wordswehavesaidworld:

Ok, so this is a birthday fic nearly two whole weeks late for my dear friend Steff aka the awesome @empty-puppet! Happy birthday, and sorry for the lateness!

“Hey Joe?” Barry pokes his head into the living room late one evening after Iris has retired to her room for the night and he’s taken up his customary chair with a beer and the television playing softly in the background.

“Yeah, Bear?” He responds without really looking up.

“Do we…own a football?”

That gets him to raise his head, fixing the kid with a bemused stare. “Why? You need it for a project or something?”

“No,” Barry says, pulling a face as he shakes his head. He comes down off the steps to stand in the main room. “I wanted to practice. You know, for tryouts.”

He thinks his eyebrows might just disappear into his receding hairline. “You wanna try out. For football?” A laugh - just a giggle, really - slips out of him and soon he’s shaking in the chair trying to contain his laughter.

“I’m serious!” Barry says with all the righteous indignation of a sixteen year-old.

“Ok, ok,” Joe says, calming himself down. He knows it’s not right to laugh at his kid over this. Still, he has to ask, “Why do you want to try out for football Barry? You like science more than you like sports.”

“I still like sports,” Barry defends. “I watch games with you.” Those games are usually baseball, his personal favorite, but Joe still nods giving him the point. “And you always say we should get involved in as many different activities as we can so we have a lot of interests,” the teenager continues. “Iris likes football.”

“Yeah, well Iris only likes football so much cause that Dylan Johnson kid’s center-fielder,” he remarks, and watches how Barry’s face falls. He sighs heavily. “You really serious about trying out, Bear?”

Barry nods, determined.

“Alright. Think I’ve got a ball in the garage,” he says, then pushes himself up from the chair. “Let’s go.”

“You’re gonna help me practice?” Barry looks surprised, and a little pleased, by the idea, some pink rising to his cheeks. He’s like this most every time he feels that Joe is going out of his way for him - and he wishes the kid would understand nothing is ever going to be out of Joe’s way for him, not for his son.

Still now, he looks Barry up and down. Growth spurts have put Barry close to his height, but he’s no where near as broad. A good gust of wind could blow him away, Grandma Esther’s taken to saying each time she visits.

“Trust me, you’re gonna need my help.” And a good miracle, he can’t stop himself from thinking.

—

(I will probably expand on this for you later, but I wanted to get this out to you now since it’s nearly two weeks late. Apologies and lots of love!)

hxstoria:

Jacob does Evie’s braids. All of them. Like he knows how to do the fishtail, the crown-like one she uses, a simple braid, waterfall, ladder, the French, the Dutch, the twist, etc..

Like he is in charge of that. And they always talk about their mission objectives while they are doing that.

Or when they were kids, both protected each other. Evie cuts her hair short like Jacobs when she is little and wears his little man clothes. Then make the other kids tell them which twin are they.

He tells one of his Rooks to dress up as the slutty prostitute instead of Evie because she felt uncomfortable.

THEY SLEEP WITH STUFFED ANIMALS.

wordswehavesaidworld:

Fandom: The Flash

Characters: Joe West, Barry Allen, Iris West

Rating: General

Word Count: 1724

Summary: The first summer Barry spends at the West home doesn’t get off to a great start.

It’s been nearly a year since Joe West became not just a single parent, but a foster parent as well. One long, turbulent year that he that’s tested this odd little family’s mettle time and again, and for once he’s glad for summer vacation. He needs a break. His kids need a break. He’s put in a request with the Captain for some time off next month and maybe they can all just get out of Central City for a much needed vacation. Iris always begs him to take her to the beach and he can’t imagine Barry will say no to that. Barry’s even worse than him at saying no to anything Iris wants.

Which probably explains how his little girl weasels her way into hosting a slumber party the first night that school’s over. It’s her and about four of the neighborhood girls, at least by the noise they’re making. Joe’s doing his best to stay out of it, filling out some reports at the kitchen table while waiting for the pizza to get here. Barry’s nowhere to be seen; these are exclusively Iris’ friends, it seems.

Iris is still helpfully by his elbow when the pizza guy rings the doorbell, and he doesn’t even get to touch the boxes as she whisks them back to the living room. Sharing a grimace with the delivery man, he just takes out his wallet.

“Eww!” He hears from one of the girls after he’s shut the door. “What’s on this one?”

“Oh, that’s Barry’s pizza,” answers Iris matter-of-factly. “He always gets weird toppings.”

“Not weird, baby, just different,” he chides, having entered the room. “I’ll take that one, girls.”

Iris is the one to pass it over, and she seems to have realized her mistake. “Sorry, dad.”

“That’s ok.”

But once he’s turned the corner for the stairs, his ears pick up a different voice. “He is weird.”

“Is he actually here?”

“Well sure,” says Iris. “He lives here.”

“I don’t know how you stand it, Iris,” comments the first girl. “I wouldn’t want Barry Allen staying in my house. He’s the biggest loser in our grade!”

“The school,” insists another. “Tony Woodward’s always making him cry.”

“Tony Woodward’s a big bully!” Iris practically flares up in defense of her best friend, and Joe’s fiercely proud of that. He’s torn, wanting to head right back in there and say a few things about respectfulness in other peoples’ homes, yet knowing in his heart that fighting this for his kids might just make things worse.

“But Barry Allen’s dad’s a murderer, my mom says so,” one girl reminds in a hushed tone that almost carries more. “She wasn’t gonna let me come tonight cause she doesn’t want me around him.”

And that right there is where it’s crossed a line. He turns—but a sound on the second floor makes him stop dead in his tracks. The sound of a door snapping shut. Oh his poor kid.

Recognizing what’s far more important right now, Joe heads up the stairs, stopping outside Barry’s room. He knocks lightly. “Barry, open up.”

“No.” It sounds muffled, and he thinks from more than just the inch or so of wood serving as a barrier.

“I got pizza.”

“Don’t want any.”

“Really? Cause it’s pepperoni, olives, and jalapeños. Your favorite,” he coaxes.

“No it’s not,” he hears after a beat of silence. “Those are weird toppings.”

“Different,” he corrects again.

“Same thing.”

Joe heaves a sigh. “Barry, I’m not letting you go to bed hungry.” He’d learned after a couple bed-without-supper punishments for those initial attempts to run away—and thank God those have stopped—the poor kid’s nightmares would be even worse.

And maybe the boy realizes that he also can’t seem to go to bed without Joe, because after a moment he hears footsteps shuffle to the door. It opens barely a centimeter, but he can still see the kid’s reddened cheeks and the wet sheen to his eyes.

“I’m not crying,” Barry insists, though his voice cracks on the last word.

“Oh Bear,” Joe breathes. “Come here.” He’s let into the room and spares only a second to set the pizza box on the desk before wrapping his son up in a hug. He pretends not to notice the tears leaking into his shirtfront, instead focusing on rubbing circles in Barry’s back and telling him, “You know you shouldn’t listen to those girls, right? They’re only saying those things cause of what they’ve heard.”

“Y-yeah, from everybody else, Joe,” Barry replies, shoulders shaking badly. “Everybody’s like that at- at school, about my dad, about me—I h-hate it!” The continued chatter and giggles rising up the stairs tells him that no one else can hear Barry’s outburst, and he’s especially glad for that when his kid states, “I don’t wanna go back next year.”

Joe knows he’s got to do some fast damage control. So he pulls back a little—something tugging tight at his heartstrings when Barry tries to follow—to look him in the eye. “You, not want to go to school? You love school, Barry, you love learning. And Iris would be pretty lonely without you there, wouldn’t she?”

Barry considers that, but then frowns stubbornly. “She’s got other friends.”

“Well who’s her best friend, hm? Think we both know the answer to that.” Barry doesn’t say anything back, but his shoulders lift out of their slump slightly. “Don’t listen to those other kids, Bear. And don’t you let them take away the things you love, either, doesn’t matter how different they are.” He goes down on a knee to meet the kid eye to eye and takes a firm hold of his shoulders. “Cause it’s the differences that make you you, Barry. And that’s what we love about you.”

He’s nearly knocked onto his back with the force of Barry flinging his skinny little arms around him in a hug, but Joe holds on tight, remembering the days not too long ago when this kid would squirm out of his embrace or outright refuse any physical comfort. He’s grateful that they’ve reached this point where Barry knows he can turn to him.

By the time he gets the boy calmed down the pizza’s half cold, but they eat it anyway and he considers it a victory that he gets Barry to eat three whole pieces. Joe lets him skip brushing his teeth, considering the miserable looks he keeps shooting at the door whenever the sleepover gets loud enough to be heard. And despite the occasional sniffle into his pillow, Barry’s quick to fall asleep that night, though Joe lingers in his chair by the bed a little while after, combing a hand through his kid’s hair and wondering not for the first time—or the last—why the world was determined to be so cruel to someone so innocent, so bright.

As usual, he doesn’t have an answer, so with a sigh he finally rises and leaves the room, crossing to the staircase. “Lights out, girls. Bedtime.”

A chorus of oks followed by giggles meet him, and he resolves to check on them again in fifteen minutes. He also resolves to never host one of these wretched things again.

But Iris, perhaps in way of apology, declares the next night that she and Barry are having their own sleepover in her room, and the two look like they’re having so much fun he completely suspends their bedtime for once. Joe prays that’ll be the end of all the drama in this house until at least the next school year, and looks forward again to a quieter summer.

He’s unaware how quiet it may turn out to be until Barry approaches him one afternoon with a science magazine clutched in his hands, one of those publications that ought to be several read levels above him. “Hey Joe?”

“Yeah, Bear?”

“There’s an ad in my magazine for a summer camp. You get to study real reptiles in their natural habitats and learn all about them. It sounds really cool.”

“Reptile camp, huh? Alright, let me see.” He hadn’t really pegged Barry before as a snakes and bugs kind of boy, but it’s not all that surprising. The kid seemingly has an interest in everything science. Perusing the ad, he can’t help a low whistle when he gets to the price listed.

“I can do more chores. For allowance.” Barry’s been watching him intently and clearly knows just what he’s looking at. “I’ll mow Mrs. Isley’s lawn—I’ll mow everybody’s lawn!”

Joe sets down the magazine. “Barry, why do you want to go to reptile camp so bad?”

“Because, it’s for kids who love science and learning,” Barry recites, and a quick glance at the ad tells him where he got it from. “I like those things. You said so.”

“I did,” he acknowledges.

“And there’ll be other kids there who love science. They’ll be different just like me,” Barry continues that train of logic, a hopeful light in his eyes.

“Well, not just like you, Barry,” he tries gently to correct, not quite liking where that’s going. “That’s the point.”

“I know,” the kid agrees, a bit too quickly. “So can I go?”

Joe sighs. He knows it must be hard for Barry at school with both his past and his preference for academics over sports making him stand out, and not in good ways. A chance to get away from all that and be around more like-minded kids might be good for him.

So he rips the form out of the magazine and says, “Alright. Go get my checkbook.” Barry’s a bit longer than he should be, though the reason behind that is evident when he returns both with Joe’s checkbook and his piggybank.

“I know I have at least fifty dollars in here,” Barry informs him, pushing it across the table at him.

Joe pushes it right back. “Yeah? Well that’s fifty dollars you’re going to keep.”

Barry’s eyes go wide and a little pink rises in his cheeks. “Thanks, Joe,” he practically squeaks.

“I don’t need thanks, I just need you to have a good time at this thing,” he dismisses. “You really want to go to reptile camp?”

“I really wanna go to reptile camp.”

“Then ok.” He writes the check.