penny, he sends a text to Baz.

To: Baz (11:39) hey are u coming over tonight?

From: Baz (11:40) I was planning on it. Do you not want me to come?

To: Baz (11:40) nonono please come. i’ll make the food, you don’t have to bring anything

From: Baz (11:41) Are you sure, Simon? I don’t mind cooking.

To: Baz (11:41) very sure, it’ll work out dw

From: Baz (11:42) Alright. Now I’m curious. See you tonight.

Hope blooms in his chest. At least he hasn’t totally messed everything up with Baz yet. He checks the time and puts Penny’s book back. He should have plenty of time to make something edible.

A few minutes later, he’s out of the apartment and on his way to the grocery store.

On the way back home, he stops by a flower shop.

The doorbell rings a bit after 6, and Simon rolls his eyes. He saunters over to the door and opens it to a waiting Baz. Simon is stricken by how good he looks, and it’s not just the smile on his face.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi,” Baz replies, with that beautiful smile still present.

Simon shakes himself and opens the door wider to let Baz in. “I know you have a key.”

“I do. I wanted you to open the door, though. Get some exercise in.”

Simon snorts as he walks back to the kitchen, suddenly feeling awkward. Is he supposed to greet Baz with a kiss? He wants to, and they’ve been together for over a year, so it should be okay. But he’s not sure how to do it. It’s been a while since he initiated contact between them.

Baz seems to know what’s on his mind, because when he turns back around, his boyfriend is right in front of him. Damn vampire.

“It looks so much cleaner here. Lighter. And something smells delicious.”

Before Simon can answer, Baz closes the distance between them and gives him a soft kiss. “Good evening, love.”

Simon can’t help the blush spreading over his face. “Hi.”

Baz chuckles and goes to lean against the kitchen counter. “You look better, too.”

“I feel better,” he replies honestly.

They smile at each other. Then, Simon says, “Thanks for the flowers.”

Now it’s Baz turn to flush. “Did you find out their meanings?”

“Wait here,” Simon says instead of answering, and he walks over to his room with a slight jump in his step.

He comes back with a single red rose. Baz looks at it with wide eyes.

“You know the meaning of this one?” Simon asks him.

“Of course I do,” Baz replies quietly.

Simon hands over the rose and pulls Baz to him, with his arms around Baz’ neck. “I love you,” he whispers, before he kisses him with all the power he has.

A single red rose signifies pure, fulfilled love. It’s an expression to convey the purest and deepest affection. I love you.

#<333 #carry on countdown #coc 2019 #carry on #day 15 #my fics

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lifeisintheleaks · 4 years

Text

Uh oh

If I stand far enough from the mirror in the washroom without my glasses on, my acne scars disappear and the sunlight hits my face and eyes until my skin has that ‘post-coital glow’ and my eyes are blinded to look at the wisps of hair escaping my bun and twirling around my head in cowlicks and fuzz and devil horns. For a second, I can pretend to be that woman in front of the flashing cameras on the red carpet with the sun burning all the reality away.

I feel a tickle in my vagina like a bubble of air slowly moving down and outwards and I hold still, was I reading in a weird position again? But the bubble is too slow, too solid, too real to be air and I realize, eyes wide open in shock. I was not gassy and horny and merely frustrated all day today, all at the same time. It was cramps. I bolt towards the toilet and yank my pants and my underwear down. I pull my long kurta up and bunch it under my breasts and sit down. It was too late. My dark navy blue underwear had darker spots. Wet patches everywhere I touched, far older than the last hour. I heave out a sigh and with the realization, the pain kicks in. I don’t want to deal with this.

Last month, the depression and the anger and the pain and the bloated-ness and the over sensitivity lasted an entire week before the blood came. And pain so bad I couldn’t breathe right for a few hours. But today, I thought I was just horny while sitting wrong. I gasp and squeeze my stomach as I hear a drop fall in the toilet water below, staining it red as I could imagine. ‘One good thing about cramps’ I grunt softly as the pain rolled like waves crashing down my abdomen, my fingers slippery from the sweat I wiped off my upper lip and nose as I typed down the message from my friend on my phone, ‘is that the cramps give you the best shits of the month’. She replies with “oof/yes/the best” and I smile while hugging my knees as sweat crawls on my breasts, nose, back, shoulders, and my face. I don’t know how I’m breathing but it’s so that my ribs don’t push my stomach down on my uterus. I stay there.

My mother is outside the door asking me for something. I rejoice, as much as I could in this state and yell, “My underwear is in my pants on the chair, can you hand it to me”. It takes time but it gets done. There is something weird about sitting on the toilet with your bum out and opening the door to see your mum, no matter how much she doesn’t want to see this, handing you the underwear and the bright pink cloth pouch your menstrual cup came in. It feels weird because, I tell myself, if I were living alone, I would have gotten up, gotten everything without making a mess, without embarrassment, without any fear of having to clean up the mess if I made one, without the tension. She shuts the door before I could and I tell myself one day I’m going to have no one pass me my underwear or the cup when I need it and that will be okay.

I bunch up my probably stained pants and my underwear and throw them in the sink. I take the mug and fill it up. My pads are upstairs, I’ll have to get them later. I put on the new underwear and bunch it up around my ankles so it doesn’t touch the floor. Any higher and I wouldn’t be able to sit like a man. Once the cup is filled I bring the back and the front ends of my kurta together in front of me and twist them into a braid which I then fold and tuck in my bra, there’s only so many hands I have, knowing it’ll wrinkle the cloth. And I get to work.

I take a big breath and hold it, and hold my knees open. With the mug of water in my right hand I wash my vagina with the left. On the first day there is always more slime, more mucous. Sometimes not even red. I wash my hair first, pinching the tips and washing off the blood in my hand with the water. Once the hair is clean I touch the outside of my vagina and it feels how I imagine seals would. Smoother than shaved legs. This one is so slippery, very difficult to wash, takes too much water. I resort to scratching lightly and it works, and feels good. My nails gently scrape the blood off of my upper thighs, under the hair. I always waste too much water on this step because scratching feels good. My lungs burn now so I move my mouth to my shoulder and breathe out. And before the smell comes back up I take in another big breath but I know this one can’t last long. The sweat drips down my eyebrow and I blink to avoid getting it into my eye, the sun etches reality back onto me.

And then, with a third of the water left in the cup I put my index finger in and touch the walls, the right side first, going all the way to the back and then curling my finger and out. There’s a lot of blood, I wash it off with the water. I know I shouldn’t do this too much but I can’t help it again. Feels satisfactory to speed up the process. I am done when the water is. I lean forward, which always hurts because of how I am sitting and with my clean right hand, turn the tap on and let it fill. I take the cup out of the pouch with that single hand and give it over to my left. It is thick dry pink silicone. Like a squished ice cream cone with a ribbed tail stained red. I turn the tap off and lift the heavy mug back towards me, trying not to spill any. I wet the cup, softly squeezing it in my hand but it doesn’t really turn softer. I sigh and remember a few seconds (too) later that I don’t mind the smell now.

I do my best so as to not drop the cup. With a finger I spread myself as much as I could. The rest are holding the bent cup as tightly as they can. Before it slips and pops back into its original position I put it where I hope the hole is and I push. It always hurts a bit, probably because I washed all the slime off but I wiggle it a bit and a few deep breathes so I get loose and about a fourth of it pops in. I usually think about my virginity during this moment and how unimpressive it really is to have things inside me as opposed to what porn and men made me think it would be like. The next five minutes is me pushing two fingers and the bent cup into me with as much pain as I can compromise for speed until ts more than half way in. Holding the cup secure with my four fingers I send the index in again, probing the corners where it folded in on itself and push it further in. Sometimes it never goes as deep as it can to avoid the the outer ribs of the cups chafing my walls but some days I am too tired to deal with it unless it hurts too much and I go back on the toilet and probe around to realize that somehow it’s in sideways.

Once that’s done I wash the rest of me until the water’s finished again. I put the mug down and get up until I’m doing half a squat on the seat and shake a little to get rid of all the water. I pull my underwear up by my thumbs. It’s always too tight during periods. I flush and go wash wash my hands. Let the clothes soak for a bit before I wash the blood off them. I clean up the mess and go upstairs and get my loud bright huge packets of pads and shove them in the cupboard. I take one one out and go back inside the bathroom.

I drop my clothes again and sit down, opening the pad, the wrapper crinkling, sticking to my fingers with the static. I stick it onto the sink. I like to save them so I have something to wrap the pads in before I throw them, the packets rolled neatly like tiny cigarettes. I open up the pad and grab my underwear to realize its wet. My hair soaked it through. Still I try to stick the pad on it, press it down, hold the sticky bits for a few seconds but it pops right back up. No different that sweaty underwear, the pad refuses to stay until I have tired for ten minutes and the wings are all bent and folded and stuck to each other. I consider how tired and hot I am. I could just sit on it until it stick but I know that won’t work. A little shift and I might as well be bleeding down my clothes again. Better yet have my hair stick to the pad when its dry and have it yanked out when I move.

I fist my hands tight and clasp them together and stare real hard at the wall. There is a wiper to my left and I’m itching to throw it. Wreck the whole damn room. If there was a table in front of me I would have broken it. I hold it in, sitting like a man staring real hard at all the damn wetness. I am surprised by my own anger, I had forgotten I had it. And just as quick as it came, it’s gone. With nothing to show that it was ever there except for my clasped hands and all the sweat that I am going to be under for the next few days. No. I decide. The anger was real. And it means something. It means I will do what I want to do to give myself some comfort. I leave the pad and pull up my underwear, my pants still off, and march out and grab myself another pad and a new, dry underwear. It’s a less than ten second thing but my mom still stares at me. Quite hard. I storm back in.

I take off my underwear and put it next to where the first one was soaking. I put on the dry one, it’s a bit more expensive but thinner and less tight, stretched loose with all the pads. I sit down again and pull my knees open until its as stretched as it would be around my hips and I open the new pad and put it down and make it stick. I don’t like pads, that’s why the cup, even if sometimes it doesn’t really fit. Pads itch, they fold wrong. Sometimes I leak out around them and stain anyway. After a week they give me a rash. They do that weird sticking out thing at the butt and when you sit on them wrong they stick together and then its ruined. But I might leak around the cup, I might stain my underwear if I don’t wear them.

So I frown the guilt down of wasting a pad, thinking of all the girls, the poor ones, the dark skinned ones, the ones that leap out from ads (thery’re always poor and dark skinned and the Indian ones have ribbons in their pigtails) and stories your friends tell of their roommates who wasted pads cause of spotting. I fold the pad as neatly as i would a used one and I wrap it up in the wrapper. I pull everything up and wince. Not at the cramps, or at the heat, at my head getting dizzy from dehydration or standing up, at my period-induced diarrhea that I know I’ll be getting in a few hours. The pad feels weird. I’m always frowning as I reach down and try to twist it to adjust the space between my legs but it takes the opposite shape bound to get stained at the sides and somehow the outside of my underwear rather than the actual pad first. I always frown cause now it’s time to walk out and deal with it again and have to hide it again even though mom can see.

I walk out having forgotten all about the sun and how much hair I have and how my skin is because the pain is getting worse and the girl in the mirror is very much me and the cameras are very much still there in my mind and in the minds of those who think that pads should looks prettier getting marketed than felt being used and in the minds of those for whom I have to bury that innocently white clean pad in the trash deep down so that the loud ugly bright green wrapped does not peek out and the sun has etched this hidden blood on my face with the grimace and I think of the cameras and the shadows of my face and the shape of my eyes and the feeling of my hands clenched together.

I think of what I will say to the man who asks me to smile. I will tell him that I am familiar with blood and that I can acquaint him with his own too. I will tell him that my period cravings will make me bite through his throat and gulp down all the blood I have lost until his spine is my teeth to wag as I reclaim the name he so fondly calls me: bitch. The truth is this anger feels good, the one that is spent on things not quite real, by bravery not quite our own. And it feels good to have my teeth and have my blood that I will not hide from the sun and from the cameras as I rewrite my introduction to my own body. This anger feels as pretty as I did before the blood came. But the blood came, and I’m still here and I’m still me.

But the camera girl stands under a different sun. I boil under myself but this sun has pressed my tongue down and branded it with the truth of my body that others tell me I should know and silently suffer with. The sheer ridiculousness of how loud that daft wrapper is under my clenched fists. It has me thinking of my anger that I always must leash but never recognize as mine. I feel the heat of the sun but to be honest, blood is hotter than sweat.

#modern horror #is the reality of the oppressed #leaking out #from where you tried to bury it #till even those who live it #would call it horror #this is not glorification #i wrote this #because this is about me #and yet #i still do not recognize myself in my life #do not dare #to make light of this again

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malisonquill · 5 years

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Half-Raptor Rex (and Emmet)'s Biology

So to start things off, Rex is roughly half raptor. For the purposes of making things simpler, I'm gonna refer to him as being half and half, but that's probably not the case. He didn't set out to be a hybrid when he altered himself to be stronger, that was an accident, so he had no say over just how raptor-y he ended up. I would say when you take into account his looks and all his behaviour and stuff it does work out to being half human and raptor. But physically? He's definitely more human. After all, his body structure looks pretty human. He's still got a very human looking torso, head, and arms. It's just his extremities (his legs, hands, and addition of a tail) that are far more raptor looking. That's why when I draw him, those raptor-y parts fade to a darker shade of blue. So like, raptor parts = darker blue like how the raptors have, human parts = lighter blue similar in tone to what his normal human skin colour would be. (That's excluding his markings of course. They don't count in that and they're all over him.)

And whilst we're on the subject, let's first take a look at his outward appearance!

So the stripes. They start on his neck near the base of his skull, run all the way down his back/ spine, and down his tail. Then there's more stripes on his shoulders, that run down his bicep and the top of his forearm and hands, stopping at his knuckles. He's also got stripes that start at his hips and go down the sides of his thighs, all the way down to stop near his ankle/ where his trousers end. (Hmm… I should probably draw a ref for all that at some point 😏)

Then like I said before, all his extremities go to a darker blue at the ends. You can see this on most pics of him I've done.

Then of course there's his strength. He's very strong, very buff, and also very tall (I’d say he’s about 7’6” and you can see his height in comparison to Lucy in this pic). I don't constantly jokingly refer to him as "beefman" for nothing! xD Cuddlesome summed it up best in her fic:

“Dumbbells and barbells had long since stopped being a challenge for his mutated body to handle, so he’d taken to power lifting with the Rex-wing fighters. It’s the only thing that poses even a bit of a challenge to his massive arms.”

Strength was the aspect he was going for and most hoping to improve when he changed himself, so of course he’s physically very strong. To workout, he either has to lift very heavy objects or maybe use some kind of sci-fi dumbbells that can have their gravity increased (like in that one episode of Futurama). People pose no challenge for him to lift. He could easily carry both Emmet and Lucy over his shoulders, or under his arms if he wanted to and be able to keep that up for a long time. (Here’s a doodle/ wip of him doing that. Rex is a tad too big in it tho.)

He mostly uses his physical Dino strength when it comes to him master breaking. He only uses the more mystical "destroy a temple in one punch" kind of thing in rare circumstances when he's incredibly mad. Because his dino strength is enough most of the time.

But before I can talk more about physical stuff and behavioural traits, I first gotta talk about my headcanons for Rex’s/ the Lego Movie-verse raptors.

Now real velociraptors were covered in feathers and about the size of a turkey, only coming up to about the average adult human’s knee. Obviously the Lego Movie raptors are a LOT BIGGER and much more based off the Jurassic Park interpretation.

So I came up with the idea that the movie raptors are a subspecies that are a lot larger. It’s a fictional world after all, you can take liberties. Though despite me doing that, I have tried to include as much real science as I can. So for example, real raptors apparently went from hatched to fully grown in about a year. And as the movie raptors are 3/ 3 ½ times bigger than a normal raptor, I think they’d take 3-4 years to fully grow. They eat a lot in that time to grow big real quick.

As for noises they make, I think they make many different sounds. They can roar, screech, growl, chirp, hiss, all that stuff.

And for their behaviour, they obviously act like dinosaurs. So they’d do a lot of lizardy/ snakey/ crocodile-like things. But the movie has them act like dogs too, what with how they go after tennis balls and all. And personally I’ve given them some cat like aspects too xD Like with their slitted eyes going wide in fear or at something they like. So their behaviour to me is kind of a melting pot of all that.

And so of course, how does that apply to half-raptor Rex?

Well let’s start with behaviour. He has a lot of raptor instincts, and they can overpower his rational thinking when his emotions get too intense. Which is why he has a fairly good handle on controlling his feelings. Using things like meditation techniques to calm himself down is very important when you can do a lot of damage when their left unchecked. Or conversely, if the situation calls for it, he can let himself go entirely to unleash maximum destruction.

The most obvious example with his heightened emotions is anger. He gets angry, he’s gonna growl and snarl. He starts off with quiet growls when he’s only a little angry, and would react like a human would mostly. If he was fighting someone at this point, he’d be using normal things like punches and martial arts techniques. But the angrier he gets, the more he loses control and the more raptor-like he acts. So when he’s furious and out of control, he does a lot of roaring, growling, snarling and goes into raptor fighting mode. Claws and fangs and kicks with his feet are used. (Also apparently scientists think that raised claw raptors have was so it’d be constantly sharp. So… he could use that in a fight >:3).

But raptor behaviour taking over his rational human behaviour doesn’t just apply to anger. It applies to all of his emotions. Fear can make him go wide eyed and whine, or super happy makes him go into raptor puppy/kitty mode. Some days he’ll get in a sad mood and follow Lucy and/or Emmet around like a sad puppy. He mopes and whines if they leave him (for too long). He'll just want to sit near them if they want to do their own thing, or cuddle until he feels less mopey.

Raptor instincts taking over like that could help as a kind of defensive thing. Tho probably annoys Rex more than anything xD Like you know, if he's just trying to be chill and normal, but then someone throws a tennis ball and he has to REALLY restrain himself xD

Now obviously being around pretty much just the raptors for years, he picks up a lot of their behaviours and is more prone to doing them unconsciously. He’s generally more aggressive, but that’s probably more his normal Rex anger being heightened by the raptor-ness. He’s defensive of his food, he’ll hiss or growl involuntarily a lot, swish his tail at things, his pupils will change, etc.

The raptors probably taught him how to ‘properly hunt’ as well. Which thinking about it, the image of him running alongside a group of them as they teach him and chase something down is almost cute? But he himself is probably gonna only take down small things. Taking down a big animal with a group of raptors might be a bit too raptory for him to want to do. Tho he probably did it at least once to see what it was like. (Also on the note of hunting, because he’s so equipped to do it, eventually during his redemption, he becomes a bounty hunter, but more on that in another post…)

All these raptor like things that he does, he only becomes really aware of post movie, when he’s hanging around Emmet and Lucy. He realises just how much humanity he’s lost after spending time with them. It hurts. It makes him loathe what he’s done to himself even more.

But those two will help him act more human again. They can pull him up on behaviours and help him, and he’s grateful for that. Any little thing to make him feel ‘normal’ makes him feel better.

Now about some more physical stuff.

When he’s standing still, he’ll let the end of his tail rest on the floor. Unless the floor is super dirty, then he might lift it up or curl it around a leg to keep it elevated. When he’s walking he’ll lean his torso forward slightly and lift his tail up. When he’s running at full tilt, his tail is out straight behind him and he leans forward a lot. (Almost like Naruto running xD but his arms are forward.)

Diet wise, he needs more meat than a human. He’s still an omnivore, but with a lean towards the carnivorous side. So he does need a balance of foods. And he can’t last on a meat free diet. If he tried to be totally vegetarian (not that he would xD) he would get sick or malnourished in only a few weeks. He can’t live on just veggies. And conversely, he can eat raw meat, more so than a human could, but if he tried to eat nothing but raw meat in his meals, he’d make himself ill with food poisoning after a week or two. Also to keep up his muscle mass, and also just because he’s a very big guy, he needs to eat big meals. Lots of protein, that kind of thing.

So on that note of food, he’s got a lot of fangs to deal with eating meat, and if he was hunting prey, and that’s mostly at the front, but he does still have some flatter molars at the back of his mouth. Also he can open his mouth quite wide and has very strong jaw muscles for clamping down on things.

His eyes are obviously raptor/ cat-like, so he can see in the dark quite well.

His skin is rougher and feels a bit like soft scales. It’s gotta be tough you see. Means he isn’t as injured by light scratches. And the more raptor parts of him have tougher/ more scale like texture.

He isn’t cold blooded, but in some ways he is a bit? He is a lot more sluggish in cold weather. He hates being out in it, and avoids it at all costs. He’s more susceptible to the cold too and can have trouble keeping up his body temperature in cold environments. He needs to wrap up warm and can’t stay out in the snow or something for as long as a human could.

He can make all those sounds the raptors can, and speak and understand raptor fluently. Sometimes he talks like this instead of using words by mistake. He’s just so used to the raptors for company.

“How many T-Rex jokes does he have to deal with?”

Mostly the raptors joke about that to annoy him if he wants them to do something they don’t want to do. But if they piss him off too much by doing that, they quickly do as they're told. He’s like their Alpha. He’s the boss, and you don’t mess with the boss 0-0

Lucy would joke about that too. He begrudgingly lets her get away with it more than he otherwise would.

Now for some Emmet stuff!

Emmet as a half raptor is still pretty sweet, but if he gets aggravated he can snap a lot more easily and violently than he would as a human. He doesn’t have any control over his feelings/ instincts like Rex does. Rex could hold himself back if someone threw a tennis ball for him. Emmet would case after it, catch it, and not realise he’s done that till it’s in his mouth and he’s chewing on it. He does a lot of things like that involuntarily.

But for the most part, Emmet is like a giant puppy. Playful, clumsy, likes to chew on things he shouldn’t. It’s cute.

And that’s pretty much all I can think of for now!

#Roarsome Rex AU #i spent a long time on writing this ;-;#rex dangervest #tlm2 au #tlm2 #lego movie 2 #lego movie #emmet brickowski #My writing #mali speaks

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

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Thought: Half of why John is more accepting in 14x13 than most of us would expect based on his past behavior is because John kinda thinks it's a dream. The other half is because he is just a better person when Mary is around. See the "John would have hated John" posts re 5x13.

I’m gonna use this opportunity to point out a few things about the episode that I think a lot of people may have missed, because it goes a very long way toward understanding John’s reaction here:

2003 John, who from the way he showed up in the bunker, armed and apparently mid-fight... I can’t even imagine the shock of suddenly finding oneself supposedly sixteen years in the future, you know? And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

From Donna’s cabin, where Mary was before they called her back to the bunker, it would’ve been approximately a 12 hour drive. Sam and Dean had TWELVE HOURS or so to talk with John before we rejoin them in the kitchen just before Mary shows up. Because heck, they had SIXTEEN YEARS worth of stuff to catch him up on, you know?

First off, he had to be so shaken when he arrived. He might’ve been thinking he get clobbered in the fight he’d thought he was in and was this all a hallucination or a dream? Or was he actually killed, and this was heaven or something? Who even knows what he could’ve been thinking at first, but he seemed to pretty quickly accept that it was real.

This is where one of the lessons the show has been encouraging us to learn really comes in useful. That being, STUFF HAPPENS OFFSCREEN and the show has encouraged us to accept the fact that what happens offscreen actually counts. So we have to assume that in the hours upon hours they talked with John, they laid out the vast majority of stuff that’s happened in the last decade and a half.

Some of it would probably be pretty difficult to hear, like the fact John didn’t survive to get revenge on Azazel (heck, 2003 him might not even know he was legit getting CLOSE even), but that Sam and Dean DO. How difficult would it be to tell this version of John that Dean sold his soul to save Sam, that he spent 40 years in Hell and was rescued by an angel, to tell them about how angels and demons were manipulating them all for decades to start the apocalypse?

Or that Sam let himself be possessed by Lucifer to stop the apocalypse, pulling both Lucifer and Michael into a cage in Hell to save the world? Like... this is still just the tip of the iceberg here... There’s still Raphael and the second attempt at the apocalypse, Soulless!Sam, Dean’s year in the suburbs, Purgatory, Leviathans, how they’ve befriended angels and demons and monsters oh my... oh, and God. Who also wrote a series of novels about their lives that are technically one of the gospels now... all the way up to how Dean earned a gift from God’s sister, the primordial darkness herself... that Mary has been resurrected...

Plus all that stuff about time travel and alternate universes they’ve experienced.

And for John, personally, the story of how they discovered the bunker in the first place, when the father John had always thought abandoned him as a child had actually traveled into the future, saved Sam’s life, and was killed by the demon Abaddon in the process. I mean THAT RIGHT THERE had to be a horrific shocker to learn, you know?

For JOHN, that’s possibly the most life-alteringly earth-shattering thing they could’ve told him, you know? Just to have an ANSWER to that question that had plagued him since HE was four years old and his dad disappeared off the face of the earth. Not to mention learning that he should’ve been a MoL legacy himself, and that if his father hadn’t been hunted through time by a Knight of Hell, John would’ve grown up “in the life” of monsters and magic himself... Kinda an eye opener, you know?

Oh, and learning that their family was a bloodline going all the way back to Cain and Abel (yes, that Cain and Abel, and by the way Dean killed Cain that one time), and that their family was part of a much larger cosmic plot to bring on the apocalypse in the first place, and Azazel-- John’s lifelong obsession-- was only the first step in all of that and a whole bunch of worse stuff happened after.

Oh, plus, Dean killed Hitler.

They’ve met Samuel Colt, Eliot Ness, Dean was on a sub during WW2 for a day or so, and traveled back to 1973 and 1978 and met with John both times (oh, and Dean was the dude who talked John into buying the Impala when he’d intended to buy a stupid VW van).

And this is STILL only scraping the tip of the iceberg here... They talked for TWELVE. HOURS. or so...

Sam and Dean have had some shockingly full lives, you know? It’s not even a surprise to me that after all that, after seeing the evidence of his sons’ lives laid out like that for him-- the good, the bad, the cosmic and the mundane-- (GOD! HIMSELF! MADE THEM PANCAKES! RIGHT OVER THERE!) that John’s only possible reaction would be to understand just how far his children went after his death.

In the wake of learning all of that, what they went through pre-2005 is just kinda... overshadowed, you know? Almost unreal itself.

But yeah, because of all of this ^^, and then the absolute SHOCK of seeing Mary again after all this time, after spending the majority of his adult life seeking revenge and justice for her death, and the long and painful search for the truth that kinda wrecked ALL their lives, to see her again alive and happy and whole... well, heck... everything else kinda pales to that. The literal horror show he and Sam and Dean endured (even the bits that were blatantly his fault) just... they’re suddenly worth it all, just for that moment, you know?

In a weird way, in that moment John had the burden of suffering with Mary’s death lifted off of him, and he could stand there in the perspective of that more innocent John from 1978 who’d unwittingly judged his own future actions so harshly. For one night, he got to step through to the other side of all that trauma and look back on it from a point where he and his family had finally WON. Where they’d emerged from it and built a life for themselves that he might never be able to understand, but he can appreciate it.

Even in 1.21, he told Sam that his goal was to finally be able to walk away from their mission when it was done, for Sam to be able to go back to school, for Dean to have a normal life, for him to finally be able to rest thinking he’d been able to serve Justice on Mary’s behalf. John himself didn’t even plan to continue hunting out beyond killing the demon who killed Mary, you know? I’m not sure he even had considered a future at all for himself out beyond that singular life goal. Because that’s what living for revenge does to a person.

But this also offered him the fresh perspective that of course there wasn’t really an end to hunting, and that Azazel wasn’t the Final Boss they’d needed to defeat. And he’d have some small notion of just how awful the burden he’d left Sam and Dean with all those years ago-- which THIS John is still THREE YEARS AWAY FROM DUMPING ON THEM.

Ow, time travel.

Granted, the episode didn’t try to explain or defend any of this to the audience, because it should never HAVE to... Can you even imagine how much of a mess of an episode that would’ve been if they’d even tried? Because the story of this episode was being told on multiple levels:

they didn’t try to overwhelm the GA with all of this heaviness, because the GA wouldn’t even care. The GENERAL notion of Sam and Dean’s lives to this point and their emotional states in canon during s14 would be enough of an explanation (trust me that the GA doesn’t have Strong Feelings about John the way Fandom does)

this was also the big PR push episode this season, and a lot of JDM folks likely tuned in just for him while having only a tangential knowledge of SPN canon to go on... introducing 14 seasons worth of emotional turmoil for their sake is kinda... pointless...

They assumed that people in the fandom who ARE invested in these characters emotionally would actually understand all of this already without needed to be spoon-fed all of this again

Because that’s how writing works. The writers have to trust that the audience is actually engaging with the story and possesses critical thinking skills.

I think some of the disconnect here was that we each went into this episode with our own personal baggage attached, with our own feelings about how WE might personally react if we were in Sam and Dean’s positions here. And if Sam and Dean didn’t react the way we hoped they would, whether it be via expressing anger at John over how he raised them, or just yelling about any or all of the above, then it was OUR job as the Thinking Audience to ask WHY, and to consider the past fourteen years of canon in coming to a clearer understanding of Sam and Dean themselves.

I wrote something the other day (yesterday? maybe... hang on... http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/182723615495/rosewhipped22-so-i-havent-rewatched-lebanon-yet) about Dean’s wish that the pearl granted, because he HAS been thinking about his entire life-- including the baggage he’s been trying to lay down all season exemplified in his conversation with Sasha about her father in 14.05. And I think this episode nailed that aspect of Dean’s personal growth, by bringing John back the way they did and specifically NOT making it about anger or bitterness, but about finally being accepting of HIMSELF and of the entirety of his own life, setting down all the shit he can’t change while also acknowledging that he wouldn’t change any of it if it meant it wouldn’t bring him to this current point in his life. And that is HUGE. That is GROWTH and MATURITY.

Because this episode wasn’t really about John at all, but about Sam and Dean (and even Mary) finally getting to lay John’s memory to rest so they can move forward without dragging his ghost along in their wake.

#spn 300 #spn s14 spoilers #spn 14.13 #the ghost of john winchester #Anonymous

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