#tavvris

Speaking of dorky minivans, I did my research for the title of this…  get it? WINDstar? he’s a…  page… of breath?      

*cricket noises*    

it’s an actual model, and incidentally, there is a ford taurus, but it wasn’t ugly enough , haha.

I hope this doesn’t make you vomit too harshly… I don’t even know where the idea for this. — FIRST COMPLETED FIC?  WHAT? NO — came from… but oh well. The ugly baby exists and I am too much of a wuss to throw it into the river.

… I should probably stop talking now. Homestuck and its characters belong to the mighty Huss.

EDIT: wow typing that made it look even more really small and pitiful.

listen to “car radio” by 21 pilots while reading for full effect, i guess, or “a lullaby for gods”, just..ANYTHING to drown out the sound of your brain protesting the shittiness of this stuff.

i am so good at writing author’s notes like jfc i should just write these all the time

dedicated to awesome reader and fic senpai aubergineinfatuation

***

Her hair was very much alive.  

Tavros saw it with an equal amount of admiration and fear. Saw how the black mass shook when she threw her head back cackling, almost otherworldly in the orange street lights. Saw how it quivered during road bumps. dancing over her eyes (lidded and reddened by alcohol).

Ever the cautious driver, he managed to look away from her at every traffic light. The streets were deserted at 4 a.m in the morning, but one always had to take caution.

Now he stopped at the last light before the apartment. A red light now.

Vriska had tried to edge her boot into the small space that constituted the pedals while hotly breathing the refrain of some rap song—“Gas Pedal”, was it?—into his ear.

Tavros jolted. “Wh-what? Don’t —..” He had turned off the radio a while before the last “guest” had stumbled home and hoped that Vriska’s drunken advances to the tune of whatever was popular nowadays had sunk into oblivion.

“Cmoooooooon, you… shit… dweeb,” A “playful” nudge.

“Just run it! There’s nobody out… for, like, miiiiiiiiles!” She gesticulated wildly, grinning and hiccuping loudly, frequently. Her normal drawl coupled with word-slurring liquor made the demand sound like a plea.

What life was there to flash before eyes?

Her foot smashed down onto his already descending one and the last existing thing was her hair, jolting forward.

Then, the airbag popping and the splintering of the end.

***

The end of that life, anyway.

The start of a new one: Tavros was born again in the shoes (or lack thereof – with a wheelchair shoes were unnecessary, but he wore Converse anyway) of a paraplegic, dripping amniotic fluid and more awkward than before.

His parents had somehow managed to buy him the same car model, since the old one (crank-down windows, cloyingly sweet smell of Grape Faygo and indescribable one of weed, Pokémon cards strewn everywhere… yeah, that one, with the memories) had been totaled in the crash.

The new car was equipped with hand controls in place of actual pedals and was nice (not to mention clean)  but it was, as Tavros’ friend Gamzee liked to phrase it, “motherfuckin’ virginal to the HOV lane”: in other words, it had never held more than one or two people and was awfully quiet.

He never knew that he would miss the noise.

One stale, cool morning a while after the incident, that incident, that incident, that incident, the adolescent had found himself scouring the remains of the old car.

Vriska’s seat had been mostly unharmed — the other car had pummeled into the driver’s side — and there was a single thick hair weaved into the fabric.

It had taken a while to face her again after he had started attending school, and this made him dig his fingers into the seat cushion and feel the cold tears tickle his cheek and jaw.

Yes, a cry jumped in his throat over and over again, never brave enough to leap out through his lips, it just caught, made him choke, that incident, that incident, that incident, again and again and a —

stuttering, like a song on some crackly old car radio.