Chapter Text
For the record, she knew it was wrong to think about someone without their knowledge in the manner in which she was doing. She, of all people, knew that expressing love was extremely important; one of the thousands of routines in the Heaslip home involved showing feelings to one another, and shying away from the truth was heavily frowned upon. But with who it was, admitting love was completely out of the question. Though calling the feelings she had for WordGirl 'love' was really pushing it.
Great. She thought of her name. Violet never subscribed to thought crime as a viable offense, but it still frightened her how stuck like glue she was to someone so powerful and popular. Someone so blissfully unaware. It not only made her look guilty, but pathetic. Partly due to that reason, she absolutely refused to pen any of the thoughts she ever had about WordGirl, despite an extreme want to do just that. She couldn't possibly capture her abstract thoughts into coherent pieces, and it would require an actual acknowledgement of her feelings. She couldn't let that happen.
Granted, it was not unheard of for someone to have a crush on WordGirl. Practically every day, she'd swoop in and save the day, smiling for the cameras and leaving behind images in either black and white or color of her foreign good looks. And, with her being well-known in such a small city, every citizen actually had a chance at encountering her.
Violet would give everyone that: WordGirl was beautiful. She really was ethereal, not only externally, but internally; her charm and witty banter were the definition of the word, even if she'd beg to differ. There was a reason Tobey kept on bringing out his robots to terrorize the city, and why someone as factual as Scoops wouldn't ever deny her being cute. That's not even mentioning the various comments about WordGirl Violet would overhear in the halls, ranging from somewhat wholesome to slap-across-the-face-worthy.
Everyone loved WordGirl wrong. They would focus on the 'girl' instead of the 'word', overlooking the nuances of her person. Any fault of hers was criticized; they'd turn on her the second she messed up, even a little. They made themselves the victim of betrayal, and whenever she'd ask for forgiveness, they'd give it to her because they were already lower than her. They'd reset to whatever was comfortable. They never learned, never could accept who she was.
But Violet could. Any imperfection was perfection, and she could actually see WordGirl entirely as she was. Any other image of WordGirl was wrong, as it only allowed flawed expectations. Anything new she learned about WordGirl in the future would never sway her against the heroine. As an artist, Violet was well trained in seeing the nuances in every shade of gray, even in black-and-white thinking. Grays that matched the pencil tip inches away from the sketchpad slightly above her lap.
Poetry of WordGirl wasn't allowed, but drawings were; it was much more impersonal and innocent. A myriad of adjectives (that weren't just 'beautiful') manifested in the pencil strokes she'd make, making the prettiest poems she was allowed to create on each page of her sketchbook.
WordGirl's smile was easy to spot, but how many people knew that it was because she was playful and loved to laugh? It made her look proud, and she had every right to feel that way because she really was incredible. It signified intelligence and strength, qualities of hers missed by so-called fans. How many people knew her eye color? The untrained eye would call them brown, but Violet knew they had much more of a vibrant terracotta color, almost glowing unnaturally like her own personal source of light. Anybody would have been a deer in headlights when staring into them. They did a good job of distracting from her thousands of freckles, but not good enough, because Violet could map each constellation they made up. It was a reminder, more than anything, that she was quite literally out of this world. In their own way, they too lit up WordGirl's face.
Graphite didn't cut it, but it did its job well enough. Pausing after adding another curl falling from under WordGirl's helmet, Violet tapped the eraser on her cheek and held up her sketchpad. The smile on the page in front of her was more wicked than confident. The forceful smudging in the iris was haphazard. The freckles were verging on cartoonish. What was in front of her was undeniably beautiful, one of her best, in all honesty, but it still wasn't perfection itself. Nothing could ever upstage perfection.
"What are you drawing, Vi?"
Thankfully not yelping, Violet was awakened by Becky's sudden question, almost fumbling with her sketchpad before intentionally tucking it under her arm. Being at a bench table in the cafeteria, Violet's only other option would have been setting it down on her lap, but either Scoops or Becky could easily lean over and get a good look. With them starting to sit down, they would have been at a perfect angle to steal a glance, too.
"O-oh, just one of my assignments." She quickly uncovered her sketchpad and closed it shut.
"What of?" Scoops asked. Of course he'd press for more details.
Violet couldn't find herself able to look at either of them. "A still life."
If there was one thing that she appreciated about her struggles with socializing, it was that liars often sounded nervous, but quiet and anxious people did too. Nothing about her quickness to respond was out of the ordinary. Any shy person would be embarrassed by whatever they were drawing.
"Wow," Becky laughed for a second, "that really is a mainstay in any art class, huh?"
Violet was the only one of the three of them taking any kind of visual arts class. A fact that didn't surprise her, since she'd seen what Scoops and Becky had made over the years of knowing them. Why bother elaborating or correcting them if they couldn't know anything about her classes?
"The greatest importance is on the basics."
"I second that," Scoops pointed at her, dropping his hand after a second to unpack his lunch. "You should always know the rules so you can break them."
Becky let her hand support her slightly angled head. "See, that's the thing: why change what works? Don't get me wrong, I love the things you guys make, but I can't wrap my head around intentionally going against strict guidelines."
Again, another reason why Becky didn't quite belong in any artistic class. She was very good at writing and knew plenty of words, sure, but everything Violet had ever seen from her read like an essay trying to get a perfect grade. Poetry was something she had never seen Becky write, perhaps because she would focus too much on the word choice and rhymes rather than the emotion the piece is trying to convey.
"Maybe you should immerse yourself in our worlds." Scoops smiled.
"Oh, please," Becky rolled her eyes playfully, "Like I'm not already stressed out with what I'm actually enrolled in."
Violet set her sketchpad on the table and opened her lunchbox. "Who said you'd have to be in one of our classes? Writing or painting is a hobby for plenty of people."
"You've forgotten, Vi, that AP classes don't exactly leave room for hobbies."
Scoops drank from his water bottle and cleared his throat. "Well, I betcha even WordGirl has time to doodle something now and then."
Violet tensed up at that. Where did that come from?! Why did it open up a door she never knew existed in her mind, one that wondered if WordGirl ever drew any of the villains she faced? Perhaps some of the people she's rescued? Violet had been rescued by her…
"Is that your attempt at a segue, Scoops?" Becky raised an eyebrow.
"As much as you saying 'AP classes' was an attempt to boast."
Violet couldn't help but giggle at that, and Becky couldn't help but smile as she rolled her eyes, rotating her wrist to show that she wanted him to continue.
But Violet didn't want him to. If she wanted to hear what Scoops had to say about WordGirl, she would just read the newspaper. She couldn't hear his voice that way. Possessiveness over WordGirl was not the right way to put it, but it was hard for her to listen to what everyone else had to say about their heroine. Her own thoughts about WordGirl were already enough to deal with.
As her mind reminded her seconds ago, it was a fact that Violet had been rescued multiple times before by her. A relationship, though small, actually did exist between them; WordGirl even knew Violet's name! Other than the villains, who else had that luxury? False hope was given to people in the form of secret hideout tours and entire days with the hero duo, but none of it was genuine. WordGirl, of her own volition, singled out Violet more than once. Actions spoke louder than words in promotions.
No rational reason existed for why Violet was racing over to the copy shop, though she could attempt to make one. Perhaps her printer had run out of ink, and she just needed to print more pictures in color for a collage. Maybe she needed access to a copy machine and only realized after she left school. The real reason was much more foolish: she saw that Lady Redundant Woman was fighting WordGirl there.
She couldn't even defend herself by claiming it was happenstance; she was intentionally monitoring the news on her phone during a creative workshop downtown. Not enough thanks could be given to the only person in Fair City who would constantly rehire Beatrice Bixby, because the copy shop was around a half mile away from where Violet was.
It was very likely that a lot of citizens would flee the scene, and that's certainly what Violet saw with each block she advanced closer, but Violet really was nothing like them. Rushing into things was her quirk, a trait that manifested in trying to stop or distract villains. Not even she knew with full certainty why she was doing this. All she knew was that she wanted to see WordGirl.
Approaching the copy shop, the windows were covered by posters advertising products with smiling workers holding them, and so Violet couldn't glance inside until she was right in front of the glass doors. Nobody was clearly inside, not even WordGirl and Lady Redundant Woman, with the closest bodies to her being a news crew preparing to go live. The coast was clear, and Violet let the automatic doors open for her.
What she couldn't see, she could hear, as there was churning of copies and something akin to a wet glob dropping on the ground. Turning towards the windows, Violet spotted a dark indigo splat plastered alongside the posters, which likely explained the sounds she heard. Ducking under a cash register stand, she tried to assess the rest of the shop.
Items were scattered across the floor, but everything else looked fairly normal. If the aisles were knocked over, there would probably be a chance that she could spot them, but heels racing across the vinyl tiling, growing louder and louder, gave her a decent understanding of where the action was. She didn't see where they started, but she felt sure that she could place what colored tile Lady Redundant Woman had to be on.
Leaning her head forward ever so slightly, she finally saw what she came for: WordGirl. To her surprise, other people who strangely looked familiar were inside the shop, running towards her heroine. That's when she realized the extent of her situation.
It could have been an attempt to get WordGirl to rescue her. But there were so many other people here that Violet would just be another face out in the crowd. They all hadn't been trapped, either, so there was a chance that WordGirl had the situation under control.
Dejectedly, Violet stood up and tried to sneak back out of the shop, only to feel her feet stuck to the ground. Turning to the right, she saw the cause: the people were shooting ink at her.
Having a good view of the posters in the windows, the reason why she recognized the people made more sense: they were on there, holding various products. Lady Redundant Woman must have been copying the posters.
Though she was situated on the ground, Violet was still in a bad position due to one of her feet being raised a little above the floor. Both feet were surrounded by ink, but she still felt unbalanced, waving her arms around to try and adjust. The worst part, without a doubt, was that she was completely out in the open.
Since she was facing the door, she couldn't see all the action behind her, but she did hear clumps of paper whipping around, likely coming from destroyed copies.
"Huggy," her heroine's voice called out, "you go left, I'll go right!"
Even more paper fell to the ground. Violet was pretty sure she heard Lady Redundant Woman growl. Globs of what she now knew was ink came close to the front door, almost nicking her shoulder. Unfamiliar whines came out, likely the poster copies, and Huggy chirped.
If Violet came here for the action, she was really missing out. But at least her mind was attempting to fill in the gaps, picturing what smug face WordGirl was making after taking out copy after copy. Even the smell of ink reminded her of all the mediums she had at her house, capable of creating whatever she wanted. It made her want to print out hundreds of pictures to paste into her junk journal, maybe throwing in some of the ink on her shoes for good measure.
Resuming her internal image of the scene, she simultaneously heard something being sprayed out, papers falling, and a grunt of effort from WordGirl. After a short pause, Lady Redundant Woman began to scream.
"MY EYES! MY NOSE!"
No more mechanical whirring was heard, and the whoosh of a super-fast body seemed to race around something. Once Violet could see WordGirl's body hovering towards the door, she saw Lady Redundant Woman in the heroine's arms, her face covered with ink. Once the doors opened, a crowd erupted in cheers with police lights being barely made out with how bright it was outside.
Violet wished she could see what they saw. But at least she had a view no one else had.
Something snappy and undeniably WordGirl was said, which Violet couldn't quite hear as the automatic doors closed, but they quickly reopened when WordGirl zoomed back inside. Due to the awkward position Violet was in, WordGirl had to lift her off of the ground so that she wouldn't fall forward. Her center of gravity was off, though, and so WordGirl held onto her back and tucked Violet's legs over her free arm before they would collide and fall over. The position was not uncommon for WordGirl holding onto people, but Violet was fairly certain she had never been held this way before. Her cheeks transitioned into a pink hue, like how watercolors blended into each other.
From this angle, she had a view of WordGirl that she had never seen before. It was futile to determine the best angle to look at her face, but Violet could have easily ranked this as one of the best she's ever had the opportunity to see. When WordGirl's pupils met hers, it shot up even higher in ranking.
"You okay, Violet? Are your legs asleep?"
She almost didn't want to respond, if it meant she'd have even a second more of being held and stared at. Her mouth also didn't want to cooperate with her, but it did try to form words. The syllables that came out were quiet, but the actual words were fairly loud.
"Yeah, I'm okay! No sleepy legs here!" A smile she could only imagine as huge was what her mouth allowed next, practically wanting to relax after speeding through her words.
Violet had cringed at how awkward she acted around WordGirl in the past, even when she didn't have a crush, but 'sleepy legs' had to be one of her worst moments. Surprisingly, though, WordGirl seemed to appreciate it, her eyes closing and her full lips trying to form a tight smile (but failing wonderfully).
"I'm just glad your entire body wasn't…" WordGirl started but trailed off as she opened her eyes and glanced down at Violet's body.
Not quite understanding why, Violet figured it out once she saw a few splats of wet ink dotting her near-white overalls. Nothing about that was too weird; Violet had already used fabric paint to decorate the pant legs, and a few stains of various materials from different occasions were embedded into the fabric, but WordGirl seemed upset.
"Shoot, you should probably clean that up!" If WordGirl's arms weren't preoccupied with supporting Violet, she'd probably facepalm, if her head dropping signified anything. "Want me to give you a lift home?"
"Really? You don't need to talk to the reporters or anything?" Violet questioned, in what she hoped didn't come across as pure elation.
WordGirl shook her head. "I can always come back for that." She brought her head close to Violet's. "I take stains pretty seriously as someone who's been trapped in condiments for years."
Violet laughed loudly at that, but it was certainly more restrained and typical than uncomfortable. WordGirl also laughed a little, creating the prettiest sound Violet would usually only hear on TV. To be in the actual presence of such a sound was an honor.
"Well then, lead the way, WordGirl!"
She started to hover towards the doors, but stopped herself suddenly.
"Oh! Uh- I don't know where you live! So, where would that be?"
Right. Violet had gotten so distracted in the warmth she felt all over, both from her own body and WordGirl's own hands, that she failed to consider that fact. If she wasn't already blushing, she would've been out of embarrassment.
"Oh," Violet unintentionally mimicked WordGirl, "It's a little out of town to the south. You can't miss it!"
WordGirl nodded and shot out of the copy shop, flying high above the citizens standing just outside, trying to catch even a glimpse of her. But only Violet was able to do that. WordGirl was the hero to her damsel in distress. The crisp air whipping around her helped cool her off, but it did not remove the warmth from hands holding onto her tightly. Be it as it may that she was hundreds of feet off the ground, she never felt safer.
"That's gotta be it," WordGirl noted aloud, likely spotting the eclectic exterior pieces Violet and her mom had made over the years. Though anyone could have seen it, Violet didn't think any of them could have spotted it at the distance WordGirl was at.
They rapidly descended and stopped just inches above the native shortgrass. It was probably so Violet could stand up easier without needing to bend her knees, but she attributed it to WordGirl having a soft spot for nature. Whether it was because of nature or not, Violet didn't dare try to move her legs.
"Hopefully fighting those stains doesn't take as long as me fighting someone." WordGirl winked, and Violet could tell she was waiting for her to get out of her arms. Violet was nowhere near satisfied with what they'd had so far.
"Thanks, WordGirl."
They were looking at each other, slowly rocking gently up and down with no other movement besides that. WordGirl began to drop her arms naturally, tilting them so Violet's body was at an angle with her feet closer to the ground. Violet's brain stopped thinking.
This was as close as they had ever been, both in terms of touch and height. Further cementing her superiority, WordGirl was very tall, even without factoring in her boot heels. Violet, on the other hand, was pretty short. Not much distance was between their heads at the moment.
Saying thanks wasn't enough for everything WordGirl does daily, either for the city itself or the individual citizens. Violet really wanted to show how much she appreciated her hero. Leaning forward, she watched as her hero's face came closer and closer, seeing only skin before her eyes closed and her lips made contact with a warm cheek. That was exactly when her brain restarted and brought her back to reality.
Quickly moving her head away, Violet, for once in her life, couldn't look at WordGirl and scrambled out of her arms. Thankfully, she wasn't too far away from her house's front door.
"Well!" Violet started walking backwards, not looking anywhere other than the ground below her. "Uhm- you should get going! All those reporters aren't going to answer their own questions!" She nearly laughed maniacally as her foot bumped into the porch edge. Turning her body around, she started to get louder since she was no longer facing WordGirl. "Haveagoodrestofyourday, okaybye!"
Clumsily messing with the doorknob, she was eventually able to open the door and quickly slammed it shut behind her. If WordGirl had shot back towards the city, she wouldn't have known, since her breathing became heavy and loud. Letting her body hit the front door, she slid down onto it until she curled up on the floor.
No art piece or poem could describe what was swirling in her head, and that terrified her.