In Which: you’re still groggy from anesthesia when you arrive home after getting your wisdom teeth out
“Alright, watch your-” your dad barely catches you as you sway, dangerously close to faceplanting on the floor. “Jesus, don’t do that.”
“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes squinting as you try to get the room to stop spinning. “Floor’s wavy. ‘S like the beach.”
You gasp, turning quickly and nearly hitting your arm off the wall. You look at Hal, pulling out your puppy eyes—though in your current state it looks more like you’re holding back tears. “Can we go to the beach?”
“You can’t even walk a straight line yet, kiddo. It’s not like the beach is gonna go anywhere.”
You sniffle, your face conveying all the despair of a little girl being told she can’t have a horse. “You hate me,” you accuse, pointing your finger at him—though you could just be pointing at the wall, you’ve been seeing two of everything since you woke from the anesthesia.
Your father pinches the bridge of his nose, one hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. “Bug. I spent all day yesterday turning food into mush for you. I am not taking you to the beach for you to get a face full of sand ten seconds after we get there.”
“…did you make mashed potatoes?” You ask, reaching out to him.
Hal sighs, scooping you up and carrying you over to the couch. “Yes, I made mashed potatoes.”
“I like mashed potatoes,” you murmur, leaning your forehead against his cheek.
“I know.” He sets you down gently, rearranging the pillows to better support you and grabs the throw blanket from the end of the couch, covering you so you're nice and cozy.
“I’ll go get you some,” he says, smoothing a hand over your hair. “You just stay here.” He plants a kiss to the top of your head, making sure you're settled before disappearing into the kitchen.
ft. connor hawke + jordan!reader ; you and connor take a road trip, just like your fathers used to, except you don't fight crime and, for sure, your dad didn't kiss green arrow like you do
content. fem!reader, road trip fic, fluff, friends to something in between
bunny thoughts. he is so underrated that it physically hurts me
"No."
"C'mon Connor, it'll be fun!"
Your travel partner, in the passenger seat, searches for something through the various cassette tapes in the glove compartment. "You said that last time," He smiles despite the scolding, "and we almost ended up in Mexico."
"See? It was memorable!" You watch him out of the corner of your eye, blonde strands falling over his face like golden cascades — something that, surely, was common on some planet beyond the Milky Way. You don't let the thought linger for long, though; your gaze returning to the dirt road.
"Memorably questionable," Connor retorts, finally grabbing one cassette among so many others, but just like the rest it's old, worn, scratches scattered across the once-white surface. "Amanda, '86." He reads aloud, fingers inspecting the tape carefully.
You gasp, "I love that one!"
One last glance and you notice his lips curve upward, pearly teeth come into sight. "You love anything that came after the 70s." And there he goes, removing the last cassette that was playing and replacing it with the new one in his hand.
"You came after the 70s."
"And you love me." It doesn't sound like teasing; Connor wasn't like that. It was just another absolute certainty shared between you.
Despite a car or two passing by, your uncle's pickup truck remained solitary on the long road — a rocky slope on one side, a vast field on the other, old music vibrating from the built-in tape player; blue above like the ones you remember of Coast City's beaches, no clouds in sight.
"Yeah," You agree without realizing it, face, for a moment, turned toward him, the road forgotten as your eyes meet, "I do." It's whispered, mingled with the melody of the song in the background.
Connor averts his gaze to the tape player, smile still dancing in his mouth. "What did we agree on?"
The grunt that escapes your lips hurts, scratching your throat exaggeratedly. "No kisses while I'm driving…" you grumble, the spell broken right before your eyes. "… not even a little one?" It's an attempt you're willing to risk.
And before you can turn, that final gesture to have his lips against yours, you feel them — on your cheek, wet, brief on your skin. A sigh you wish to prolong as much as the hours spent on this road.
Yet, it's gone as quickly as it came, him back in his seat, lashes resting on his cheeks. "Satisfied?" Not as much as he apparently is.
"It'll do." And, finally, your eyes return, for good this time, to beyond the windshield, to the mountains in the distance, to the eternal emptiness at the end of the road. "So, Las Vegas then?"
In Which: your cloud watching getting interrupted means you get to enjoy a cozy night in with your boyfriend.
Warnings: fluff (mostly), tiny bit of angst, 1 allusion to sex, undressing but not in the sexy way, jordan!reader’s got a little bit of self-deprecation going on, I think that’s it, I only edited half of this because I ended up adding to it and ran out of time
Word Count: 1.3k
You were standing on the roof of your apartment building, craning your neck as you looked up at the sky. Your eyes flitted down to the book in your hands and back up to the clouds. You squinted, one hand moving to block the sun when a pair of sunglasses appeared in front of your face.
“Need these?”
You nearly jump at the voice, whipping around to face the unexpected presence.
Conner smiles sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, unfolding the arms of the sunglasses and holding them up to your face, carefully sliding them on. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine,” you say, though the way your heart’s racing in your chest says otherwise. “What brings you by?”
“Passing through.” He shrugs, a conspiratorial grin gracing his lips. “Thought I’d stop by and see you.”
“Did you now?”
“Yep.” His gaze flits from you to your book. “What’re you doing up here, anyway?”
“Classifying clouds.”
He hums, taking your book from you, scanning the pages. He looks skyward, eyes landing on a particularly fluffy cloud. “Bunny rabbit,” he says, pointing at it. His eyes land on another cloud. “Top hat.”
“Cumulus and cumulonimbus,” You correct with a laugh, reaching out to take your book back.
He hands it to you, fingers barely brushing your palm. “And that means?”
“Rain,” you shrug, hugging your book to your chest. “Turbulence. Bad for takeoff.” A beat. “Might not want to fly away for a while,” you add, a coy smile tugging at your lips.
“Guess I’ll just have to find something to do then.”
You pause in the hallway outside your door, key poised above the lock. Your neighbour from two-doors-down walks by, doing a double take at the two of you before disappearing into their apartment.
“This’ll be fun to explain later,” you say as you resume unlocking your door. “It’s not everyday my neighbours see Superboy walk into my apartment.”
Kon snickers, following you inside. “You don’t talk to your neighbours.”
“That’s not true,” you protest, shrugging off your jacket and hanging it up. “I talk to Mrs. Perira.” You take off his sunglasses, placing them on the kitchen counter.
“The nice old lady that brings you muffins and has a crush on your dad?”
“Yeah, the one that makes-” you freeze, arm hovering mid-reach into your kitchen cupboard. “She does not have a crush on my dad! She’s married!”
“And has a crush on your dad,” he hums, moving behind you to grab the bag of chips stashed at the back of the shelf.
“Nope. She’s just a nice old lady who definitely does not have a crush on my dad,” you protest, grabbing a bowl and setting it on the counter.
“Wasn’t she the one that called you pretty and then told your dad ‘I see she takes after you’?”
“She was being nice!” You counter, grabbing a can of pop from the fridge. You pause, staring vacantly at a point behind the carrots and celery. “…does she have a crush on my dad?”
Kon appears at your side, bowl of chips in hand. “Yep.” He plants a kiss on your cheek, stealing the can of pop from your hand and leaving the kitchen.
“…no….” You murmur, a small frown on your face as you reach for another pop.
You close the fridge and walk to your room in a daze, though you’re easily broken out of it when you see Kon starfished across your bed, his jacket and boots still on.
“Kon, get off my bed with your suit!”
“Wow. Usually you’re trying to get me in here,” he quips, though he gets up anyway.
You let out a little huff, moving to your dresser. “Yeah, but I don’t know where your suit’s been, or what you flew through on your way here.”
“Flock of pigeons.”
“Very funny,” you say, pulling a pair of sweats and the shirt you’d stolen from him out of your dresser drawer, along with some comfier clothes for you to change into.
You toss the shirt and sweatpants at him; he catches them with ease, slipping off his jacket and haphazardly tossing it on the back of your desk chair. Your room is relatively quiet as the two of you change; though you swear you heard Conner murmur “hot” under his breath when you changed your shirt.
Your eyes fall to your floor, to the crumpled costume and sideways boots occupying the space between your bed and the wall. You look pointedly at Kon, who sheepishly smiles, picking up his suit and draping it over your desk chair next to his jacket, tucking his boots beneath your desk.
You pick up your laptop and set it on your bed, crawling underneath the covers as Kon flops next to you, lazily draping his arm across your waist.
“We watching Wendy?”
“Only if we watch Jumanji after.”
Kon huffs dramatically. “Deal,” he agrees, pulling you closer.
Your phone buzzes on your nightstand, pulling your attention away from Robin Williams being chased by a stampede of rhinos. You grab it, checking your notifications to see a message from Jess. You stare at it for a while before putting it down again, shifting closer to Conner and picking up your takeout container, poking at your food with your fork.
“Everything okay?” He asks, using his TTK to discard the empty containers and return the now half-empty bowl of chips to his lap.
“Yeah. It’s just Jess.”
He hums, tossing a handful of chips in his mouth, a couple chips missing their mark and landing on your comforter. “You didn’t answer her.”
Your nose scrunches as you gaze at the unwanted residents on your bed. “If you get crumbs in here I’m kicking you out.”
“Rude,” he says, though the small smile on his face tells you he knows you don’t mean it.
“Sorry.” You poke at your food again, staring into the bottom of the container. “…I don’t know how to talk to them sometimes.”
“Jess?”
“Jess. Simon, Kyle.” You shrug. “My dad. All of them.”
Kon shifts, leaning back to look at you. He’s silent, knowing if you have more to say, you’ll keep talking.
You watch your screen as the monsoon floods the house, the scene feeling much like a visual representation of your current feelings; your words bubble up in your throat till you spit them out.
“We’re just… different. They’re some of the ‘greatest people in the universe’” you say, a somewhat sarcastic lilt to your voice. “I’m just me.”
Conner frowns at that, taking your hand and squeezing it. “I like you.”
“Even though I can’t fly?”
“Means I get to hold you more.”
You smile at that, laying your forehead on his shoulder and squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, raising it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your hand. You fall asleep like that, leaning into his side, his hand in yours.
You wake up feeling crushed—literally. Sometime in the night Kon decided your body would serve better as a pillow, his head resting on your chest, trapping you under the weight of his body.
“Kon,” you huff, weakly pushing against his shoulders. “Y’re crushing me.”
“‘M comfy,” he murmurs, though his hold on you loosens a bit.
“You’re heavy,” you pout, trying to wiggle free of his grip.
“Muscular,” he corrects.
He lifts his head, squinting down at you. You feel his lips press against yours, the kiss a bit clumsy due to your half-awake state, but sweet nonetheless. His arms tighten around you and roll the both of you over.
“Better?” He asks, blinking blearily up at you now.
“Mhm,” you hum, planting a kiss on his cheek and falling into the lull of slumber once again. “Better. Love you,”
“Love you more,” he murmurs back, holding you close.
a/n: this was supposed to get posted monday but I added more to it because it felt short. Also hello to the 50 people who follow me and anyone else reading this, I hope you’re all having a great day🫶🏻 Also also: I’m getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow so I might be quiet for a while (lowkey scared but I’m bringing my good luck bear keychain and tiny Hal figurine for emotional support so I will power through)
dividers by @cursed-carmine and @toxisyddy | photos from pinterest
In Which: your old insecurities resurface when you struggle to follow a hair tutorial. Your dad steps in to help.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, mention of past self-harm (hitting self), overly criticizing appearance. Hair length isn’t specified but is mentioned to be long enough to style and put in a ponytail, hal calls reader “bug” (like a lightning bug… cause he glows) kiddo and baby girl, hal jordan the #1 dad-who-is-trying, barry allen cameo + roy & lian harper mention.
Word Count: 1070
You stared at your reflection in the mirror, watching as your hair fell out of the style you were attempting for the third time. The longer you looked, the more noticeable the flyaways and uneven parting became, the bigger the bumps in your ponytail seemed.
The ding of a notification pulled your eyes back down to your dresser, your phone propped up against your jewellery box. You watched as it disappeared, eyes focusing on the influencer occupying your screen. Her hair—which is what inspired you to do this in the first place—was perfect.
Her smile was perfect. Her face was perfect.
Everything about her was just so perfect.
It filled you with something—feelings you were too overwhelmed to name. All you knew at the moment was that you hated your hair.
Your hand reached up, yanking your hair out of the ponytail. The elastic pulled at your scalp, hairs getting tangled in it. Your scalp stung and tears of frustration sprung to your eyes.
You grabbed your brush, pulling it through your hair, a little whimper leaving you as you harshly tugged it through the knots at the ends. You kept brushing, well past the amount you needed too. Every pass of the brush through your hair became harsher, the growing ache of your scalp both adding to and dulling your frustration.
You blinked through the tears, vision clearing just enough to see what you were about to do in the mirror’s reflection. Your hand faltered, the brush just inches from your head. An unintelligible sound left you as you threw your brush, the loud crack as it hit your wall shocking you into awareness.
You snuffled as you looked back at your reflection, the feel of snot trying to escape your nose making you cringe. Your eyes—full of brightness when you’d started this—were now staring back at you in disappointment and shame, the skin around them puffy and wet with tears.
You felt like you were in middle school all over again, your friends telling you that all girls knew how to do their hair; that if they didn’t, ‘no boy would want to date them’ because ‘boys only like girls who are girly and proper’.
It was such a stupid thing, and you knew it wasn’t true, but the words still stuck in your mind. Your younger self was still in there too, the little girl that used to hit her head with her hands and hairbrush when her ponytail was crooked or she missed a hair strand while braiding.
You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts you don’t hear the knock on your door; barely noticing it open till you catch sight of your dad entering through your mirror.
“Hey, bug! You ready to-?” It’s then that Hal notices your state, brows furrowing with worry. He crosses the room in seconds, appearing at your side with the tissue box he grabbed from your nightstand.
He offers it to you, his free hand coming to rub your back as you wipe away your tears.
“What’s going on, kiddo?” He asks, his voice soft as his eyes roam your face.
“I don’t wanna go.” You sniffle, balling up a tear-stained tissue in your hand. “My hair’s ugly. ‘M ugly.”
He frowns, brows pinching together as he sweeps an arm over your dresser, moving all your hair supplies to one side. “Nope. Not doing that.” He gently turns you to face him and lifts you up, sitting you on top of the dresser.
“Talk to me. Everybody wants to see you, so if we’re not going we’re gonna need to give Spooky and the others a good excuse.”
You wipe at your eyes, swallowing the bile in your throat, your voice hoarse. “You’re not gonna go?”
“Don’t need to.” He shrugs. “I see ‘em all the time. They’re sick of me by now.”
You sniff and he hands you another tissue, waiting for you to blow your nose.
“So,” he says, tapping your forehead with his index finger. “What’s going on up there?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug, throwing your wad of tissues in the garbage pail. “It’s stupid. My hair’s stupid.”
You reach for your phone, tapping at the screen for a moment before showing it to him. “I was trying to do this,” you say, the influencer’s instructions pouring out from your speaker. “But it’s not working. My hair’s stupid,” You repeat.
“Your hair’s not stupid. It’s not listening.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No it’s not. You don’t listen to me all the time and you’re not stupid.”
“I guess.” You mutter. “It still didn’t work though.”
He glances back down at your phone screen, the video starting its fourth loop. “You want your hair like that?”
“I did, but it didn’t work. I just said that.”
“Let me try then.”
You blink at him. “It’s stupid hard to do though.”
“So?” Hal questions. “I’m Green Lantern, baby girl. I can do anything.” His eyes go back to your phone, watching the influencer style her hair. “Gonna need more coffee first, though.”
You hum, glancing at the time on your phone with a frown. “We’ll be late.”
“They’ll just have to deal with it. Besides, I guarantee we’ll beat Barry there.”
“…okay.”
“Great! Get out all the” he gestures vaguely to the mass of products and hair ties next to you. “Hair stuff and I’ll go get my coffee.”
It became very apparent very quickly that your dad had even less of an idea of what he was doing with your hair than you did.
But, somehow, he’d managed to get it looking okay—close enough to the tutorial that it looked right when you compared the two.
You hadn’t been that late after all, and people had been happy to see you, which helped lift your mood.
You were agonizing over pop choices when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning you saw your dad pointing towards the door, where you spotted your uncle Barry walking in.
You wave and he waves back, walking over to you and your dad. Before he reaches you, though, you’re being tackled into a hug by Lian while she tells you something about going camping and then she’s pulling you over to Roy.
Hal and Barry watch you go, the latter turning to the brunette beside him. “Uh, Hal, why did you tell me I have to be extra late, again?”
A/N: first fic who cheered!! Thank you again to @froggibus for proofreading for me 🫶🏻
dividers from dollywons & toxisyddy | photos from pinterest
headcanons for hal jordan being your dad! | requested <3
Dad!Hal who gets emotionally invested in the movies you’re watching
It started when you were little, camped out in front of the tv on a cold and rainy day in the midst of a Barbie movie marathon. He was just bringing you some chicken soup, and suddenly he was on the couch beside you asking why the elephant’s talking and the logistics of being raised by wild animals
Dad!Hal who uses the ring to keep you out of trouble and entertained
When you were little, it was mostly giant green hands and baby gates to stop you from climbing things and getting into cupboards. As you got bigger the constructs turned into more fun stuff: a rocking horse, airplanes, spaceships, trains, trampolines, slides, etc
Dad!Hal who mastered the art of horizontal parenting in your toddler years
One tired dad + a white t-shirt & markers x one energetic child = using your dad’s back as a colouring book while he naps on the floor
Dad!Hal who taught you to speak your mind and to take no nonsense from anyone
This, of course, backfires when you call him out on his crap; but at least he doesn’t have to worry about it now, if you’ll do it to him you’ll do it to anybody
Dad!Hal who’s always bragging about you and your accomplishments
“Check it out, Bar! Guess who got another ‘A’!”
Dad!Hal who can’t make it to every event because of lanterning, but always makes sure to be at the important ones, along with the ones you tell him to be there for
Tries his best to arrange for someone to go to events in his place (Barry, Ollie, Dinah, John, Roy, and Kyle are often reoccurring figures)
Dad!Hal who, upon agreeing to rearrange your room for the nth time, makes you promise that you’ll be leaving it the way it is for at least six months
He finds himself standing in the middle of your bedroom four months later, staring at the graph paper in his hand and wondering how you talked him into doing this again. Oh well, at least the ring makes it easier.
Dad!Hal who leaves passive aggressive notes in your lunch
Dad!Hal who tells you child-friendly versions of his space adventures as bedtime stories
Dad!Hal who, when you’re old enough to stay on your own instead of with your aunt and uncle, makes sure someone checks in on you at least once a week when he’s on long space trips
Dad!Hal who took you flying all the time when you were growing up, both in planes and with constructs
Dad!Hal who took you camping and would stargaze with you, pointing out the constellations to you and quizzing you on them later
Dad!Hal who always makes sure your favourite snacks are in the house
Dad!Hal who is chronically offline and constantly asking what and who you’re talking about
Dad!Hal who doesn’t always know what’s going on but tries his best <3
a/n: chronically offline girl dad hal jordan you occupy my thoughts at the most inopportune times. Why am I thinking about you making grilled cheese in the middle of my history test
divider by @sisterlucifergraphics | photos from pinterest
Pairing(s): platonic!kyle rayner x jordan!reader; brief dad!hal jordan x daughter!reader
In Which: Kyle tries to stop you from texting your ex. Chaos ensues.
Info: no warnings (if you think i should add one lmk <3). i chose the first name that popped into my head (noah) for the ex. the fic actually has nothing to do with sunsets i just titled it after the lyrics to an audrey hobert song. unedited. might be ooc. requested. 856 words.
Walking into your apartment, you’re slightly bothered but ultimately unsurprised to see Kyle in your living room, busying himself with sorting the multitude of coloured pencils you’ve collected over the years.
“Hey Kyle,” you say, putting down the bag of groceries on the kitchen table. “Is my dad back too?”
“Yeah, he’s having a nap.” Kyle abandons the pencil crayons in favour of joining you in the kitchen, wanting to see what else you brought besides the cans of soup you were putting away. “He got thrown into a wall—he’s fine though! Just a concussion.” He adds the second part quickly, not wanting to cause you undue concern.
You nod, glancing at your father’s closed bedroom door before shifting your gaze back to the man rummaging through the grocery bag. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hm?”
“Why are you always here?”
He smiles. “Because you have a delightful personality and I enjoy spending time with you.” A beat. “Plus, you buy the brand name foods,” he says, producing a box of cereal from the bag.
“Figures,” You snort.
You’re sitting on the couch, half-empty cereal bowl in your lap as you turn up the volume on the TV to block out the sound of Kyle’s obnoxious chewing.
Your phone dings from its place on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name. With the way you lunge for it and place your bowl haphazardly on the table, Kyle can tell that you don’t want him to see; though he stays silent, choosing to mind his business.
That is, until he sees you repeatedly type and erase your message.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, Noah just texted me,” you say, somewhat perplexed.
“Noah as in the guy that ghosted you? That Noah?”
“He did just apologize for that,”
Kyle stares at you. “You’re not texting him back.”
“I mean, I have to say something, he can see that I read it,”
“Give me your phone.”
“No.”
“Just let me read the message and I promise I’ll hand it right back,”
“No. It’s a private matter and you don’t need to—hey!” You cry as a glowing green hand takes your phone from you. “Give that back!”
“In a minu—he told you he loved you and then ghosted you???”
“Kyle, give it!”
Kyle stands from the couch, pushing you over when you try to follow him. “He didn’t even use the right ‘your’. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you are feelings’.”
Desperate times call for desperate measures. So, you jump off the edge of the couch and onto his back, clinging like a koala with one hand as he stumbles, trying to grab your phone with the other.
“Holy—Get off of my back!”
“Give me back my phone!”
“I am not letting you text this loser—jeez! Would you quit moving?”
Hal opens his bedroom door, rubbing his hand over his face as he exits his room, your quarrelling waking him from his much needed rest.
It takes a minute for the two of you to realize he’s there, too immersed in the game of keep-away you’re unwillingly playing. You’re about to reach your phone when Kyle freezes; your balance falters and you nearly tumble over his shoulder before he shifts, making sure you don’t fall.
“What’s—?” You start, trailing off as you follow Kyle’s gaze. “Oh, hi dad. You feeling better?” You ask, smiling as sweetly as you can.
Hal says nothing, just silently gestures at the two of you, his silent question of why made very clear with the force behind the action.
“Kyle stole my phone!”
“She was texting her ex!”
Hal pinches the bridge of his nose, his head pounding. “You,” he says, looking over at Kyle. “Put her down and give her back her phone.”
Kyle lets go of you and you awkwardly drop off his back, taken your phone from him with a triumphant grin.
Your celebration is short lived, though, when your father starts speaking again.
“And you. Don’t do that. And both of you, quit yelling.”
You glance at Kyle out of the corner of your eye, and you can tell by the look on his face he’s thinking the same thing, too.
“I don’t know dad. I don’t really think you can say that. I mean, you and Carol literally just got back together.”
“It’s hypocritical, man,” Kyle agrees.
Hal, his headache worsening by the minute, stares exasperatedly at the ceiling. “Go outside, both of you. I don’t care where you go, I don’t care how long you’re gone for. An hour, two, doesn’t matter. Go argue somewhere else,”
You and Kyle look at each other, then back at your father who’s staring pointedly at the two of you.
Kyle grabs your arm, pulling you towards the entryway. “O-kay, we’re going. See you!”
You turn around when your apartment door closes behind you, pointing at it like it personally offended you. “Did my dad just kick us out?”
“We did sort of leave voluntarily, but basically, yeah,”
“Huh.” You stand in silence for a minute before turning back to Kyle. “Wanna go get ice cream or something?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
a/n: when i was little i could not stand the sound of my brother eating cereal. Top 10 worst sounds ever
dividers by @sweetestpeacreates and @cursed-carmine
i have a feeling you got everything you wanted
and you’re not wasting time stuck here like me
Pairing: dad!hal jordan x daughter!reader
Contains: angst. mention of hal’s death and coast city’s destruction. grieving; memories turning into nightmares; survivor’s guilt, crying. kyle rayner cameo. 1,145 words.
“And that one there?”
Your eyes find the group of stars your father’s pointing to. “That’s easy. It’s the big dipper,”
He nods. “What about that one? It’s got the big dipper in it.”
You narrow your eyes as you think. “Umm… the polar bear? The big one.” A beat. “I can’t remember the fancy name,” you say sheepishly.
“That’s okay. You got it right.”
The wind picks up then and Hal sees you shiver. Shrugging off his jacket, he drapes it over your shoulders. The fabric engulfs you, makes you feel small; but its warmth is like a hug, keeping you safe and chasing away the chill from the breeze.
“Are the stars backwards in space?” You ask with a yawn, leaning your head against his shoulder as you pull the jacket tighter around you.
“Backwards?”
“Like how signs are on the opposite side of the road when you drive back to where you came from,”
“I’ve never thought about it. I’ll have to look next time.” He nudges you, a small chuckle leaving him at your annoyed huff. “It’s way past your bedtime, y’know.”
“Uncle Ollie says bedtimes only exist to ‘prepare children for a life trapped in a capitalist society’, or somethin’ like that. He’s got a lotta big ideas,”
Hal stands, offering you a hand and helping you up. “You could say that.”
“I’ve got a lot of big ideas too,” you say, taking your father’s hand as the two of you head back towards the truck. “I’m gonna invent something really cool, and everyone’s gonna love it so much that they buy it, and I’ll have a whole lotta money. Maybe I’ll even have more money than Mr. Batman! And then I’ll buy us a really nice house somewhere. I like living near the beach, but I think I’d wanna live in the mountains. You can’t really land a plane in the mountains though—oh, and I’m gonna buy you a plane—so I think it would be nice if we live somewhere near the mountains, maybe close to a forest like the one we go camping in too. I like it there,”
He smiles at that. “You’d buy me a plane?”
“Yep! And I’d get a horse for me. I’d rather have a pegasus, ‘cause they can fly, but I haven’t seen any, so they might not live around here.” You pause, turning to look at him. “Do you think there’s pegasi where Miss Wonder Woman’s from?”
“I’m not sure, kiddo. I don’t think she’s ever talked about any.”
“Could you ask her next time you see her?”
“Maybe, if she’s not busy.”
You’re about to respond when you stumble, your father steadying you before you hit the ground.
“You okay, bug?”
You look down, seeing your laces undone. “Yeah, I just gotta tie my shoe.” You let go of his hand, bending down to tie the laces into an uneven bow when the world morphs around you, leaving you confused.
“Dad?” When you look up, your father’s no longer standing next to you and his truck is gone too. You feel your stomach drop, worry settling into your chest as you hurriedly look around, trying to find your father. “Daddy?”
The ground rumbles beneath your feet; shifting unevenly for a moment before it just… disappears, revealing a void underneath. Your father’s jacket slips from your shoulders and into the depths, your screams swallowed by the endless nothingness growing closer.
You’re falling, and this time there’s no one there to catch you.
You wake in a cold sweat, your body halfway off your couch. You push yourself up and stand, making your way to the window rather clumsily, your brain still reeling from your nightmare. You hear the buzz of traffic coming from the street below, but your attention is fixed on the flickering green flames in the distance.
Before you know it you’re moving again, grabbing your keys and heading out the door. It’s like your body’s on autopilot; you climb into your car, turn the key and drive away. You don’t really care where you go; the farther away you get from your apartment, the more you forget your nightmare.
You fiddle with the radio dial, pausing when you find a talk show. Something to fill the silence.
It works, for a little while. Only until they introduce a guest, some doctor who discovered a new treatment for something. The scientific drivel quiets to a buzz; you can feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest as your brain goes into overtime.
You think about the girl who lived down the street from you, the one you used to play at the park with. She wanted to be a doctor; wanted to help cure people, make their lives better. She could’ve helped so many people. She would’ve done something.
There were so many people who would’ve done something.
You weren’t doing anything.
It wasn’t fair.
A small voice in your head tells you that you should stop; that you should turn around and call someone. You brush the thought away as quickly as it comes. The only people you really wanted to talk to were dead, and the others… Well, they couldn’t look at you for more than five minutes without pity or some shade of anger crossing their face.
You’re free of your fugue state by the time you stop the car, staring out the window at where you ended up. You open the door, dirt crunching under your feet as you step out. You weave through the trees, plants brushing against your legs as you make your way to the center of the grounds.
Your breath catches at the sight of the emerald statue of your father and you stumble over to it, sinking down in front of the hedge.
It was fitting, for you to end up here, really. After all, a part of you never left.
There’s a streak of green across the night sky; you watch as it stops for a moment before descending, nearing you.
You close your eyes, and for a moment you pretend everything’s alright; that your dad’s coming home with another rock for your collection and a handful of stories to tell.
Your reverie’s broken by a voice, the tone soft and careful.
“Hey,” Kyle hovers for a moment before landing and powering down his ring, leaving him in his civvies as he hesitantly sits next to you.
“Hi.”
Your eyes are on the stars; Kyle’s are on you. He frowns when you shiver, slipping off his jacket.
Your eyes drop to your body, to the jacket draped over your shoulders—the wrong colour, the wrong material, the wrong scent. It’s enough to bring about the thing you’ve been trying to avoid all week; emotions you’ve pushed down bubbling up and spilling over, tears flooding your eyes.
None of this was fair.
a/n: cried my way through writing this lol (i went through an entire box of tissues </3) anyways. happy hal day <3
In Which: being sick makes you a little dramatic | requested
CW: reader has a fever, 1 mention of tequila
a/n: my fellow canadians know the absolute horror that is buckley’s cough medicine
There were many things Hal Jordan expected to see when he came home, none of which were you curled up on the kitchen floor complete with blanket and pillow. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, torn between checking on you and letting you sleep before his parental instincts get the better of him.
He frowns as he crouches down next to you, attention shifting from your clammy, pallor skin to the slight tremble of your form.
“Hey,” Hal says, gently nudging your shoulder. “Hey, bug. Time to wake up.”
The movement stirs you from your sleep, and you blink, sweat stinging your eyes.
Hal reaches out again, brushing the damp strands of hair from your forehead. “You good, kiddo?”
“Feel yucky,” you whine, shifting to lay your arm on a colder part of the floor. “Nearing my end…”
“Are you now?”
“Yeah,”
The sound of soft footsteps and cupboard doors being open and shut echo through the kitchen, nearly lulling you to sleep before you’re being shaken awake again.
You peel your eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of your father sitting on the floor beside you. “…Tell Helen and Keli they can have my stuffed animals,” you murmur.
“Okay, you’re not dying. Drink this.”
A tiny cup appears in front of you and you groan, turning to bury your face in your pillow. “I don’t wannaaaa.”
“If you do, I'll make you pancakes tomorrow.”
You peek an eye open. “…Mickey Mouse pancakes?”
“Sure. Now, drink.” He says again, handing you the cup.
You stare at it warily, internally hyping yourself up. You lift the medicine cup, a small noise of defeat leaving you as you hurriedly drink it down.
“Yech!” you shudder, scowling at the taste. “‘S worse than tequila,”
Hal looks at you, half amused, half concerned. “How would you know that?”
“…I imagine it would.” You cough awkwardly, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand and frowning at the dampness.
You shift, blanket and all, and roll along the floor like a lethargic caterpillar to the other side of your father, who simply stares at you in exasperation as you settle with your head resting against his leg.
“Comfortable?”
“Uh-huh.” You murmur, drowsiness returning from the cough syrup taking hold.
“If you start drooling,” he says, moving your hair out of your face, “you’re going back on the floor.”
“Mean.” A small, cheeky smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you linger on the edge of conciousness. “I’ll sneeze instead.”
a/n: trying out a new layout for my shorter fics/blurbs. What do we think?
