#Zia Rodriguez | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aut-with-tism · 3 months ago

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Zia Rodriguez is the first official member of the DPG.

She’s young. Passionate. The enquiry email she receives shows as much, with an equally impressive résumé attached. She’s quick to email back, arranging to meet in person and further discuss details.

She walks away from that meeting feeling the most hope she’s felt in a year.

Zia reminds her of Zara, in a way; eager to do what she can to help whilst all too aware of limitations preventing such. Impressionable, not malleable.

(Weeks later, when they’re blindly stumbling through her apartment, she’ll be reminded of Zara, again. Breathless kisses and burning shame. If she whimpers the wrong name as she comes apart, clawing at the sheets, Zia doesn’t correct her. She never does.)

But then there’s the lingering touches - a hand on her thigh, in her hair. There's watching her when she thinks she’s not looking, followed by shameless grins when she’s caught in the act. Or cocky retorts to make her smile. Catching her eyes to be met with caring concern. Silent questions and unspoken answers.

Those remind her of Owen.

It’s just her and Zia, the first couple months. Which probably should disappoint her, but doesn’t.

(Not when she wakes to a head between her thighs and the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Not when low hums of praise and tentative but precise fingers help chase the nightmares away.)

Those first few months are theirs and theirs alone.

It works out best, that way. By the time her inbox slowly fills up with interest, everything’s in its right place. Their following soon grows, as does their team.

It doesn’t surprise her when the vast majority happen to be past employees and interns at Jurassic World, but it still feels like a punch to the gut. It sends her reeling; doubled over, eyes burning.

They lost their jobs - and those who didn’t lost their lives - all because of her. Her. And yet, they still want to help.

They’re better people than she’ll ever be. But she can try.

She is trying.

Come summer’s end, their website is up and running and they have steady followings across multiple social media accounts. She finds herself obsessing over numbers and statistics once more, escaping through work. But by no means is it the park. There’s no control room - no control. No ‘Miss Dearing’ or ‘Ma’am’. Just Claire. Claire and her team.

It’s beautiful.

She and Zia have built this beautiful thing together from nothing and she couldn’t be more proud. And yet, she has the sudden urge to flee. To run and watch from the sidelines in fear she’ll ruin it.

Maybe she will. After all, that’s what she does best, is it not? Maybe it’s some twisted tale of misfortune. Her warped destiny.

She explains such, one night. All these worries and insecurities that plague her. How she was born damned and has spent every day of her pathetic life sealing that fate. And all she can do is watch. Observe.

It gave her life meaning, once. Looking down from above and watching everyone go about their lives as though they were something - someone - in the world.

But she knows better, now. Knows better than to believe she could belong.

Somewhere between passing the bottle of Jack Daniel’s between them and her (drunkenly - it wouldn’t have happened, otherwise) pouring her heart out, Zia leans in to kiss her. Slowly. Carefully.

Lovingly.

And then it’s not just the whiskey burning a trail up from her stomach to her chest.

Then the fullness within is resultant of more than alcohol and Chinese takeout, alone.

She just told Zia she doesn’t belong. But, right now, it feels as though maybe, just maybe, she could. And that scares her. Terrifies her, even.

It’s all too new. Too sudden. Unexpected and unexplainable; strange.

The word ‘love’ comes to mind once more and she thinks about Zia, about Owen, about Zara. The look in their eyes, all too familiar and yet oh so foreign. She wants it. God, she wants it so badly but she can’t.

She’s quick to scramble up off the couch, tripping over herself until she’s hunched over the toilet bowl. Heaving up dinner and spitting out the shame burning her skin.

This is wrong. It’s unnatural.

Her father made sure she knew that when she was twelve and he caught her kissing the pastor’s niece behind the shed at church camp. How he hit her to the ground and didn’t stop until she thought she thought she’d end up six feet under it. How he refused to look her in the eyes until she was ‘fixed’ weeks later.

(She was damned in more ways than one, when it happened. When the same thing that seemingly fixed her in his eyes left her broken in hers.)

A sob escapes her lips. She lets it.

Eventually, cool fingers brush through damp curls, lifting them up off her neck and out of her face. Someone hushes her until sobs turn to whimpers turn to shallow breaths. Gentle reassurances whispered in her ear, gentler hands rubbing circles on her back. A comfort undeserved.

Her first coherent thought is Owen. But it’s not him. It’s not Owen and it’s not Zara and she knows she’s screwed. Knows it’s too late. She’s too far gone to be saved.

So, she leaves.

It’s become a routine of its own, in a way; love them and leave them.

(Leaving’s the easy part.)

Some things never change. Or, rather, she never changes - she doesn’t think she knows how to.

But she always comes crawling back. Too scared of change, of being alone, of having nothing in this world and no place in it, either. It’s inadvertently selfish of her, but she has bigger sins.

Zia doesn’t - wouldn’t - understand. She can’t. Not when she promises she’s fine not being loved by her if it means she’ll love herself, but Zia doesn’t get that she doesn’t know how to do either.

All she knows is she’s tired and she doesn’t want to be alone anymore. She doesn’t have to be.

So long as she gets better. So long as she can do better and be better.

It’s an unspoken ultimatum she gave herself the night she tore apart her living room in the midst of a breakdown. The night Zia had to pick the lock to her apartment because she’d called her to say sorry and ended up saying goodbye. The night she drank until she stopped recognising herself and saw her dad, instead.

She stops drinking that night.

Her first fumbling step in the right direction. It shouldn’t feel like an achievement and it doesn’t, not really, but she can’t help the way she feels it bubble up inside when Zia says how proud she is.

She shows it, too. Pushing her back onto the bed with a tender force that makes her head spin. Leaving her melting under every touch and with every kiss.

For something so wrong, it couldn’t feel more right.

She packs in smoking as well, eventually. Six weeks away from the second anniversary; two weeks after Zach’s eighteenth birthday.

Karen had made a comment about how much better she looked, before asking if she and Owen were back together. As if the man’s absence wasn’t answer enough. All she could do was shake her head in response. It felt like a trap. Be shamed for her joy, or be shamed for her seeming lack thereof. Whichever’s worse, she supposes.

It didn’t mean anything, but it stuck with her. Like all minor things in her life, building up until they became something more in her mind that she just couldn’t let go.

It stuck with her when she went back home.

It stuck with her when she’d look in the mirror and notice the lessened bags under her eyes and the roundness returning to her face once more.

It stuck with her when she did all she could to avoid Zia without making it obvious that’s what she was doing.

Which wasn’t fair - god, she knows how wrong it was - but it seemed less wrong to throw herself fully into her work when reports of volcanic activity from Mount Sibo hit the news.

For the first time in nearly two years, dinosaurs stopped being monsters and went back to animals, instead.

There’s fundraising events. Peaceful protests. Social media tags. The DPG blows up to the point it’s no longer suitable to continue working from home, anymore. So, she uses her severance pay to rent an office space in the city.

Let something good come out of the bad, Zia reminds her. But for something good, there’s more bad. It never seems to end.

(And it reminds her of the park, now. Sweet-talking potential investors and sponsors. Long days, longer nights. Always busy but never quite enough to shut her brain off.

By the February time, she feels like she’s back where she started.

For every step forwards, there’s three steps back.

One step back is to Jurassic World. One step back to control room Claire. One step back to the pitiful child that nobody can save. Born damned; damned to die that way, too.

One night she leaves work and finds herself at a dive bar downtown. Shot of tequila sat in front of her, head in her hands - she must look pathetic. Dry drowning her sorrows in a vain attempt to hold back the memories of teeth, blood, screams that have crept up on her, again. She thinks she’s hallucinating when she sees Owen. But the look on his face when he sits down beside her is something she can’t make up. It must mirror her own.

“You finally found a diet that allows tequila?”

She slides the shot glass across to him, watching as he throws it back and shudders at the taste. He faces her with a curiosity she can’t comprehend, tilting his head like one of his raptors.

“What do you say we get the hell out of here?”

And so, they do. He takes her hand and leads her through the crowd until they’re outside. Even then, he doesn’t let go.

How they got to his van, she doesn’t remember. All she can recall is pushing him up against the door and kissing him until her lungs burned and her chest ached. Whimpering into his mouth as he pulled her impossibly closer. Crying out his name and clawing at his back.

He falls asleep with his arms wrapped tight around her and she tries not to cry as the shame of it all hits her.

She’s gone from leading on one person to sleeping with another and it’s not fair on either person. They’ve given her their all and this is how she returns the favour? By cheating them both?

Trembling hands peel away Owen’s arms and search for her clothes in the dark. A routine she’s done before.

She doesn’t cry until she’s outside and the weight of her guilt crushes her.

She doesn’t stop crying until she falls asleep in her car.

When she wakes up cold and aching, it feels like a righteous punishment. The least she deserves after it all. Phone dead, head pounding, she drives to the office and refuses to acknowledge anyone all day. Just…stays at her desk until everyone’s gone home for the night. Well, almost everyone.

“What happened?” Zia asks, sitting on top of her desk. She flinches. It’s not accusatory, just too much kindness for her to handle. Too much concern. “Claire?”

She doesn’t respond.

“Claire, talk to me.”

Still, nothing.

It takes too long for Zia to sigh and leave. It takes even longer for her to whisper an apology as she watches her walk away. Not that it matters; it could never be enough. She could never be enough.

#hear the harmony only when it’s harming me #claire dearing #owen grady #clawen #clawen fanfic #fanfic #jurassic world #my dearest claire #angst #hurt/comfort #jurassic world fanfic #zia rodriguez

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riordanness · 5 months ago

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okay so every single (okay some) pjo character and their opinion on taylor swift bc that’s all i think about:

percy jackson: isn’t the biggest swiftie in the world but adores her music if it’s on. he owns at least two copies of the 1989 cd and his fav song to blast while skateboarding is welcome to new york ofc.

annabeth chase: absolutely loves taylor, probably really resonated with her lyrics and storytelling style tbh. her favourite albums are definitely 1989 (the beach-y california vibe yk), lover, and midnights and folklore and evermore and fearless and reputation and speak now. (what can i say—she’s a swiftie)

grover underwood: he’s a music guy. ofc he likes taylor swift. probably only knows like four songs total, and they’re all from like debut and fearless but hey. that’s something.

piper mclean: you can’t tell me she doesn’t ADORE reputation. and probably fearless too actually. definitely has some kind of merch (a signed cd??) in her room back home.

hazel levesque: obviously didn’t know anything about her but once introduced, loves folklore and evermore and the tortured poets department. soft and soothing songs are defo her thing.

leo valdez: old mate probably listens to all too well every day tbh. he doesn’t love her and definitely isn’t a swiftie, but red (especially the vault tracks and the songs written for hunger games) are always welcome.

jason grace: my boy knows nothing. nothing. but you bet he finds out about her eventually and doesn’t really have an opinion either way. he neither hates or loves or dislikes or likes. it’s just music to him.

frank zhang: probably likes debut. but probably also never really thought about her or knew much about her music bc of his grandmother and stuff yk.

nico di angelo: to anyone’s face: absolutely not. but secretly? oh yeah. he would totally listen to folklore and shit are you kidding me?? he’s such a swiftie.

reyna avila ramirez-arellano: yes and no. a couple songs in her playlist but not like. that much. she doesn’t really mind her and doesn’t really love her either.

luke castellan: he’s lowkey a hater. probably listens to kanye just to spite swifties and writes those hate comments on all her fanpages and shit yk.

thalia grace: she likes about half of the reputation songs and a couple of ttpd too. (especially look what you made me do). but she’s more into older music like green day (iykyk hehe)

silena beauregard: UH. YES. lover girl in the flesh. she is totally the camp’s biggest swiftie and is the one who got annabeth into her. she’d defo have merch and posters and have memorised everything.

clarisse la rue: silena made her do it. that’s what she’d tell you,and it’s true!! but she has a secret soft spot for a good taylor swift song.

chris rodriguez: knows about her through clarisse, doesn’t really give a damn about her.

charles beckendorf: BIGGEST SWIFTIE EVER headcanon okok. owns merch. posters. go to her tours. the whole shibing shabong iykyk

apollo/lester papadopoulos: duh. he’s the god of music bro. i think he would appreciate the literal music industry herself

meg mccaffery: no way. she’s a professional hater for the pure fun of it, has probably never heard a single song other than shake it off, and comments ‘kanye better’ on all her fan accounts

carter kane: tbh he would appreciate her lyricism a lot, but doesn’t strike me as someone who listens to that much music in general?? also he wouldn’t really know a lot of normal pop culture stuff necessarily, so…

sadie kane: she likes her. she likes everything. she’s a pop girlie fs, so reputation/midnights are her BANGER albums. she would definitely have some taylor swift on her ipod playlist, but she’d be more into avril lavigne, lady gaga, olivia rodrigo and stuff like that.

zia rashid: who’s taylor swift?

magnus chase: the only canon swiftie magnus you have my heart. he’s also a basic white girl, thank you very much. he literally (IN CANON BTW) recognises ‘blank space’ and ‘i know places’ and identifies them as taylor swift. so. yeah. he’s a swiftie fs

coach hedge: lol nope. he’d have the worst music taste of all time. NEVER give him the aux

sally jackson: she would LOVEEE evermore and speak now and debut, fight me. she’s also just the perfect person ever so ofc she loves taylor swift

paul blofis: would defo vibe to it imo, but would never put any songs in his playlist tho cause he’s boring ok maybe he would for sally’s sake. and estelle’s

#just so you know i’m the argo 2 so i know all this personally #source: trust me bro #percy jackson #pjo #walker scobell #percy jackson and the olympians #perseus jackson #taylor swift #annabeth chase #taylor swift and pjo #book percy #swiftie #percy jackson as taylor swift #pjo swifties #percy jackson x taylor swift #pjo headcanons #taylor swift eras

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