#i need to practice writing gina so i can include her in more things

[bevioletskies]

if you’re ever in my arms again

summary: Out of everything Ryunosuke expected to do as a defense attorney, traveling to a distant crime scene via overnight train wasn’t one of them. Sharing a bed with Kazuma on the way there wasn’t exactly what he’d anticipated, either.

word count: 4.4k | read on ao3

a/n: For @asoryuu-week​​, day two of seven (prompt: “only one bed”). This fic takes place post-Resolve; mild spoiler warning for Adventures and Resolve, where events may be alluded to but not described in detail. All names and honorifics are taken from the official localization, with the exception of Sherlock and Iris. Warning for brief mentions of blood.

Fic title is from the song If You’re Ever In My Arms Again by Peabo Bryson.

“Oi! ‘Oddo, are you even listenin’ to me, or is your ‘ead still up in them clouds?”

Ryunosuke ducked before Gina could thrust an accusatory finger in his direction - or simply just shove Toby in his face, something he wasn’t looking forward to happening again anytime soon despite the inherent adorableness of the little pup. “Sorry, what is it? What did I miss?”

“We’ve finally got our tickets, see,” Gina said, holding them up triumphantly, though she didn’t seem too happy about it. “But the Yard’s gone and made a bloomin’ mistake. They only booked us two beds, and last I checked, there was four of us!”

“...what,” Ryunosuke said, flatter this time.

Susato shot Ryunosuke an apologetic smile from where she was stood by their luggage, cradling Toby in her arms. “I’m afraid Gina is right, Mr Naruhodo. It seems our trip to Scotland will not be as comfortable as we’d hoped.” Her head bowed, somewhat disappointed. “I was very much looking forward to traveling in a sleeping car for the first time, too.”

“Oh, I think we’ll live,” Gina drawled with a flippant wave of her hand. “But I’ve got a bone to pick with that great detective, draggin’ us ‘alfway across the bloody world, and for wot - ”

“I’d think Tokyo is a little more ‘halfway across the world’ from London than Aberdeen, Inspector,” Ryunosuke reminded her. “And I must say, I still find it unbelievable that Mr Holmes and Iris made it all the way there without Miss Susato or myself noticing they were even gone. He really does have the strangest connections in the strangest places, doesn’t he?”

“As he should,” Susato said, nodding eagerly, her eyes considerably brighter than they had been a minute ago. It hadn’t escaped Ryunosuke’s attention that she’d tucked the latest issue of Randst Magazine in her sleeve just moments before they left Baker Street. “Ah, and there’s Kazuma-sama now! I knew he would make it on time.”

Ryunosuke turned on his heel, his heart in his throat at the sight of his best friend further down the platform, expertly navigating his way through the crowd. He rarely saw Kazuma in anything but his suspiciously tight uniform, so to see him dressed down in a shirt, vest, and slacks - with his sabre still on his hip, no less - was a welcome, if somewhat distracting sight. “My apologies for making you all wait,” Kazuma said once he’d joined them, offering them a short bow and a rueful smile. “I’d received a last-minute telegram from Lord van Zieks, asking if I could stop by the office before we left. I ignored it, of course.”

“Of course,” Ryunosuke echoed, trying not to snort. Despite their excellent working relationship, they never did quite see eye-to-eye even now. “Gina and Miss Susato were just telling me that Scotland Yard made a mistake when they made our reservations - two beds, not four.”

Kazuma’s brow furrowed, worrying at his bottom lip in a way that immediately drew Ryunosuke’s eyes to his mouth. “I see. So we’ll have to share, then?”

“I - oh. I didn’t even consider that,” Ryunosuke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His face immediately warmed when he realized what it implied. “Wait, does that mean, er…”

“Me an’ Sooze, and you an’ Soggy, o’ course,” Gina said, rolling her eyes. “C’mon, ‘Oddo, you couldn’t ‘ave figured that out earlier?”

Kazuma let out a weary, irritable sigh. “Inspector Lestrade, please, my name is Asogi - ”

“Yeah, yeah, wotever,” Gina said, waving her hand yet again. “Fine, Mr Asogi, can we just get on with it already? My feet ‘urt.” Toby yipped in solidarity, his tail thumping eagerly against Susato’s cheek.

It wasn’t long before the train was fully boarded, with everyone settled comfortably in their compartments. The compartment itself was quite spacious, with enough room for the four of them to move about without constantly elbowing or kicking each other, though they had to be mindful of Toby and his habit of getting under their feet if he so pleased. The front half of the compartment had two long bench seats and a small table between them, allowing them to comfortably sit and talk. Ryunosuke’s eyes kept wandering towards the back half of the compartment where their beds were located, taking note of how narrow they were, how little space there was for two people to do anything but press right up against each other, arms and legs and bodies tangled together for comfort. He shivered at the thought, the kind of thought that could lead to other kinds of thoughts if he wasn’t careful.

“Ryunosuke?”

He turned, slightly startled by the sound of his given name. Out of everyone he knew and talked to regularly, between “Ryu” and “Mr Naruhodo”, “Naruhodo-san” and “‘Oddo”, Kazuma was still the only person who called him that. Despite it simply being his first name, nothing more, he found that there was a strange intimacy there, almost as if it were a private nickname all on its own. “I - yes, what is it?”

“Interesting,” Kazuma hummed with a sly smile from where he was seated opposite, one leg folded neatly over the other. “I see you’re just as distracted as Susato-san told me you were. Are you worried about the case?”

“No, nothing like that,” Ryunosuke replied, picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I simply just...didn’t get enough sleep last night. My mind seems to be wandering more than usual, almost as if it were already in Scotland all on its own.”

“Let’s hope the lull of the train will help you sleep, then. You’ll need to be well-rested if you want to do right by your client,” Kazuma said. Now it was his turn to look at the beds, continuing to hum as if he were in deep thought. “I’m not sure how we’ll fit, though. Susato-san and Inspector Lestrade are relatively small in stature, but you and I are...well…” He trailed off, gesturing wordlessly between the two of them. While neither of them were particularly tall, they were both more broad-shouldered than their respective frames would suggest.

“Maybe if...one of us were to sleep with their head at the foot of the bed?” Ryunosuke suggested feebly; it sounded ridiculous the moment it left his mouth. “Only that would leave one of us without a pillow, and both of us quite literally faced with feet.”

“Pillows are hardly a problem; we can just fold up one of our coats,” Kazuma said airily. “Though...now that I’m really looking at it, we might be fine as it is. We’ve shared a bed before, after all.”

“You ‘ave?” They both looked up to see Gina standing over them with a mouthful of biscuit and a stunned expression.

“Yes,” Kazuma said, his expression faltering very briefly. “We...on the SS Burya, when I had Ryunosuke hidden away in my cabin.”

Ryunosuke couldn’t help but smile bittersweetly at the memory, at how it felt like it had happened many lifetimes ago. He supposed for Kazuma, it felt like another life entirely. “You still remember those first two weeks, do you?”

“Of course,” Kazuma replied. His face was softer now, a little less poised, a little less composed. It was the sort of expression that Ryunosuke liked best, the ones where Kazuma looked more boyish, more free, or at least, that’s how he hoped Kazuma felt. Even now - or maybe especially now - he never knew exactly what Kazuma was thinking. “Inspector, did Ryunosuke ever tell you the story of how he came to be in Great Britain?”

“Once or twice, I think, but I’d like to ‘ear it from both of you, if I’m bein’ ‘onest,” Gina admitted, plopping down beside Ryunosuke and jostling him and his cup of tea in the process. “Go on, then, tell me all about it.”

_____

After spending the remainder of their day exchanging stories and laughter, their foggy London afternoon slowly but surely melted into a rather hazy evening, rendering all of them pleasantly sleepy by the time they were to turn in for the night. “I hope you won’t be too uncomfortable tonight, Naruhodo-san, Kazuma-sama,” Susato said with a sympathetic grimace. “At least neither of you are as tall as Mr Holmes or Lord van Zieks.”

“Yes, small miracles,” Ryunosuke drawled, shuddering. He often found Sherlock sleeping in the strangest of places in the strangest of positions at the strangest of times - halfway sprawled up the stairs with his pipe still in his mouth, face-down on the floor with his coat inexplicably draped over his prone form, draped artfully over the back of the couch with his arms spread wide - so he could only imagine what it would be like to share a bed with the man. He suddenly found himself feeling very sorry for Professor Mikotoba. “Goodnight, Susato-san.”

“And please feel free to wake us if you need anything from your luggage,” Kazuma added. “I’d rather not have something suddenly drop on my head in the middle of the night.”

“Yes, of course,” Susato promised with a gentle chuckle. “Good night, and sleep well.” She then bowed and drew the curtain that hung between the two beds, leaving Ryunosuke and Kazuma to themselves.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence seemed to linger in the air, neither of them wanting to make the first move. Ryunosuke felt as if he had to hold his breath for some inexplicable reason, his face heating from the effort. Then, Kazuma smiled drowsily in Ryunosuke’s direction. “Let me guess - you’d like to be on the inside so you don’t risk falling off?”

“You know me so well,” Ryunosuke said, laughing awkwardly. Nodding, Kazuma moved aside so Ryunosuke could get into bed first, then extinguished the last of the compartment’s lights before crawling in after him. Ryunosuke swallowed a gasp the moment Kazuma moved in close; it was just as tight of a fit as he’d dreaded, what with Kazuma’s chest pressed against his back, Kazuma’s soft breath lingering near his ear, making the hairs on his arms prickle in discomfort. He was warm, too warm, smelling of ink and incense and tea, leaving Ryunosuke dizzy, almost overwhelmed.

“You’re shaking, Ryunosuke,” Kazuma murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Are you cold? I have an extra jumper in my luggage if you’re in need of a - ”

“No, no, I-I’m fine,” Ryunosuke said a little too quickly; he could barely hear himself over the rapid thumping of his own heart. “Well...g’night, Kazuma.”

Even in the darkness, he could sense Kazuma raising an eyebrow at the abrupt dismissal. “...yes, good night.”

The next few minutes felt like hours, where all Ryunosuke could do was listen to the sound of Kazuma’s breath slowly, but surely even out as he fell asleep. He envied Kazuma’s ability to drift off so quickly, especially in a situation like this. Usually, the gentle, rhythmic click-clack of the train tracks would��ve put him right to sleep, but all Ryunosuke could think about now was how solid Kazuma was, how firm he felt, his stomach pressed perfectly against the small of Ryunosuke’s back. He didn’t dare turn over to look, even with Kazuma fast asleep, knowing his barely feigned composure would fall apart in an instant.

Resigning himself to yet another restless night, Ryunosuke squirmed closer to the wall in the hopes that he could put at least a little distance between him and Kazuma, fruitless as his efforts might be. To his dismay, all he managed to do was move too quickly, accidentally smashing his nose against said wall, causing him to cry out in pain. “Ah!”

“Ryunosuke?” Kazuma had stirred instantly, albeit sleepily. “What happened, are you alright?”

“Fide,” Ryunosuke managed to say, clutching his face. To his horror, he felt the unmistakable rush of blood start to seep between the spread of his fingers. “I’m fide, I just - I got a liddle too close to the wall and hid my dose.”

“Well, you certainly don’t sound ‘fide’,” Kazuma sighed, yawning. He grabbed Ryunosuke by the shoulders without warning, hauling him upright. Then, he pulled a handkerchief out of seemingly nowhere and began to gingerly wipe Ryunosuke’s face. “Let’s clean you up first, then I’ll see if anything’s broken.”

“I’m sure it’s - ” But the words died on Ryunosuke’s lips the moment Kazuma’s other hand was on his face, tenderly cradling his jaw so he could hold him in place. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could see Kazuma somewhat clearly, saw the concentrated furrow of his brow and the irritated pull of his mouth. “So...how does it look?”

“Bruised, naturally,” Kazuma replied with yet another disapproving sigh. “But nothing’s broken. You really need to be more careful, Ryunosuke. This is you clipping your ear with your bowstring all over again.”

“Yes, yes, nothing I haven’t heard before,” Ryunosuke grumbled. He then managed a small, apologetic smile. “...sorry for waking you, Kazuma.”

Kazuma’s expression softened. “It’s alright. I’d only been asleep for ten minutes; was I supposed to let you bleed out beside me?”

“You make it sound so dramatic. It was only a little bit of blood, nothing I couldn’t have taken care of myself,” Ryunosuke chuckled, his cheeks warming nonetheless. It was only then that he realized Kazuma was still holding him, their legs intertwined beneath them. Suddenly, he became very aware of each and every point of contact - Kazuma’s calloused fingers pressed along the underside of his jaw, Kazuma’s elbows grazing the tops of his legs, Kazuma’s knee pressed against the inside of his thigh - it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Ryunosuke inwardly cursed himself for thinking of such things at a time like this, at a time when they were about to resume lying beside each other while trying their best not to touch. Or, he supposed, that was what he was trying not to do. Kazuma, on the other hand, was clearly unbothered, unaffected.

“Ryunosuke?”

“Hm?” Ryunosuke blinked. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“You really are absent-minded today, aren’t you?” Kazuma murmured, laughing softly, lifting his other hand to brush Ryunosuke’s hair out of his face. Ryunosuke shivered. “Is there anything I can do to help you sleep? If you need more tea, or maybe something to use as another blanket...”

“Oh, er...no, I’m alright,” Ryunosuke said, clumsily slipping out of Kazuma’s grasp with a sharp jerk of his head. “It’s, ah, very warm with both of us in here, so.”

Kazuma cocked his head, looking at him curiously. “Is it now?” Ryunosuke opened his mouth, then closed it; he wasn’t sure what to make of Kazuma’s soft, raspy voice, nor of his dark, inquisitive gaze. Then, Kazuma’s eyes seem to flicker downwards, lingering on Ryunosuke’s bottom lip. “Ryunosuke…”

Ryunosuke swallowed thickly. “We really should get to sleep, or else neither of us will be alert enough to take this case seriously.”

Kazuma went quiet for a moment, thinking. He leaned back onto his hands, his gaze drifting elsewhere. “Should I...sleep on the floor?” he asked; it was the most tentative he’d ever sounded.

“Wh...what?” Ryunosuke’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, I - why would you even ask that?”

“Because I’m clearly making you uncomfortable,” Kazuma said sharply, now sounding the complete opposite of how he’d been just moments ago. Even in the pitch black of the sleeping car, Ryunosuke could see how much his eyes had hardened, had narrowed to slits. “So naturally, I should sleep elsewhere.”

“But the floor, it’s…” Ryunosuke trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say. Once again, he found himself at a loss as to what Kazuma was really thinking. “And I’m not uncomfortable, just...warm. Please, Kazuma, don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf.”

“And you shouldn’t make yourself uncomfortable on mine,” Kazuma retorted somewhat childishly, frowning. “For whatever reason, you obviously don’t want to be anywhere near me, so…”

“That’s not - ” Ryunosuke let out a frustrated groan; the conversation was starting to move too quickly for him, especially in his barely conscious state. It didn’t help that their surroundings were deathly quiet, save for the sound of Susato and Gina’s breathing and the click-clack of the train, leaving him with nothing but Kazuma’s piercing stare and his own too-loud thoughts. “Let’s just go back to sleep, alright? We have work to do, first thing in the morning.”

Still scowling, Kazuma lowered himself back down onto the mattress, his head hitting the pillow rather forcefully, with Ryunosuke following suit. He could practically feel Kazuma’s irritation rolling off his body in waves. For a moment, everything was silent, so silent that Ryunosuke worried that Kazuma was genuinely angry with him. Then, he spoke again. “...we weren’t like this on the SS Burya.”

Ryunosuke hesitated. Then, he turned over, bringing himself face-to-face with Kazuma. He looked wounded somehow, but Ryunosuke couldn’t quite fathom why. “Things were so...different, Kazuma. We were so different.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Kazuma’s voice had dropped to a barely-there whisper. “I told you, you...you never change.” Then, he visibly swallowed. “And that’s what I like about you.”

“Kazuma…” Ryunosuke only just managed to avert his gaze; he felt that if his eyes lingered on Kazuma’s any longer, things would start to feel decidedly more dangerous. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that…” Kazuma took a deep breath, then exhaled, warm air ghosting across Ryunosuke’s skin. “...that I still think about those conversations we shared, after I’d managed to convince you that no one would find out if you were to sleep in my bed. Things we’d never dared to talk about since.”

“For a good reason - many reasons, actually,” Ryunosuke reminded him with a wan smile. “We’d never found the right time.”

“What about now, hm?” Just like that, Kazuma’s hand was cupping his jaw again, his thumb lightly pressed against the corner of Ryunosuke’s mouth. “Or...am I right in thinking that you have changed, and you don’t want to talk about this anymore?”

“Is that really what you think?” Ryunosuke asked uncertainly, his heartbeat pulsing erratically in his throat. “Is that why you offered to sleep on the floor?”

“I certainly wouldn’t blame you for changing your mind,” Kazuma said wryly, though the bite in his voice didn’t quite match the resignation in his eyes. Ryunosuke hated that he was getting used to this, to this defeated expression that didn’t suit Kazuma one bit. “After all, I’m...I’m hardly the person you thought I was.”

“Perhaps.” Ryunosuke inched the slightest bit closer, clasping his hand over Kazuma’s. Kazuma’s breath hitched, surprised. “Or perhaps you’re still the same person I thought you were at your core. And just like you, I...I still think about those nights all the time. Those conversations we had, those memories we shared...Kazuma, even after everything that’s happened since then, I...I...I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Ryunosuke,” Kazuma murmured; he almost sounded afraid. His other hand was now pressed against Ryunosuke’s chest, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, like he hadn’t yet decided whether to push him away or pull him right in. “You’re not saying…”

“Th-that’s exactly what I’m saying, yes.” Ryunosuke huffed out a quiet laugh. “My feelings for you never changed, even if we have.”

And then, as if his resolve had crumbled away entirely, Kazuma pulled Ryunosuke close, their lips crashing together rather violently, passionately, like they’d been waiting their entire lives to meet. Kazuma swallowed Ryunosuke’s gasp before he could let it escape, his fingers now tangled in Ryunosuke’s hair. It took Ryunosuke a moment to find his footing, his arms winding around Kazuma’s shoulders as he pulled him even closer, lips parting so he could deepen the kiss. Then, Kazuma shifted his body weight so he could turn them over, pinning Ryunosuke to the bed; their mouths only separated for a split second before colliding once more.

“Ryu,” Kazuma said breathlessly after some time; Ryunosuke couldn’t help but feel a little thrill go up his spine at the sight of Kazuma’s kiss-bitten mouth, illuminated by just a sliver of moonlight peeking in through the car window. “You’re so...you should really see yourself.”

Ryunosuke’s cheeks flushed, pleased. “I’d have to say the same to you,” he said softly, reaching up to trace his thumb across the fullness of Kazuma’s bottom lip. Kazuma’s mouth seemed to fall open automatically, his eyes darkening as it did. Ryunosuke shuddered again, his toes curling with anticipation, knowing exactly what that look was supposed to mean. “Kazuma…”

“I know, I know.” Kazuma half-collapsed into Ryunosuke’s side, his knee tucked between Ryunosuke’s thighs. He began running his fingers through Ryunosuke’s hair, gentler now. Slowly, but surely, the hungry look in his eyes started to soften into something a little sweeter. “If we were alone, then...but even so, perhaps it’s for the best that we take things slow. You’ve only been back in London for a few months, after all. We have time to...to have those conversations again.”

Ryunosuke offered him a hopeful smile. “As we should.” Still, he leaned back in to kiss him, more chastely this time, his hands slipping underneath the hem of Kazuma’s shirt so he could feel his warmth. Kazuma seemed to instinctively lean into his touch, the curve of his stomach fitting perfectly into Ryunosuke’s palm. “And here I was worried that you changed your mind, or that...that you might not have meant any of it in the first place.”

“Never,” Kazuma promised, squeezing Ryunosuke’s hip. “I swear on my honor, Ryunosuke, that I meant every last word.” Satisfied, Ryunosuke kissed him yet again before eventually pulling away with a yawn. Kazuma smirked, pinching him. “Have I worn you out that easily, then? Is this what the rest of our relationship is going to be like?”

“Quiet, you,” Ryunosuke chuckled, nudging him affectionately. Kazuma had to bite his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. “I really do mean it this time; we need to sleep. Gina and Susato-san will definitely notice if we’re both swaying on our feet.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Kazuma said airily, wrapping his arms around Ryunosuke’s midsection, his face pressed into his neck. Ryunosuke let out a long, contented sigh, sinking into Kazuma’s embrace in return. A moment or two of comfortable silence soon settled over them, a moment that felt more like an hour, only this time, Ryunosuke would’ve liked to remain where he was for as long as he could. “How about now, partner, are you still too warm?”

“You’re terrible,” Ryunosuke informed him, grinning. “Don’t make me strike everything I’ve just said from the record.” He felt as if he were past the point of exhaustion now, his mind half-delirious, half-ecstatic, his body pliant and snug against Kazuma’s, like it was supposed to be there all along.

Beaming, clearly pleased with himself, Kazuma dropped one last kiss on Ryunosuke’s temple before settling back onto the pillow. “Good night, Ryunosuke.”

Ryunosuke’s eyelids fluttered shut, content. “Good night, Kazuma.”

_____

Hours later, Ryunosuke stirred from what felt like the deepest sleep he’d had in months, feeling rather groggy and sluggish, barely able to lift a finger more than an inch above the mattress at most. Yet, at the same time, he also felt safe, secure, likely because of the arms wrapped protectively around him, the legs that were intertwined with his, the head half-buried in his chest, with warm, slow, even breaths tickling the bare skin of Ryunosuke’s neck. It took Ryunosuke a moment to realize he also felt something wet, like someone had run a damp washcloth over his cheeks. Short of his nose bleeding again in the middle of the night and Kazuma cleaning him up without waking him, he couldn’t fathom why.

“Well, don’t you two look all cozied up, eh?” Ryunosuke looked up, blinking blearily into the early morning sun, to see Gina standing over him with a smug smirk that rivaled Kazuma’s, Toby in her arms as per usual, his little pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. He yipped happily the moment Ryunosuke looked at him; Ryunosuke, on the other hand, recoiled in realization. “Sleep well, ‘Oddo?”

“...yes, quite well, thank you,” Ryunosuke said, slowly pushing himself up into a seated position. “Miss Susato, could I trouble you to wet that cloth you’re holding so I can clean my face?”

Susato glanced over from where she was standing, currently in the midst of wiping down their teacups, brows furrowed in confusion. Then, she let out a tiny gasp upon seeing his face. “Oh, Mr Naruhodo! Your nose is all bruised! What happened, are you alright?”

“I’d...rather not talk about it,” Ryunosuke replied, wilting somewhat. With a reluctant nod, Susato poured a little bit of water onto the cloth, then handed it to him, her eyes softening when she noticed Kazuma still sleeping soundly behind Ryunosuke, one of his arms draped loosely across Ryunosuke’s lap.

“We’ve another hour before we arrive, if you’d like to lie down for a while longer,” Susato offered, looking at him pointedly. “Gina and I will be taking Toby for a walk, just up and down the train corridor.”

Ryunosuke smiled softly. “Thank you, Miss Susato. I think I’d like that a lot.” Minutes later, Susato, Gina, and Toby left their compartment - against Gina’s will, it seemed; she was clearly desperate to poke fun at Ryunosuke’s expense, but Susato practically dragged her out by her jacket collar - leaving Ryunosuke to settle back down onto the bed, having finally wiped the dog drool off his face. He turned onto his side so he could look at Kazuma, who, much to his dismay, really only ever looked truly at ease when he was asleep. Sighing, Ryunosuke brushed Kazuma’s hair out of his eyes, quietly admiring the length of his eyelashes, the softness of his skin. He found himself greatly preferring the gentle click-clack of the train over the lurching, creaking cacophony of the SS Burya.

Then, Kazuma blinked, stirring at Ryunosuke’s touch, his expression unusually vulnerable. “...Ryunosuke?”

“Go back to sleep, Kazuma,” Ryunosuke murmured. “We won’t be in Aberdeen for another hour or so.”

“I see.” Kazuma then lifted an arm, offering Ryunosuke a drowsy smile. “Come, then, I’d like my pillow back.”

“Is that all I am to you?” Ryunosuke teased, sinking back into Kazuma’s embrace once more with a happy hum. This time, it was he who laid his head against Kazuma’s chest, his grin softening at the sound of Kazuma’s steady heartbeat beneath his cheek.

Kazuma chuckled, then leaned down to kiss him sweetly. “Never, Ryunosuke. You’re...you’ve always been so, so much more.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Asoryuu Week 2021! I still believe absolutely no one when they say Ryunosuke was just in the wardrobe the entire time; you cannot convince me that Kazuma wouldn't insist on sharing the bed after all that fuss they made about not being able to open the locked cabin door from outside. As with any short(er) fic, I can totally see myself turning this into a full-blown case fic where they also solve a murder on the train à la Agatha Christie, but that probably won't happen until a long, long time from now, if ever.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[organic-guacamole]

episode 210 here we go

awww seb doing the intro

congratulations to milky white and her baby chocolate milk😌

seb is so funny

but seriously, clean up that milk fast or else it will smell so bad in there....

was that Lauryn just randomly doing cartwheels? idk any theatre kids irl but that seems like it's a common thing...

is it just me or has ms Jenn been getting more harsh to Ricky and Seb mainly-

like what did they do to her

no because I actually snorted with laughter at the "you came back" WHAT IS THAT VOICE-

AND THE MASK OMG

yeah so my throat hurts now

I'm dying over here

KOURTNEY'S FACE

SAME GIRL SAME

Ricky's fake death got the whole place in tears /s

he looks like an asthmatic walrus

Seb's on piano, I love

we all know if he was the beast we'd all actually be crying✋

ok but I listen to Julia's version of home on Spotify when I want to cry-

right so gimme a second

is Ricky scratching his face.....while he's dying?

"belle i-" *flop*

round of applause to Ashlyn for trying to make Ricky's earthworm seizure look less.... yknow

Kourtney's just dying there

WAIT IS THAT NATALIE

did she really just disappear for 9 episodes just to come back and stare dramatically into the camera

WAIT SCRATCH THAT SHES HERE TO MURDER ASHLYN AND RICKY

oh so Ricky's wearing a gay shirt now too

so that's the real reason why Rini broke up, see y'all next season when Gini and caswen become canon /j

wait that was a long intro scene-

what was that look Carlos-

TALK TO MY BOY OR ELSE

carlos' run is so funny to me

therapist Ashlyn to the rescue

"that is...super" son you good?

ms Jenn call Benjamin, he would willingly put his loved ones on a rocket and blast them into Venus for you....

maybe

"I don't want you kids to be disappointed" girl you do realise you're the one that's most invested in this?

"a smooth opening night" wasn't there just 1 show though-

like their opening night was closing night too

"I think I was Troy at one point" PLEASE THATS THE MOST ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THE SEASON 1 FINALE

me Jenn looks like a serial killer during that clap and I'm lowkey scared for zacky

"I have notes"

oo if you're taking suggestions, lemme get my list

"mother is freaking out" uhhhhhh

right....'mother"

"is everyone sitting down?"

*looks around awkwardly*

*big red slowly sits*

"no..."

please seb was the only one sitting-

does that mean Carlos looked at Seb as soon as he walked in and assumed that everyone else was sitting too or am I a seblos clown🤡

"is this about the transformation"

WOW MAYBE OT IS RICKY

WOW HES A DETECTIVE FOR FIGURING THAT OUT SO QUICK🤩

YO WHY IS NATALIE HERE-

she just shows up when it's convenient? is she gonna be at the sleepover too?

Seb's heavy swallow after Carlos shouts at him makes me so sad

"I never learned how to lie but I figure if I keep my mouth closed, I can't tell the truth" *nods and smiles at Nini when she asks*

why are they casually standing up all over the pizza shop, just sit at a big table and talk instead of blocking passageways and blocking off at least 6 tables-

"how about I invite myself" WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS FEEL THE NEED TO INVITE THEMSELVES TO ASHLYN'S HOUSE-

YOU CAN ASK BUT JUST FORCE YOUR WAY IN?

so Cash Caswell has a bigger house than... Dennis Caswell.... who would've thought

ah yes there's the good old EJ 1.0

Nini: "boys vs girls"

Gina: *looks devastated and glances longingly at EJ*

way to be inconspicuous

"but north high should be" *cracks her knuckles in the most uncomfortable way*

good for Ashlyn for getting more confident though

oo bossy big red

"i get bossy around the power tools"

is that why Ashlyn was holding up the drill in episode 8 orrrr 🤠

oh

Lily, leave him alone please

she's literally not blinking, is that what makes her creepy?

the diss at big red and his face afterwards is priceless

isn't that similar to what Gina's mom said to her in season 1? hmmmm

but seriously please don't try to redeem lily, let us have a character to hate, or to love because they're evil.

not everyone's a good guy.

"im not liked here and I don't know what to do"

let antoine finish his salad and it'll fix everything

"hug emoji" *gags*

y'all realize Lily's literally 14?

why is she calling a 16/17 year old from another school for personal advice-

"he gets weird around tools"

I shouldn't be laughing so hard

"deja vu maybe?" awkward silence

I'm dying here I love EJ so so so so much

"where's seb"

*cuts to seb being held hostage hoping that they'd notice he's missing and go look for him*

"don't ask"

"oh ok"

"100% real faux fur" as you should queen

sponsored by target

Kourtney is singlehandedly saving the entire show.

Seb making finger guns make me happier than it should

why is this kinda making me want to have a co-ed sleepover with my non-existent theatre friends

YES YOU DO NEED TO TALK/SING TO SEB CARLOS THANK YOU FOR KNOWING THAT

wait what-

you haven't talked to him all WEEK-

Carlos are you stupid /hj

Benjamin is so adorable I can't

he turned around to come back for her instead of going home. you're "what do you want Jenn🙄X act isn't fooling anyone Benjamin 🙃

10101

1+4+16= 21st?

they placed 21st?

or do I just not remember how to convert to base ten

GIRL DON'T BE RUDE TO HIM, HE'S GONNA SAVE YALL

no ms Jenn, the kids are not eccentric 35 year olds.

aww sebby

is he thinking that Carlos is only with him cuz he's the only other openly gay guy at school-

son you are a perfect little bean don't put yourself down

yes they all ship portwell as they should.

they'll be throwing risotto at the wedding.

not the chocolates. stop there are no chocolates. please stop I'm dying.

Gina you don't have to explain yourself to her

it was a misunderstanding and it's in the past

why is Ashlyn still laughing-

exactly it wasn't a big deal please just move on Nini

Kourtney really be out here saving everything

WHY IS ASHLYN STILL LAUGHING

why do I feel like when Gina finally told Ash about it, she didn't think it was that funny but wanted to feel included in the inside joke so now she brings it up randomly to show that she's in on it....I totally don't do that...

"idk, the farmer type" oh son...

Ashlyn and big red are just spilling the secrets back and forth huh?

OOO EJ AND GINA SITTING IN A TREE K-I-S-S-I-

cmon guys don't look at me like that-

"she is the best" and "we're buddies" don't sound right together

"pretty boy" "sweet boy" best ways to describe EJ

I love him.

and aw he's scared of rejection so he'll hold back just to keep her happy and not awkward how sweet

is Ricky wondering if letting her go(literally his song from last episode) was the best thing he did for Nini because he doesn't feel like it now? hmmm this is getting good

why is everyone so invested in Kourtney and Howie's relationship

PACK UP THE LAZY RICKY THING

oh yes Benji, that's exactly what she's doing

she couldn't follow her dream or whatever so now she's using the kids to gain some of the success she craves. why else would she have that massive hsm poster with her name on it in huge letters in her office.

just casually grab his hand with both your hands and stare at him creepily 🥰

ship jennzzara y'all

the first bump was a missed opportunity to do the baymax "falalala" as a reference to the fact that they watched big hero six while committing arson✋

wait so big red and EJ just left Ricky in the basement and now Ricky invited Carlos when they're supposed to be at the stage?

help no Ricky looks like he's about to tell Carlos he likes him (I know it's about writing the song for seb but still, look at his body language and tell me it doesn't look like that)

Ricky is so mature about this, he really just wants Nini to be happy even though he's hurting-

baby you deserve love, maybe Nini isn't the one for you but don't say you don't deserve it

why does he keep adding bro to the end like he doesn't know how to address Carlos

PLEASE CARLOS HAVING TO ADDRESS THE BRO THING

"let's write a song when we have like 45 minutes to get to the place and help our friends possibly win $50000 at the show in 2 weeks"

"can you hit a high C?"

"that's like the bottom of my range"

why am I laughing

this is so cool to see friendship interactions that we don't normally get to see

Nini why are you being like this-

Gina did nothing wrong??

I saw that, EJ and Gina being the only ones going in the same direction👀

right so obviously Kourtney's waiting until after the menkies to get back with Howie just in case he really is just using her as a way in to east high... obviously... right?

CARLOS

OK ITS COMING GET READY YALL

Why is portwell so awkward all of a sudden

OMG EJ

OMG GINA SAY YES or not, do what you want.

the way she doubts that EJ would genuinely ask so she has to make sure it's not Ashlyn behind it

OH

THE "NOT THAT I KNOW OF"

LIKE WHAT GINA SAID TO JACK ABOUT EJ BEING HER BOYFRIEND

GUYS THEY'RE SOULMATES

I want risotto now please

THEY'RE SO SWEET AND ADORABLY AWKWARD ITS LIKEEK LITTLE KIDS

OOOOOOO what is this place that seblos is in, looks fancy....and secluded

oh wait no Ricky's just standing there

wait is it the bomb shelter

it looks so good what

HSKAGSJAGAJAGWISGSKAUASBWKSVAIWBAISBQKSHIQBWOABWOABDOQBZIQBAIAQBSIWBQISVQKSIANSGOQBSAISBKASBKWBAIABQOSBBSJAHAJAVAJSBAJHSKAHSJAHAJAJAAJAHHHHHHHH

@youranxiousnerd ARE YOU OK?

CUZ IM NOT OK

LOOK AT SEBBY'S FACE

LOOK AT HOW ADORABLE IT IS

THE LYRICS ARE KILLING ME

SEBLOS IS KILLING ME

I AM DEAD

PLEASE SEND HELP

I like to imagine that Frankie and Joe practiced this in their apartment and just had a blast with it.

or maybe that Frankie practiced in secret like what Joe did for the climb

OH THE SUITS

THATS WHERE THAT CLIP IN THE PROMO WAS FROM

AWWW SEBBY'S SO CUTE

HE'S A LITTLE MARSHMALLOW

they're still so awkward with the dance I cant

let's appreciate Frankie's voice though

this episode really was made just for the seblos and portwell stans and you gotta love it

BIG RED GET OUT

WHY DOES HE ALWAYS DO THIS

Seb's little "yeah" IS ADORABLE

you can't tell me that wouldn't have been the best time for them to say I love you....IF FREAKIN BIG RED WASN'T THERE

ok but wait Ricky needs more hugs like that, look at his face

the boy needs love

"bro" please don't let Ricky and Carlos go back to not talking because their friendship is amazing

EJ laughing at Ricky sounding like a cat coughing up a furball is so funny to me

RICKY'S FLOP GETS ME EVERYTIME

I knew it was too good to be true

ok so Ricky's dead, next in line please

this episode was so short but I love it so much. this is what I signed up for for season 2✋

[fanfoolishness]

Mandalorian live-blogging, chapter 12, the Siege!

What did the Client really want to do with Grogu? He didn’t exactly seem to be on good terms with Gideon.

Din: “I finally know where I’m taking you — away from my life but not from my heart *cryyyyyy*” — oh wait, was that not the one?

The very practiced way Din is asking Grogu to do complicated shipboard maintenance suggests this has absolutely happened how many times before?

Din is so expressive here! All his gestures! So much nodding! His “no!” Hands! Shit, maybe my storyline about Din teaching Grogu sign is being carried on right here.

This may be the longest amount of time Din Djarin has spent continuously talking in about a year. I love how Grogu brings it out of him. He’s clearly exasperated by the shitty ship, but endlessly patient with Grogu, and I love how his voice absolutely conveys both of those emotions simultaneously

The tender way he says “no no no” to Grogu is so gentle.

I also love his contentedly narrating to Grogu as a part of their daily routine

I could easily watch 20 minutes of that type of content every episode and try to include pure adorableness like that in just about every fic I write

Oh, Cara Dune... why are you such an enjoyable character played by such an obnoxious person? I’m glad Gina Carano is taking her nonsense elsewhere, especially since it was clear she’d had multiple warnings, multiple chances to educate herself, but damn, I am gonna miss Cara on screen lugging Din around like a rag doll, or just smashing people in the face. I really appreciated seeing a woman on screen with the physique and capability to be that effortlessly kickass.

Din Djarin, wearing a jetpack: scrambles off his shitty ramp with all the grace of a flying lobster

I love the dynamic of Greef and Cara and Din. I hope we at least get to see Greef again! Maybe he’ll be like “now that the town’s cleaned up, the Marshal’s moved on.” Also, since when do we have Marshal in Star Wars? I’ve seen how many SW movies how many times, and no such thing as local law enforcement, let alone local law enforcement with a Western flair? Then all of a sudden Mando S2 shows up with Cobb Vanth and Cara Dune and I’m wondering if it’s an actual legal position in the Outer Rim and like, a cultural title of Outer Rim humans on many worlds (because it sure as shit doesn’t sound like a title you’d take in the Core Worlds).

Anyway, Greef’s actual love and adoration of Grogu is the sweetest. Maybe he and Peli can start a Grogu fan club and be the founding auntie and uncle.

Still can’t believe I missed that statue of IG-11 until I saw it pointed out here on tumblr.

Just think of how this is probably the first time Din’s been around this many children since Sorgan. And Sorgan kids had it different, they had a world that loved and protected them, and a place they could freely be above ground, and so that was fine; and Din had thought the children of his covert, the foundlings, they were fine too. But then it turns out it wasn’t true, the foundlings weren’t safe, they were slaughtered. And this is Nevarro, a township that wasn’t Home, but was nonetheless home to his people; and he remembers a little school in their hidden, simple covert for the foundlings in their training helmets; and he’s both heartened and pained that this group of children, at least, are able to be schooled in a safe place.

Din trusts these people as much as he’s trusted any non-Mandalorians, and it’s a lot! He knows he can ask them for help with the ship, he knows they saved his life and Grogu’s. And yet still see how unsure he is to leave Grogu at the school! He knows they don’t mean harm, he sees how beautiful and well-used the school is, he knows it should be safe... but he still stares after Grogu, barely looking at Cara, wanting to follow him. “Wherever I go, he goes,” says Din desperately, barely bearing to trust that anyone else could keep the kid safe like he could.

I keep thinking I need to write a fic of him flying off to go get Grogu at the end, now that I’m rewatching it, perhaps now is the time!

I’d love to have some of these kids’ Star Wars hairstyles

Hey! The Maelstrom! I know that! You know Han Solo did the Kessel Run in under 12 parsecs? And I love correcting people when they think SW didn’t know what they were talking about? Parsecs ARE a unit of distance and that’s what Han meant because of the Maelstrom! He got dang freaking close to it! Anyway I’m just very excited because y’all do realize they built the Sun Crusher in the Maelstrom? Anyone here read those books?

Grogu is such a little shit! and he really did just say “Patu,” huh

I love Greef’s beard. I love it! Are we saying it enough? It’s great!

So is Nevarro basically an asteroid? Are they seriously flying to the other side of the planet for this? Maybe it’s tiny? How can Din fly over half a planet on a jetpack? Nevarro must be a galactic pebble.

I could watch Din just get in and out of vessels all day long

Din is just so excited to use the Phoenix and I love that he’s not that good at it but loves it anyway. “Hold tight”

Lava tide? The hell is this shit planet.

Din is not impressed by stormtroopers one little bit. I love him standing there all nonchalant.

Din is just sooooo shiny in this episode.

Cast it into the fire, Isildur!

Why do these bases never have guard rails for these giant drops

The Mythrol asked the same question 1.3 seconds later

Mythrol? Cracks of doom? Mithril??? A coincidence? Surely not

Greef I love your outfit so much

Yeaaaaaaah get those Snoke-looking bitches outta here

Din with a horrible sinking feeling... “I don’t like this...”

Din is heavily regretting letting this man live rn

Din must have been seeing. FUcking. RED

You know if they stop building their hallways with fucking COVER the stormtroopers won’t keep getting killed in them by enemy assailants with better weapons and aim

Din running to get his son <3

Cara SMASH and I love it

Din, you flew away over the LAVA? That is so badass. And I love his very clumsy superhero landing. And taking a running leap off the top of the lava flat

I love that Cara doesn’t quite get the whole kid thing, but totally supports Din in his love of fatherhood

Cara would be GREAT at driving the Mako

I do love how often environmental hazards take out scouttroopers on their speeder bikes. Like, no shit! You’re a human trying to go 300 miles an hour? Since when is our reaction time capable of that???

Dammit TIE fighters! They’re much more intimidating on a planet, actually. They pack a serious punch when you aren’t shooting ship-sized lasers back at them

Yes!!! The shitty little Razor Crest that could!

And Grogu’s excitement! He trusts Din so much now that it doesn’t even enter his mind they might be in danger. He just knows Din’s here, we’re gonna have fun, I trust him.

And think how much Grogu has grown since S1. He would have been hiding in the back with all of that excitement beforehand, not excited and waving his hands and giggling

Din is just... resigned to Grogu being sick. And he could clean Grogu up and go back to see Greef, but he just wants to make sure the kid’s okay... especially after what he’s just learned about Moff Gideon.

I do miss the slower pacing of S2. I would have liked another episode in between this and The Jedi where Din just sort of processes and deals with all of this new information.

Oh hurr hurr wait I write fanfic

I like that some of these Imps don’t have the Coruscanti accent. They’re just like... y’know, American.

Gideon is so childishly pleased by his Darktroopers, like get over yourself, dingus

If Favreau took this episode I wonder if that means he wanted to make sure all the mythology and shit is going according to plan. Or maybe I’ve just been watching too much X-Files. If Chris Carter wrote an ep, it was mythology ONLY, and that was it.

The end! Maybe I’ll write tomorrow :)

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 5 - Decoration

Find the prompt list here!

I have meddled with powers I did not fully understand and now the Hallmark AU has gripped me. I think you can expect to see more of this sprinkled throughout the month. Oh, well. Multiparters in prompt months are like a tradition for me now, right? 

Hallmark Movie AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9  | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Imagine, Marinette thought as she helped Rose unpack the decorations and ornaments to go on the tree, Luke Stone in a town like this. 

Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard of him releasing anything new recently. So he was from this town, then? He must be on vacation, visiting his family and helping out at the farm. Taking a break, maybe writing some new songs. Funny, to think of the glammed up, heavily bedazzled rock star wearing flannel and working on a Christmas tree farm.

Marinette had winced the day before, watching him tear up his palms hauling the tree she’d picked out yesterday and tie it down deftly with fingers that had to be worth millions of dollars. It pained her to think of the hands that had created such beautiful music being abused in such a way. Surely he should have been wearing gloves, at least. He’d been so cold to her, though, that Marinette hadn’t dared suggest it or question him.

She’d been skeptical when Jagged Stone’s son had made his debut on tour alongside his father. She’d been a longtime fan of the older Stone and didn’t think even his own flesh and blood would be able to match him—but the younger Stone hadn’t tried. Luke’s music was clearly influenced by his father, but was also entirely his own, but so evocative, so emotional, she had been pulled in despite her reservations. She owned every one of Luke Stone’s albums, including the special edition greatest hits album, which she had bought even as she complained to Alya that he was too young in his career to be releasing a greatest hits album.

Marinette hadn’t said much to Rose about the encounter, not sure whether it was common knowledge amongst the town that he was here, and not wanting to infringe on his privacy if it wasn’t. Rose had given her a funny (disappointed?) look when she mentioned the grumpy young man that had helped her, but hadn’t said anything about it, just asked Marinette to come back today and give her a hand decorating the tree after the maintenance staff got it set up.

It wasn’t as if Marinette had much else to do, and Gina’s house felt huge and empty with just her in it, so she’d agreed, and here she was unpacking dusty boxes that had been hauled out of storage. She sighed as she surveyed the contents. The boxes looked like they’d been packed up by unsupervised five-year-olds last year. 

She was sorting the decorations into piles, still absently pondering the mystery of Luke Stone, when the library doors slid open, and the man himself walked in. He was dressed much the same as he had been yesterday, in layers that hid the muscular shoulders and arms he displayed on stage. Before Marinette could react, Rose flitted past her. 

“Luka!” Rose squealed, throwing herself at him. “You’re here!” Luka staggered slightly but wrapped one arm around her waist to catch her, holding her with her feet dangling off the ground as she kissed both his cheeks, her arms wrapped around his neck. Marinette stared, mouth hanging open slightly.

“That was enthusiastic,” Luka laughed, looking down at the petite blond hanging off of his tall frame. 

“I’m happy to see you!” Rose smiled brightly. 

“You just saw me at dinner last night.” Luka bent his knees and set her on the ground. Rose took the hint and let him go, but bounced on the balls of her feet. “And I told you I’d come, he added.”

“And now you’re here!” Rose threw out her arms. “I’m so glad! I have so much to do to get the childrens’ program ready and the decorations are so much for poor Marinette to manage by herself! Have you met Marinette?” she inquired, turning and holding out her arms to present her friend. Marinette closed her mouth and tried to smile as she gave a little wave. “I think you did,” Rose continued, turning to give him a warning look. “I think she said she ran into you at the farm.” 

Luka felt embarrassment creeping up his neck at Rose’s clearly scolding look. He nodded at Marinette. “Briefly, yeah. Nice to see you, Marinette.” He pronounced her name carefully, feeling bad about teasing her yesterday. She smiled a little more, and then looked down, her hands fluttering around the decorations she’d been separating. 

“You can get the lights on the tree while Marinette finishes working out that stuff,” Rose suggested, pointing to a pile of lights sitting near Marinette. “You’re nice and tall, so that should make things easy. There’s step stools in the kids’ area if you need them. Come here and I’ll show you what I want.” She hooked his arm and pulled him around to the far side of the tree. “The plug’s over here, so you’ll need to start on this side.” 

As soon as they were out of sight, Rose slapped his arm. “Dummy!” she scolded in a whisper. “I didn’t send her to the farm so you could be mean.”

“I wasn’t mean,” Luka protested weakly, and then frowned. “What do you mean, you sent her?” He gave his not-quite-sister a suspicious look, and then leaned slightly to look around the tree and make sure they were out of earshot. 

He paused. Marinette had been cute yesterday in her puffy pink coat and earmuffs, but he hadn’t really had time to notice her. Now she looked trendy but comfortable in pigtails and a soft pink sweater over skinny jeans, her profile turned to him. She was an authentic kind of pretty, he reflected, but then Luka had found himself thinking that about a lot of people since he’d left the rock star world, where everybody wore layers of stage makeup, styled and coiffed and dressed so that every detail about them enhanced the image they wanted to project. 

Still, her full lips made a pretty bow, especially when she pouted them slightly in concentration, and her hair had a shine that came from health rather than product, and her eyes were—

Rose’s elbow in his ribs jolted him out of what must have been a pretty intense stare, and he flushed, leaning back slightly so he couldn’t see Marinette on the other side of the tree.

“She already thinks you’re mean,” Rose hissed. “Don’t be a creep on top of it.”

Luka winced. He didn’t need Rose’s reminder to feel guilty for behaving so abruptly yesterday. Already prickly from a morning of needling by his mother, he hadn’t been prepared for anyone to recognize him. No one had up until this point, and he’d thought he was safe. It was an unpleasant shock to have a stranger recognize him, especially someone from the city who might carry word of his presence here back to the press. His mother’s call had sounded like his guardian angel’s trumpet in that moment. When Juleka had called him to help tie her chosen tree on top of her car, he’d done the work quickly and silently, and avoided her gaze as much as possible. 

He’d felt bad about it later, when he’d had time to relax and reflect, but he hadn’t expected to see her again—certainly hadn’t expected to have Rose practically throwing her at him. He gave her a warning look. 

Rose opened her mouth but before she could say anything, Marinette popped around the side of the tree. “Rose, do you have some scissors anywhere?”

“Yes, in the cabinet behind the desk,” Rose said, pointing. “Probably on the top three shelves, there’s a box of craft supplies there. You might as well bring over the whole thing in case you need anything else. Let me know if it’s too high up and I’ll send Luka to grab them instead.”

“Got it,” Marinette smiled, and turned to follow Rose’s directions. 

Luka shot Rose a glare. “Quit it,” he warned. 

“Quit what?” Rose inquired, with a blink and head tilt that made her look like she didn’t have two brain cells to rub together. 

Luka knew better. 

“I don’t need any help, Rose,” Luka muttered, folding his arms. “I could find a relationship on my own if I wanted to.” 

“Mmhm,” Rose hummed in a disbelieving tone. “Because there’s so many to choose from here in this little town.” 

Luka rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. 

“I do like Marinette though,” Rose said, and smiled innocently when Luka gave her a look. “She’s really sweet. We only met a couple of days ago and here she is, bending over backward to get me a real tree and spending her time decorating it.”

“You set her up,” Luka accused, peeking around the tree briefly to make sure she wasn’t coming back yet.  “You’re trying to set me up.”

“She’s so creative,” Rose sighed. “She showed me some of her portfolio the other day, and it’s fantastic. She’s a fashion designer, you see.” 

Luka snorted. “Oh, yeah, she’ll totally fall for me. Without my stylist I’m a fashion disaster and you know it Rose.” 

“That just makes you a challenge,” Rose chirped, and then softened a little as she looked at him. “Look, I know you’re not looking right now, but that’s a stupid attitude to have when an amazing person just drops into your lap.” She tossed her head in a move he was sure she’d picked up from Juleka, though it was less effective without Juleka’s mane to accent it. “I should know. Anyway, do what you want, I just think she’s neat and I wanted you to meet her. I’ve got a good feeling about her. If I’d met her two years ago I’d totally steal her from you. If you’re smart, you’ll keep an open mind.” 

Luka sighed, but he saw a flicker of pink and when he glanced around the tree again, Marinette was back, the box of supplies at her side. She was lifting a large tinsel garland from the box she’d just opened, only to find it was all a tangled mass. There was a sort of mournful look on her face, a little droop of sadness, maybe even loneliness, to her shoulders. He remembered the tightness in her eyes and around her mouth yesterday, and the way she’d spilled out her reason for being here at the slightest nudge. A fashion designer—that was a cutthroat business, especially in the city. Poor thing was probably as tired and strung out as he’d been when he came home.  

He wasn’t even aware he’d sighed until Rose giggled at his elbow. “I think you can figure the lights out on your own,” she said with a little pat to his arm. “I’m going to get back to getting ready for the children’s program. You two just...have fun, okay? Make it festive!” She fluttered her hands at the tree, then waved at Marinette and abandoned him to the awkwardness. 

It didn’t take long to get the lights on the tree—Luka had plenty of practice after getting the farm set up for the season. He stood there for a moment, hesitating. He glanced at Marinette. She had finished the sorting and was back to struggling with the tangled garland, and the look of utter defeat on her face...hurt, somehow.  

“Can I give you a hand?” Luka found himself offering. 

Marinette started slightly, and in an instant her shoulders went back and her smile flashed back into being. Luka was surprised to realize that it didn’t feel fake, despite the fact that he had seen her feelings on her face just a moment before. She was hiding those feelings now, but the smile she offered him was as sincere as the sadness. 

“Um, sure, if you want to,” she said, holding up the garland in two hands. “It’s pretty twisted up. We could just leave it, but...might as well give it a shot, right?” 

Luka took a handful of garland, and Marinette took another one farther down. They moved apart, spreading it out as far as it could go between them to try and see where it twisted back on itself. 

“This looks like the end,” Marinette muttered, plucking at a piece. “Can you just hold it up for a minute?”

Luka did, watching Marinette as she looped the end she’d found back over and under and through the glittering mass. The silence was awkward, and the more Luka tried to think of something to say, the more he felt like there was only one thing he could say. 

“Listen, I wanted to apologize—” he began as Marinette said, “Luka, I’m really sorry—” 

They both stopped, and laughed, and Luka gestured for her to go ahead. 

“I just,” Marinette pushed her hair back and glanced at him, then looked away. “I wanted to apologize for blurting that out about—you know—I should have thought, I should have realized you wouldn’t want to be approached like that, while you’re clearly not working—well, you were working, but not, not like that and I should have—well. I’m really sorry. You’re at home and you probably don’t want people gushing all over you while you’re trying to spend time with your family.”

Luka took a breath, looking at the floor for a moment. “I wanted to apologize too, for being so abrupt with you. I...hadn’t had the best morning, and you did startle me. I’m...well, I guess you could maybe say I’m retired, and I’d rather not be...known, here. I guess I kind of panicked.”

“Retired?” Marinette looked up at him in surprise. “But your music was so good! I mean—” She flushed, and grabbed the garland, moving to start draping it around the tree. “I really liked it, anyway. Sorry, I know it’s not my business...Anyway, I understand, and I won’t tell anyone I met you here.” The garland she was trying to place slipped off, and she sighed in frustration. “I swear Christmas hates me,” she muttered to herself.

Luka picked up the trailing end and held it so that the weight was no longer dragging. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” 

“Of course,” Marinette smiled, and then she said, “How long have you and Rose been together?” This time the garland stayed where she placed it, with Luka feeding her more as she circled around the tree. 

“Together?” Luka repeated, startled. “We’re not together. She’s dating my sister, actually. In fact if they’re not engaged by New Years I’ll be shocked.” 

Marinette’s head whipped around to look at him. “O-oh. Oh! Oh, I understand now.” She flushed. “Just, before—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Luka grinned. “I can see how that would look if you didn’t know.”  

“Wow, how off base was I, though,” Marinette giggled. “So your family’s from around here? I—oh, that sounded nosy didn’t it, I’m sorry, I swear I’m just trying to make small talk.”

“I’m not offended,” Luka chuckled. “Actually my family just moved here a few years ago. When my mom bought the tree farm I thought it was just another one of her crazy whims and she’d move on to something else before long, but she seems really happy here. What about your grandma? Gina doesn’t seem like the small town type, either.”

The conversation flowed comfortably from there, as they finished the garland and moved on to the other decorations. Marinette didn’t ask him any more questions about his music, and he carefully steered clear of asking her any questions about why she’d come—or been sent—down to their little town, and faster than Luka could have expected, they were closing up the empty boxes and stacking them to the side to be returned to storage. Marinette had a good eye, Luka had to admit as he looked at the tree. Not surprising, he supposed, but it did look a lot nicer than the previous year’s tree. Not only that, Marinette had arranged the extra decorations on the library desk in a pretty little display, and with his help, had even trimmed the windows with some icicle lights they found at the bottom of one of the boxes. Luka knelt to plug in the last set of lights, and when they were on, the whole library screamed holiday cheer to an almost obnoxious degree.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, Rose appeared behind him. 

“Wow, look at this place, it’s awesome! Everything looks great! You two make a fantastic team!” She grinned at Luka, and he raised his eyebrows at her in warning. “Everything is so festive,” Rose went on, clearly ignoring him, as she laid a thoughtful finger to her lips and examined them, “except for you two. You’re ruining the mood.” 

Faster than Luka could track she whipped something out and stuck it to his forehead, then turned and did the same to Marinette. Only when he saw the bright blue gift bow stuck to Marinette’s forehead did he realize what Rose had just done to them, and he rolled his eyes as he reached up to touch the bow on his own forehead. Rose swatted his hand away and then grabbed his arm, hauling at him until he had no choice but to stand up or fall over.

“There, now you’re properly decorated too,” Rose beamed. “All right, you two have spent all morning helping me, so get out of here and go do something fun! It’s such a pretty day!”

“Rose, it’s freezing,” Luka tried to say, but Rose was already pushing them towards the door, and he gave into the inevitability of it all with a sigh. 

“Go down to the café, have lunch on my tab, both of you,” she ordered, dumping their coats in Luka’s arms before shoving them out of the door. “Thanks for all your help!” she called, waving at them as the doors slid closed.

“Real subtle,” Luka grumbled, reaching up to peel the bow off his forehead as he turned to face Marinette. That was a mistake, because the way her mouth was pursed in a little moue as she worked to remove her own bow was kind of adorable.

Damnit, Rose.

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [33]

iv. watch the thrones

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: mentions of blood, getting drugged, injuries, death, Lincoln gets brained with a rock (this is my brothers description, I had to include it), anxiety.

Summary: things in Arkadia are rapidly changing, and for the first time in a long time, you and Bellamy find yourselves on opposite sides. new leadership takes over, and you agree to something you never thought you’d do.

a/n: hi loves! in case you didn’t see my post at like 5 in the morning (lmao what is sleep), I finished writing s5 last night! it still needs some editing, of course, but I’m hoping to start to on s6 early next week which means we will probably be moving to three posts a week! let me know if that’s something you want! also the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

When you open your eyes to find the medical ward, you let out a soft groan. Twice in one week, great. The sound stirs the sleeping figure beside you, and you look down and lock eyes with a very worried looking Bellamy. Tears spring to his eyes as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

You reach up and brush a finger over the frown lines on his forehead, smoothing them down, and you can tell he’s been beating himself up for leaving you behind, probably from the moment he drove away. You give him a soft smile, “Getting drugged by your boyfriend builds character.”

“You’re not mad?”

You shake your head. “Gina told me not to be. Said she overheard everything. Reminded me that sometimes people do crazy things for love.”

He smiles, but you can see the guilt still there, weighing on him heavily. “Don’t carry this alone, Atlas. You thought leaving me behind meant I was safe. You had no way of knowing.”

He nods, before shaking his head as if he’s clearing his thoughts, replacing the frown with a small smile. “Look at you. Comforting me while you’re the one hooked up to the IV.”

He stands, “Let me go get your mom.”

You turn, reaching out to grab him. “Not yet, please.”

He nods and sits back down beside you, and as your eyes follow him, they pass over a yellow book with blue binding, resting on the table beside you. You smile and reach out for it, passing it to Bellamy. “I got you something.”

He smiles slightly when he sees it, and you cringe a little at the imperfections on the cover. “Sorry about the explosion damage. And the blood.”

You see the sadness in his eyes, but he laughs at your joke anyways. You scoot over to the edge of the too small bed and pat the space beside you. “Read to me.”

He looks hesitant, eyeing the small space. “What if I hurt you?”

“If I know my mother, I know there are enough pain meds in this IV that I won’t feel a thing.” You pat the bed again. “Now tell me about the gods.”

His worry softens into one of love, and you know he won’t deny the request, the same way you never deny when he asks about the stars. He carefully slides into the bed beside you, maneuvering until you’re half laying on him, with your head on his chest. He presses a kiss into your hair before opening the book, and starting at the beginning. “Sing, O goddess, the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon…”

You fall into his voice as he reads to you, telling you of the Trojan War, drawing comfort in the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear. Because if the last 24 hours have taught you anything, it’s that sometimes people do stupid things for love, and you were glad that you got hurt, while Bellamy came home safe.

-

There is no privacy in the medical ward.

Your mother comes in while Bellamy is reading to you, and after some begging, she sits down beside you to tell you about the summit and why Clarke didn’t return. Kane steps into the room as she’s updating you, and as soon as she finishes, he’s muttering quiet apologies for not allowing you at the summit and leaving you at the Mountain from Hell. Raven forces her way in next, practically knocking Jackson out of the way when he scolds her about “patients needing rest”. You’re relieved to hear that her and Sinclair are okay, thanks to you she says. 

Octavia and Lincoln join the group not long after her, both pleased to hear that their training came in handy when you fought off the assassin. Your mom chases them all out soon after, lecturing them about privacy and rest, before checking your IV’s and bandages and leaving you alone again with Bellamy. As soon as the room clears out, you turn to Bellamy. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I know that no one else will either. Did you check for survivors?”

“We tried to, but the rubble was too dense. Abby said there’s no way anyone could have survived that, especially because most of the people were probably in the middle of the mountain when it collapsed.” You feel a wave of guilt rush over you, making you sick. “They’re having a memorial.”

You look up at him. “When?”

“In a few minutes, I think.”

You sit up, already tugging the IV out of your hand. “I wanna go.”

“Wait, what about-”

“I know what you’re going to say. Yes, I was stabbed three times, on top of my still healing fourth stab wound. Yes, I was also thrown backwards from an explosion. Yes, I should probably stay in bed. And yes, my mother will have a fit.” You look up at him, face serious. “But I need to be at that memorial, Bellamy.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it, before going to grab your pants and jacket, most of your clothes discarded when they stitched you up. He helps you dress before kneeling down and helping you into your boots and tying them up for you. Once he finishes, he stands and helps you out of the bed, making sure that you walk slow and lean most of your weight on him. 

As you walk through the room and towards the door, you see your discarded knife and holster on a table, and you reach out for it. Bellamy stops and grabs it, helping you strap it to your thigh, and you look at the knife as he slides it into the holster, the blade still stained red. It makes you think of Gina, covered in blood, barely alive, urging you to leave her behind. You glance at Bellamy as he slowly leads you to the memorial. “Gina saved my life.”

He glances over at you, expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

“She was covered in blood, Bellamy, her shirt soaked through with it. She had at least three stab wounds to her stomach that I saw, but I’m sure there were more. She was barely alive when I got to her, and she still managed to tell me about the self-destruct. She told me to go after the assassin and get the codes, instead of staying to help her. I don’t know if she knew what she was doing, if she knew that what she was telling me to do would save my life, but it did. I’d be dead in that mountain if she didn’t send me after him.”

Bellamy stops in the hall and turns to face you, tears springing up in his eyes. His voice is thick with emotion when he chokes out, “I’m thankful for Gina, because she saved one of the most important things in my life.”

You reach up and wipe the fallen tears from his face. “I’m thankful for her too. And I’m thankful the summit wasn’t a trap, and that you came back to me safely.”

You pull him down for a kiss, pushing all your love for him into it, letting him know that you’re okay, you’re safe, and he doesn’t need to feel guilty. You pull away and whisper, “I love you.”

He whispers back, “I love you more than the stars.”

You both smile and he helps you the rest of the way to the memorial service, and you slip inside during the middle of it. Bellamy finds a pair of chairs in the back, out of view from your mother’s position near the front. Pike stands up at the front, near a table of memorial objects, and addresses the room. “All that’s certain is that we die. How we die is up to us. Who will speak for Iris Jones?”

Miller’s boyfriend Bryan stands, moving to the front of the room quickly. “Iris was strong, good with a knife. She saved my life. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do the same for her.”

He flips open a pocket knife and sets it onto the table before returning to his seat beside Miller. Pike stands again. “We will miss Iris. May we meet again.”

The room repeats in unison, “May we meet again.”

“Who will speak for Gina Martin?”

You sit up in your seat, looking around to see who will speak for her, surprised to find no one. You glance at Bellamy, finding that he’s equally surprised, which is enough to fuel your split second decision, and you stand. Pike’s eyes find you and he nods, a look on his face you can’t identify. As you walk to the front of the room, you risk a glance at your mother, who’s shaking her head in disappointment. You mouth, “Sorry.”

You turn and look at the room, suddenly nervous to speak for Gina, a woman you barely knew, but you decide that honesty is always the best. “Um, I didn’t bring anything for Gina because I didn’t find out about this memorial until a few minutes ago, so I’m sorry about that. But I just wanted to say that though I barely knew Gina, she saved my life. And until the end of her life, she tried to save the lives of her people. Our people. I’ll spend the rest of my life honoring that.”

You nod your head once, and glance out at the crowd. “May we meet again.”

The crowd repeats back, “May we meet again.”

You head back to your seat, and Pike stands and shakes your hand as you walk past, murmuring, “Strong girl.”

Behind you, the doors to the room open and a few guards step in, heading straight towards Pike. He drops your hand and steps away from you, and you walk the rest of the way back to Bellamy. You see Lincoln standing behind him, having quietly slipped in at some point, and you nod to him in greeting as you sit down. The guards are talking quietly with Pike, and as the crowd starts to murmur with worry, you turn to ask Bellamy, “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, looking just as confused, and you watch as Pike walks over to Kane and your mom, relaying whatever news came from the guards. Pike must not like what they have to say, because he steps away from them, looking disgusted, his voice rising louder. “You gave a Grounder one of our radios?”

This sends a wave of worry through the crowd and everyone stands as Hannah, Monty’s mom, asks, “Sir, are we under attack?”

Bellamy stands beside you, looking over the crowd to watch Kane, and you rise and stand next to him, trying to get a look. “No, we are not under attack. The Commander sent a peace keeping force to ensure that we can defend against any further attacks from the Ice Nation.”

You feel Bellamy tense beside you before Pike yells, “Peace keeping force? Even you can’t be that naïve, Marcus!”

Your mother snaps, “Watch your tone, you’re talking to the next Chancellor. This has been hard on all of us, but we can’t let anger drive our policy.”

“Anger is our policy!” The crowd murmurs in agreement, and Pike jumps onto a chair nearby so the room can see him. “Now if they’re here to defend us, as you say, then tell them to go home! We can defend ourselves!”

You pull a face, unconvinced, and look over to Bellamy to see if he feels the same. But his expression is passive, unreadable. You don’t have time to dwell on it any further, because one of Pike’s men, Gillmer, yells out, “You!”

You look up and see him pointing in your direction, but after a second, you realize he’s pointing at Lincoln, who’s right behind you. “You don’t belong here.”

Some of the people in the crowd whisper their agreement, and before you can even process what’s happening, Gillmer pulls his arm back and throws a rock at Lincoln, hitting him on the side of the head. You and Bellamy jump into action at the same time, both of you moving in front of Lincoln to defend him as some of the crowd turns and tries to attack. A few of your fellow guardsmen also jump into the mix, defending Lincoln, keeping back the surging crowd as they kick and punch at all of you, trying to reach Lincoln. 

You let out a yelp of pain when someone’s fist lands in the stitches on your side, and Bellamy immediately notices and punches the guy so hard that he hits the ground. You turn, ready to defend against the next person, but a high pitched whistle pierces the room, freezing everyone in place. You all turn to see Pike watching the events from his chair, disappointed. “We do not attack our own! Fighting each other only makes us weak. The enemy is not in this camp. The enemy is out there.”

You turn and glance back at Lincoln, who looks unsteady on his feet, his eyelids fluttering as he fights back the pain. He turns and stumbles out the door before anyone can check on him, and you turn to Bellamy. “Get your sister and get my mom, and meet me in medical. I’ll bring Lincoln.”

“Okay.” He leans down and kisses you quickly before making a beeline for your mother on the other side of the room. You turn and follow the path Lincoln took, coming out into the sunshine to see him kneeling on the ground. He punches the wall in frustration, and you barely hear him whisper, “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.”

You watch as he pulls himself to his feet, and you ask, “What does that mean?”

He spins around quickly, surprised to see you, and you give him an apologetic look. He translates, “Get knocked down, get back up.”

“I like that.” You peer up at the cut on his head, the blood rushing down the side of his face and onto the ground below. “Let me take you to medical.”

He shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

You lift your shirt slightly, revealing your stab wound, now reopened. “Then you should take me to medical.”

He gives you a serious look, and for a second you think he’s about to lecture you, until he smiles. “Looks like we should go before your mom and Octavia hunt us both down.”

“Agreed.” 

You both start walking towards the building slowly, partially because of your mutual injuries, partially because neither of you are in a hurry to get into the serious conversations that await you both in the med bay. You glance over at him as he stumbles slightly, and he turns to you, voice sarcastic, “This is turning out to be a great day.”

You look down at your stained shirt, now turning red with fresh blood, and then at the little patches of bandages that cover your other wounds. You laugh along with him. “You know, I’ve been getting my ass kicked ever since I got down here.”

Lincoln watches you from the corner of his eye. “Do you remember when you went into the woods the morning after you landed, and sat and watched the sunrise?”

You turn to him, suspicious. “How do you know about that?”

He looks away, watching people as they mill about the camp. “Because I was there. I think I scared you off.”

“I knew I heard someone out in the woods!”

“Sorry.” He turns towards you again, looking like he means it. “I was keeping track of the camp, trying to double check my numbers when you came marching out into the woods with a troubled look on your face.”

“I was thinking about my dad, and my shitty relationship with Clarke and my mom, Shumway...just all the bad stuff really.”

He nods, “I got to see a lot of your leadership, before you even realized you were becoming a leader. I always liked the way you lead; empathetic, but take no shit. A warrior with a heart.”

You look over at him, smiling. “Yeah, well what about you, Mr. Risk It All For Octavia? You were the first Grounder that tried to help us make peace, all because you fell in love.”

He laughs when you draw out the word love, playful, before you add, “You’re the original warrior with a heart. The physical embodiment of it.”

He shrugs, “Maybe. I was just doing what I thought was right.”

“I think that’s all we can do.”

You both fall into comfortable silence as you walk the rest of the way into the medical ward, and as soon as you’re both through the door, chaos erupts. Lincoln is swarmed by Kane, Pike, and your mother all asking him a flurry of questions. You both exchange a knowing smirk as he allows them to lead him over to one of the empty beds and look him over. Jackson walks over to you, a disapproving look on his face. “Those were my best stitches.”

You lift your shirt, exposing the reopened wound. “They were.”

He leads you back over to your abandoned bed, bringing his med kit along with him. You lean back and allow him to work, listening in on the conversation happening on the other side of the room while your mom stitches up Lincoln. “Do you want to press charges?”

You can’t see Lincoln, but his tone is firm when he answers, “No. No charges.”

“Lincoln, we need to set an example.”

Lincoln agrees with Kane, but not in the way he wants him to. “Yeah, we do.”

“The man just lost his son, Marcus.” You roll your eyes at Pike’s defense of Gillmer.

“Lincoln didn’t do that.”

The rest of the conversation is cut short as the Blake siblings run in. Octavia heads straight for Lincoln, and Bellamy comes to your side just as Jackson finishes your stitches. You smile at him in thanks, and he gives you a serious look. “No more fist fights until you heal. Please.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He smiles before turning away, leaving you and Bellamy alone. When you look up at him, you see his jaw is set and his eyes are locked on your newly stitched wound. You pull your shirt down, before reaching up and lifting his gaze to meet yours. “I’m fine, Bellamy. You can put away your ass kicking look.”

“I just got you back.”

“I know, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze lifts from yours as Pike and Kane walk out of the ward, before he looks back at you again. “I need to go talk to Pike about his men. Will you be okay?”

You sigh, because the look on his face tells you his conversation with Pike is inevitable. You reach up and grab his shirt, tugging him down until his lips meet yours. He kisses you hard, and it surprises you, the almost possessive feel of it. You pull away and whisper, “Please don’t beat anyone up on my behalf.”

His expression is unreadable when he answers, “No promises.”

He starts to turn away, but you grab his hand and tug him back. “I love you.”

The blank expression melts away, affection crossing his features, the words never failing to soften him again. “I love you more than the stars.”

He leans down and presses another kiss to your lips, this one softer than the last, before turning and leaving the ward in search of Pike. 

-

You spend most of the afternoon helping Nyko and Lincoln with the sick Grounders that Nyko brought to Arkadia while you were at the memorial service. They ask you to translate the Trigedasleng for your mother, helping you practice and correcting you when you make mistakes.

Sometime in the evening, hours after almost everyone has left, you’re sitting with Lincoln and Nyko, listening to stories of their friendship, when Harper and Monroe run in. You stand as soon as you see them, panic written clearly on both of their faces. “What? What’s going on?”

Harper shakes her head, “I’m not sure, but it’s not good.”

“Explain.”

Monroe steps forward. “We went to the mess hall to find Bellamy, to ask about you, actually, but we stopped when he realized he was sitting with Pike. Their conversation looked really serious, so we tried to listen in on what was happening, but we only caught bits and pieces.”

Harper nods, “They were talking about the Grounder army and how it’s dangerous for us to have them here because they can attack at any time.”

“And then he mentioned it would only take a small team to take them out.”

“We couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation because they started talking really quietly. But then a few minutes later, Bellamy got up and left.”

“We thought maybe he was coming here to see you, but as we started walking this way, we came across Miller.”

You look between the two girls, confused. “Okay, and?”

“Miller was guarding the armory, and said Bellamy came over to relieve him early.”

You feel your stomach sink to your feet as the pieces slide into place. “Shit.”

You look over at Lincoln, “How fast can you get to the front gates?”

“Fast.”

“I need you to stop them.”

He nods, and you turn to Monroe and Harper. “You two stay with Lincoln, back him up.”

They both nod. “I’ll be right behind you, go!”

They all turn and run off, and you jog out after them, heading towards the Chancellor’s office. Octavia finds you on the way, moving as fast as you can, clutching your side, and she sees the worry in your face. “What’s going on? I just went to medical to see you and Lincoln, and Nyko told me you all left in a hurry.”

“Bellamy is about to do something incredibly stupid because Pike got in his head. I need you to get Kane, tell him that Pike is going after the army. I’ll find my mother.”

She immediately turns and runs off, heading for the Chancellor’s office, and you turn and change course for your old residence, the one you shared with your mother. When you reach the door, you don’t even bother knocking, you just barge right in. You’re unsurprised to see her still awake, pouring over maps and notes, and she looks up in surprise at your intrusion. “What’s-”

“There’s no time. Pike is going to kill the army. Sound the alarm, shut the camp down, do whatever you need to do, but you can’t let them leave.”

“Oh my god.”

She immediately takes off running, and you turn to follow, stopping when you see her pistol lying on the table near the door, forgotten. You make a last second decision and grab it before running out the door and heading towards the front gate so you can meet Lincoln and the others. As you run up, Monroe and Harper are walking towards you, both looking defeated, and you’re about to question them when you see Lincoln standing in front of the group, blocking their path, while Gillmer points a gun at him. 

You run past the two girls and head straight for Gillmer, stopping a few feet away and lifting your gun towards him. “Stand down, Gillmer.”

He looks towards you in surprise, and you hear the sound of guns cocking as some of the people in the group lift their weapons and aim towards you. Bellamy panics and yells, “Guns down!”

They hesitate and lower them slightly, still watching you and Lincoln with suspicion. Lincoln uses the opportunity to knock Gillmer’s gun out of his hand, before pulling out his knife and holding it to his throat. The group freaks out again, lifting their weapons until Bellamy yells, “I said put the guns down. Now!”

“Do what he says.”

Everyone lowers their weapons, and Monty’s mom mutters, “So much for the good Grounder.”

You lower your weapon and turn towards Bellamy. “What are you doing?”

“I’m protecting us, like always. That army is a threat to us.”

“Bellamy, that army is here to protect us.”

Lincoln, still holding a knife to Gillmer’s throat, mutters, “We can’t let you start a war.”

Pike glares at him, “We’re already at war.”

Bellamy’s jaw sets, and you can see the muscles clench as he grinds out, “You can’t stop this.”

Seconds after he says it, the alarms in the camp start blaring, “All Arkadia security personnel, report to the main gate. All Arkadia security personnel, report to the main gate now.”

Octavia comes running up and stands beside you and LIncoln, looking at Bellamy in disgust. “What’s wrong with you?”

The rest of the guards, accompanied by Kane and your mother, arrive and target the small group. Pike yells, “Farm Station, guns on the ground. On the ground!”

Pike drops his weapon and the others follow suit, as Kane urges Lincoln to release Gillmer. He does so reluctantly, shoving him away, as your mother descends on Pike on a wave of fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What you didn’t have the guts to.”

“Guards, take them to lockup now.” She turns and yells to the gathering crowd, “Everybody back to your quarters. It’s over.”

“Nothing is over!” Pike fights against the guards at his back. “We are surrounded by warriors who want us dead!”

“That’s enough.”

“No, it isn’t. Not even close. Why don’t you show us all what you let the Grounders do to you yesterday? Come on, Kane. I think that the people who are about to vote for you have a right to know.”

Kane pulls up his sleeve, revealing the mark of the coalition, signaling Skaikru’s status as one of the clans. “It’s the mark of the Commander’s Coalition. It means we are the 13th clan. It means we are in this fight together.”

“No. It’s what farmers used to do to their livestock.”

Hannah adds, “Right before the slaughterhouse!”

Gillmer yells, “Sir, you should be on the ballot tomorrow!”

“That’s enough. Take him away.”

The guards pull Pike away, and as they lead the others away, you watch Bellamy, whose face is blank and unreadable. He doesn’t look your way once as the guards at his back start to push him forward, but as they do, he starts to chant. “Pike! Pike!”

The rest of the prisoners join the chant, accompanied by a few people in the dispersing crowd, and you, Lincoln, Octavia, Kane, and your mother all exchange horrified looks, watching as they go. 

-

You’re up all night, pacing in the Chancellor’s office as everyone discusses the possibility that Pike might be the next round of leadership. You don’t contribute to the arguments or discussions, your pace steady as you move back and forth across the office space, thinking of Bellamy. Your boyfriend, who broke the law. Your boyfriend, who broke the law to arm a rogue group. A rogue group hellbent on murder. 

You can’t make sense of it, can’t understand the thought process that led him to that point. You haven’t made sense of it by the time Lincoln and Octavia leave, promising to reconvene in the morning. You haven’t made sense of it by the time your mother falls asleep on the couch, slumped over on Kane. When the sun rises, signaling election day, you still don’t understand. Your confusion continues through your vote, Kane’s name written on a slip of paper, dropped into the ballot box. 

By noon, the votes have been counted, recounted, and checked again. The Chancellor has been chosen, and Kane is the first to find you. You’re sitting outside, carving a fourth tally mark into the handle of your knife, signalling the death of the Azgeda assassin, when he stops in front of you, pulling you to your feet. He leads you to a hidden corridor without a word, and you follow, noticing the serious expression on his face. He checks to make sure you’re alone three times before he turns to you. “Pike won the election.”

The news hits you like a bus, knocking the breath out of you and leaving you disoriented. “What are we going to do? We can’t let him lead. He’ll ruin everything we’ve worked for the last three months.”

“I know, but the people chose. They want Pike. It’s out of our hands now.”

“Kane…” You trail off, disagreeing, but he lifts a hand to quiet you. “There’s nothing we can do from the outside, but if we had someone on the inside, someone passing along information, we could change things. Sabotage them.”

You shake your head. “Bellamy is lost to us, Kane. I’ve been trying to understand it, but he has some strange new loyalty to Pike. He agrees with him, trusts him. No way he’ll turn on him.”

“I don’t mean Bellamy.”

The realization hits, and you almost laugh. “Me?”

“Pike won’t trust me or Abby, and he certainly won’t trust Lincoln and Octavia. But you…”

“I openly opposed him last night. I doubt he forgot that.”

“No, but he understands protecting his people, however misguided his attempts.”

You consider this, and Kane’s request for you to spy, a decision that will put you at odds with the love of your life. A decision that could ruin your relationship, end it, if he ever found out. But it’s also the only way to save Bellamy from himself, and from Pike. You look up at Kane with a sigh, “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I’m going to tell Pike right now. You should be there to greet Bellamy.”

You nod and follow him out of the hiding spot. He leads you over to the prison, grabbing guards along the way. The walk towards the cells feels dangerous, your anxiety growing as the reality of what you agreed to starts to hit you. But you push all of those feelings away, locking them in a box deep in your mind, because they are too dangerous for you now. The anxiety, the disbelief, the disagreements with Pike’s beliefs, they paint targets on your back. 

Kane opens the door to the cell and steps inside, and you stand just outside, watching from the other side. You and Bellamy lock eyes, and you can’t read the expression on his face, something that’s only started once Pike came into the picture. You quickly conclude that it’s not something you like. Kane holds out the Chancellor pin to Pike. “Congratulations, Mr. Chancellor.”

Pike takes it as Kane adds, “The vote wasn’t close. Our people are now your responsibility, Charles. I hope you take that seriously.”

“Thank you, Marcus. I certainly intend to.” He attaches the pin to his shirt, before turning to look at his fellow prisoners. “For my first official action as Chancellor, I pardon myself and the others. For my second official action, I reject the brand that made us the 13th clan. For my third, let’s finish what we started.”

Kane steps aside as everyone exits the room, following Pike out the door and to the armory. Bellamy is the last one to leave, and Kane leaves the room to give you privacy. He stands in front of you, silent, before whispering, “Less than two days ago, I thought you were dead. You all went radio silent, and when we got to Mount Weather, Raven and Sinclair were sitting beside you, keeping pressure on your wounds. They were surrounded by ripped pieces of clothing, soaked through with blood, and I thought there was no way that you were alive.”

He surprises you by reaching out, intertwining his fingers with yours. “The whole ride back to Arkadia, I was sure that you were going to die. Your mom stopped the bleeding the best she could before we left, but you were so weak and your breathing was so shallow. When we got back and they finally got you stabilized, I swore to myself that I’d never let death that close to you again.”

“Bellamy…”

You trail off, unsure what to say, but he continues, “Months ago, I promised that I would keep you safe, and I’ve failed. You have four stab wounds right now that I could have prevented, all of them from Grounders. From people who’ve been trying to kill us since we landed. That army is a threat to us, a threat to you. I won’t let them hurt you anymore, and I won’t let them hurt our people.”

Though you understand his reasoning, his fear now ruling his decisions and causing him to believe in Pike, you don’t agree. But as a spy, you let him think you do. “I didn’t understand it last night, but then something you said helped me to. You have always done what’s best for us and our people. I’ve been skeptical of Pike, which made me lose sight of that. But I understand now. Pike is what’s best for us and our people. I just wish you had talked to me before you armed them, we could have avoided the whole misunderstanding.”

Relief floods his features. “I was so worried you wouldn’t understand. After we take care of the army, I’ll talk to Pike about your guard position, let him know you’re on our side. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Pike said we had a small window, and I didn’t want to be the reason we missed it.”

You nod, and he leans down to kiss you. When he pulls away, he glances down the hall, where Gillmer now stands, waving him over. “I have to go, but we’ll talk when I get back.”

“Be safe.”

He nods and gives you one last kiss before running down the hallway, joining Gillmer, leaving you with a sick feeling in your stomach and the weight of the world on your shoulders.

-

next chapter

-

if sub rosa moves to three posts a week, which schedule would you be more interested in? keep in mind, I post in my timezone, which is CDT, the same timezone as the city Chicago, Illinois, USA. please comment on this post, send an ask or a message and let me know!

monday, wednesday, friday

wednesday, friday, sunday

[retvenkos]

amends pt. 4 // ricky bowen

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series - Slow Burn Ricky Bowen x Stage Manager!Reader Fic. Summary: That’s asking a lot of the theatre gods. Then again, it does include a lot of drama, so maybe it might just work out. pt. 1 // pt. 2 // pt. 3 // pt. 4 // pt. 5 // pt. 6 // pt. 7 // pt. 8 // pt. 8.5-ish // pt. 9 //  unfinished

To say that you had been having a hectic week was a gross oversimplification. Ricky and Nini drama aside, the entire main cast was at each other's throats. Gina was sabotaging Nini by making the role of Gabriella an oversaturated triple threat with dances that were impossible to memorize, Ricky and EJ were trying to give each other concussions with basketballs, and at any given moment, all four of them would jump at each other’s throats to secure the lead. Part of you was glad that you never became an actor yourself. Underhanded tricks and backstabbing blows were not things that you were eager to have on a daily basis. That doesn’t stop you from being in the middle, though. Perks of being in charge! You get to deal with everyone’s drama.

To top it all off, you had two essays due the next day, and you had only started on one.

The only one thriving was Seb, who was perfect every time you saw him - onstage and off. You tried to figure out what his secret was, but according to Carlos, there wasn’t one. Perfection simply happens to ‘unproblematic cinnamon rolls’ naturally. What a concept.

But all shows hit stormy, turbulent waters at some point in the rehearsal process. Hopefully, it would be smooth sailing from that moment onward. You didn’t think you could handle much more. That’s why you were so relieved when you got a text from Ricky’s friend, Big Red, asking if he could be a part of the crew. An extra pair of hands was just the thing you needed.

Turning the corner to where Carlos had said rehearsal was going to start, you almost ran into a few, wide-eyed ensemble members. It was only after you started to weave your way to the front of the group that you realized why they had looked so shaken.

Nini and EJ. Standing a few paces away from the group, a pointed space between them as they argued. Their voices were low, but any conversation that had been happening in the hallway had stopped as everyone listened to them with bated breath. You moved to stand next to Big Red, vowing to talk to him after you finished listening to what happened between Nini and EJ. In your defense, it was your job to know what was happening between your leads chemistry wise. After all, Ricky had texted you to let you know that he was going to be late to rehearsal (it was a group text to you, Carlos, and Miss Jen. It’s not like he had any reason to text you personally. It’s not like the two of you had been texting all week and he was the only reason you were sane or anything…). So Nini and EJ were going to have to be Troy and Gabriella, and this betrayal of trust was complicating things.

“Summer’s over.” The tension in the hallway was palpable. Nini’s face was set in harsh lines, and although you couldn’t see his face, you could imagine his eyes widening in panic as his jaw worked soundlessly, trying to come up with an answer.

You turned to Seb as he pretended to be reading from his binder. He looked at you, his head never moving. “Are they…?” you whispered, trying to remain inconspicuous as Nini now faced the group. His nod was almost nonexistent, but the look in his eyes told you everything. Great. So much for clear skies and smooth sailing. You looked at how EJ looked at Nini longingly, the realization of how badly he messed up dawning on his face. Then you looked at Nini, her face solid stone while her head and heart raged within. A hurricane was coming, that much was certain.

Carlos and Natalie ran out of the room that everyone was waiting outside of, effectively disrupting the dark mood that hung in the air. You took that as your cue to start getting Big Red up to speed on where the musical was. If there was going to be a disaster, you needed all hands on deck.

…

“Since when was blocking like going to hell in a handbasket?” Gina chuckled slightly at your remark as you watched scene seven of your beloved musical crash and burn. Well, not the entirety of scene seven. The first part was great. The ensemble did a killer job being comically terrible at their audition. They Sharpay and Ryan audition was ridiculously good, and Ashlyn killed it as Ms. Darbus. But then it happened. Miss Jen (insisting on using the names of the characters) ushered Sharpay and Ryan offstage and called for Troy and Gabriella to enter stage left. That’s when it all started to go downhill.

You looked down at your notes for the scene as Miss Jen tried to work with the lovely couple onstage. Was it even worth fixing? Part of you wanted to scrap the scene entirely. I mean, sure, maybe it was worth mentioning to Nini that she needed to be more natural in her movements, but did you really need to tell her and EJ to actually look at one another when they sang? If they couldn’t pretend to even be apathetic strangers, could they really transform themselves into being pretend lovers by opening night?

“No, dear, that would be upstage.” You looked up as Big Red furrowed his brow, moving so that he could push the piano in the correct direction. Another note: make sure to teach Big Red blocking terms. Nothing would ever get done if the basics couldn’t be handled.

Your phone buzzed and you tore your gaze away from the mountain of corrections you had. It was from Ricky.

from: ricky

(3:15 p.m.) i’m on my way. my mom got an earlier flight, got held up with family stuff.

You bit your lip as you read his text. Things were very confusing with his family, but you didn’t exactly know how. There had been hints of it at auditions and when the two of you talked about meeting up to practice lines or study for math on the weekends (not that you would ever have the courage to actually get together with him), but Ricky had never explicitly told you much. Not that he had to or anything - you were just worried about him. You could tell that it bothered him. You figured that you would get there in time. Friendship takes time to grow, and personal stuff like that was usually disclosed later on.

to: ricky

(3:17 p.m.) we’re in the little theatre. get here as soon as you can.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should you tell him that Nini and EJ broke up? You fought with yourself; it wasn’t your business to tell, but it would give a reason as to why he was needed so badly. But then again, if Ricky thought that Nini was available, wouldn’t he try and pursue her again? And wouldn’t that cause her to quit the show from the drama? Wouldn’t that then lead to EJ dropping out too? The last thing you needed was people dropping out or calling it quits. There were only so many actors, and the last thing you needed was a change in dynamics this late in the game.

(3:18 p.m.) miss jen is about to go off the deep end.

Ricky texted back a panicked emoji and you smiled as you locked your phone. It wasn’t a lie, that much you realized as you watch Miss Jen try and salvage the scene with some good, old fashioned girl talk.

Carlos turned around to look at you, a distressed look on his face. “If we can’t get this together soon, we’re going to be behind your schedule.” You sighed, flipping to the schedule at the front of your binder. You had spent hours making sure there was a time for everything. You even color-coded it.

“Maybe we could get some of the individual choreo learned outside of rehearsal time?” You gave Carlos a knowing smile. “You and Seb still have to learn Bop to the Top.” You winked at him jokingly and he laughed, a blush growing across his face.

…

You and the copy machine were good friends. Especially at this point in the rehearsal process. So when Ricky said he needed to borrow someone’s copy of scene seven, you had grabbed Miss Jen’s key off of her desk and made toward the copy machine in the teachers' lounge. Most of the teachers recognized your face in there at this point - you had been making copies for teachers since your first year as a TA for Psychology.

You grabbed the warm pages off of the copy machine and made sure to align them before stapling them in the correct order. Then you sat down at a table and (getting out your pens) started to mark down the entrances and blocking for Troy. Lord knows EJ wouldn’t help Ricky - especially after what went down earlier.

You felt bad for what happened if you were being honest. EJ and Nini were never the perfect match. They both needed someone different. You just weren’t sure if that someone that Nini needed was Ricky or not. They had history, sure; they also had chemistry in spades. But it takes more than that. You knew that. Love was hard.

You let your mind drift to Ricky, with his small smiles and sad eyes. You remembered how happy he used to be. All you wanted was for him to be that happy again.

A teacher walked into the lounge and pulled you from your thoughts. The scene. Ricky.

You quickly finished writing the blocking with a few additional notes and stuffed your pens in your backpack. You made a mental to-do list for when you got home as you walked back to Miss Jen’s office. You stopped outside and rose your hand to knock, but heard something inside before you could make a sound.

“My parents are splitting up.” You knew that voice. It took everything in your power not to gasp. “For real.” You stepped away from the door slowly, letting the voices from inside the office muffle with each step.

You weren’t meant to hear that. You shouldn’t have been listening in on their conversation. If he wanted to tell you he would have. But poor Ricky. It all made sense now. What he said at his audition. The snippets of conversation you heard when he and Nini fought. The reason he could be so despondent. Why he was so afraid of losing people.

You looked down at the copied scene in your hand. Rifling through your backpack to get a pencil, you wrote a note at the top corner of the last page.

--- taglist:

@snowman-spidey, @dinsey-chanel, @ruefulposts, @mightdielater, @ggukstoe, @wallacetdog, @onceuponafanfiction, @goodnight-n-dayglow, @prttybitchin, @loyalucas, @hxney-bunches-x, @hxzstxles, @parkeroffline, @madamestarlet, @parkerharrington, @fudgemesteveharrington, @hobistigma, @farfrom-peter, @fangeekkk, @tori-marie, @amxx44, @onceuponafanfiction, @softpeteparker, @filmqvakers, @wcnderwoo, @stitch-flo, @liberty01, @kxhliforniaa, @ilymarkchan, @complete-trash-101, @dystopianchic13​

[kinetic-elaboration]

February 8: Mountain Lion Mean Notes

Okay, so I was writing up notes on my Troped Western fic and then I clicked something and it all disappeared! I’m very upset and I hate the idea of starting again but like... I guess that’s what I gotta do :/

Mountain Lion Mean on AO3.

Written for @troped-fanfic-challenge​

So as I said in my notes, I watched Hell or High Water on the Sunday the trope document opened and immediately became obsessed, and that was my main inspiration. I saw it and loved it and, like with most things I love, my first thought was how can I do this too?? I didn’t want to do a straight AU of it, because it’s just too good and I don’t want to mess with that kind of perfection, but I knew I wanted a similar mood. I also figured pretty early on that I would try to include a bank robbery.

For the first days after the trope doc opened, I mostly just gathered inspiration and tried to think Western thoughts. In addition to HOHW, my inspiration included:

The Western episode of Charmed

A Western Rock playlist I found on Spotify

This post of southwestern gothic aesthetics

“Ranch Girl” by Maile Meloy (also the inspiration for it is new moon and twilight, which, fun fact, was originally going to be a Western; I didn’t re-read the story but it’s been haunting me since I first read it c. 2001 and is probably a partial inspiration for everything I write)

William Faulkner (especially “A Rose for Emily” and A Light in August) for the “town POV” narration

Sigrid Undset for the floating third-person-POV

The wikipedia article on Westerns, for succinct summaries of the themes of Westerns

The original aesthetic, quoted from my notes: “The vastness of the west, the frontier, a little uncivilized, a little dangerous, tough looking men who don’t talk much, extrajudicial justice, the heat and the desert…“

By the time I sat down to brainstorm, I had a few ideas and a few images already in mind. I wanted to include a bank robbery. I liked the idea of Clarke as a gunslinger and/or purveyor of vigilante justice. I thought I might use Gina as a bartender (this was during the half-moment I thought I might write a Bartender Mechanic fic; obviously neither of these things happened). And I liked the idea of including Murphy as some kinda criminal or unsavory type. The image of Bellamy as a taciturn cowboy came fairly early too.

I was a little uncertain at first if I wanted to do an 1800s western or a neo-western, mostly because I felt like the tropes I was attracted to and the images in my head fit better in the 1800s. But ultimately I settled on neo-western pretty fast, because I thought the imagery and themes would work better in the modern day. Plus I just thought it would be easier tbqh.

My first concern was to not just re-write a shittier HOHW. I was really caught up in the logistics of the bank robbery; including too much of that would necessarily make it a copy of the film, so I tried to keep just the bare bones of the robbery + the general justification (saving the family land). Then I added additional portions of the scheme--not too difficult since I knew I wanted Gunslinger/Vigilante Clarke in there, and I needed some way to show that she takes Justice into her own hands--and additional characters. Again, most notably Clarke, but also Raven and Octavia. The characters have their own backgrounds, personalities, relationships, and motivations, all of which make the story more mine imo. I’m satisfied with the balance of Obvious HOHW Influences and original content.

At some point, I described it to my mom as “Bellamy is Toby, Murphy is Tanner, and Clarke is canon Clarke but in the modern West.” Which I still think is accurate.

Including Clarke, though, and privileging the various relationships among the trio of Bellamy, Clarke, and Murphy, made me feel like I was making an it is new moon and twilight knock off except with Clarke for Raven. I still kind of see it, tbh, in the sense that twilight was itself supposed to be a western--I think it would be fair to say that Mountain Lion Mean IS the fic I set out to write in February 2020--and in the sense that I could have written a different story in the same universe as Mountain Lion Mean that explored the Clarke, Murphy, and Bellamy relationships in a way that is similar to twilight. As is, a lot of that is unsaid and unseen. The two fics have different focuses, so it’s probably only apparent to me just how similar they are. Just like, to me, Mad Women and The Wanheda Tape are the same story even though they have very different aesthetics and plots.

Some excerpts from my notes that I think are fun:

I really want to work with the themes (haha themes) of frontier justice and also the sense that the west is infinite but also small, that nature is hard and impossible to wrangle but that the opportunities are narrow and it’s easy to get trapped in it, the melancholy nature of it, the dichotomy of nature (huge, powerful) versus man (small, struggling against nature and against man). Or some such. Or Murphy just robs banks.

Bellamy owns a struggling ranch. Clarke is a gunslinger (don’t really know if I can use this trope in the current day but possibly?) who doesn’t trust the law. Has a conceal[ed]-carry permit. Is the best shot in three counties. Murphy’s been in and out of prison most of his adult life, mostly for crimes like robbery and assault.

How do they know each other? Possibilities: Murphy knows Bellamy through Octavia (idk why…but I do feel like O should appear, riding a horse) (background Octaven? Just a thought), Bellarke are exes, Murphy used to work on the ranch. Clarke has killed someone (someone Bad) and gotten away with it.

I do like the focus being on these three characters, who have a long history but aren’t currently close, coming together for a mission (to rob a bank) for the benefit of one who is struggling (Bellamy) even thought this is an awful lot like both Hell or High Water and it is new moon and twilight lmao.

I like that mood from HOHW where actually Toby was the most dangerous, and the smartest, and he won—the idea that Bellamy is the taciturn cowboy who’s not good at sharing his feelings but he’s also the mastermind in the end. Is that the twist? You get the impression Vigilante Gunslinger Griffin and Actual Ex-Con Murphy are planning something, but then it turns out to be Bellamy who executes the plan? [Not quite how it turned out lol in that I think it’s decently obvious that Bellamy was a major part of it the whole time but I did try to get some of this in with Octavia in the final scene--to really drive home Bellamy’s importance, as the ring leader, since otherwise one could ask, what does he even do?]

Midway through the planning process I came up with some more images to work from:

B and C out at dusk on the ranch, she’s shooting can, a bit of UST perhaps

M shows up at the bar and there’s an awkward silent entrance—perhaps he’s just out of prison

Murphy or Clarke guns akimbo [I picked Clarke to emphasize that she’s the gunslinger, but I had Murphy shoot out the security cameras to show that they were using his robbery experience]

Bellamy being silent and awkward

At this point, it was just about putting all the pieces together. That’s how I tend to plan Troped fics: I lay out all the pieces I need or want to include and then I figure out the shortest and most efficient distances between them. For example, I knew I needed a bank robbery and for Clarke to administer some vigilante justice--so I use that justice as a way to launder the money. They fake a will for her victim and “give” the money to themselves.

I did worry, and still worry, about the timeline re: the Bellarke marriage and the will because I’m quite sure it doesn’t make sense and doesn’t work. But it also... it doesn’t keep me up at night because the whole point is that it’s a scam!! Worrying about legality in a scam is sorta... lol. What I mean specifically is that I wanted it to be clear that Clarke does not kill Kane FOR this scheme. They use something she already did to their advantage. So she and Bellamy can’t be married at the time Kane is killed. That implies the murder was pre-meditated for the bank robbing purpose. But I’m also fairly sure (and I should know this because I took T&E but like...honestly can’t remember) that the people in the will are counted at the time of death, not the time of probate, or you could like... adopt extra kids or marry or divorce someone to affect the will. Plus all that stuff about simultaneous death etc. etc. Also, on a practical level, if Clarke wasn’t married, Kane wouldn’t have an obvious reason to write her spouse into the will. But I get away with this in my head by saying, first, no one’s going to say the husband that’s standing right there doesn’t count as a husband--the law is the law but it’s implemented by people and they fudge corners all the time. They do what seems to make sense even if you’d lose points for it on a law school exam. And second, the will could have been written with the assumption or hope that Clare would marry. Possibly even, though I don’t say this in the fic exactly, on the condition of marriage--Clarke gets 100% to share 50-50 with her husband if she’s married, 0% if she’s not. Doesn’t really matter. It’s supposed to read as outwardly clever and create Mystery and play with the Exes Aesthetic even if it doesn’t hold up the strictest scrutiny. (JDs don’t @ me.)

I justified including the marriage as a necessity because Kane could possibly leave money to Clarke’s husband but he wouldn’t leave money to some rando. I do stand by that part.

I also decided at some point that I wanted to include Background Octaven but be really subtle about it so it was something else the reader would have to piece together: that Raven has a girlfriend, then that Octavia has a girlfriend but, hey, isn’t Raven a bartender?--and then it comes together in the last scene as we see that their relationship was factored into Bellamy’s plan all along: some of the loot goes directly to Octavia and her partner, officially as payment for Raven’s services, unofficially because Bellamy wants to give O a gift. Anyway. Either it was too obvious or too subtle/boring because no one mentioned it but I thought it was cool lol.

At this point in my planning I basically had everything I needed, so I wrote a quick outline of scenes, as I always do, to see how it would flow scene to scene and if I had a place to put all the necessary plot info. I also ended up doing “what I need from this scene” lists for each scene so that I knew what I had to have on my mind to include before I sat down to write each one.

The actual writing was done over 3 days and fairly easily and quickly. I had a lot of fun not just with planning but with the actual process of creation. I think it’s because I was just honestly excited to be in this universe and play with this aesthetic.

Not to blow my own horn here but some parts that I was particularly pleased with were:

“Arkadia hasn’t seen a drop of rain in thirty-two days. The asphalt on the highway shimmers with heat; the air crackles with heat; the heat rises, stifling and strong, from the parched dirt and the cracks in the pavement.” Like I’m sorry but that’s a good image, I like that a lot. Whenever I felt discouraged, I just read that again and felt better.

The description of past Bellarke because boy howdy do I not care to write romance anymore but that was fun. I thought it was hot.

Transitioning Murphy laughing until the coyotes can hear into Bellamy hearing coyotes at night into Bellamy still hearing them during the day. I don’t know if it worked quite like I wanted to but in my head that is a very Cinematic transition, okay? I also like that even though Clarke and Murphy aren’t literally riding off together in that scene, for the reader, they are leaving the narrative never to be seen again. So they get their Dramatic Exit.

Octavia’s explication of the Theme and Bellamy’s possible motivations. I’m pretty proud of myself for actually having a theme and I think I did a good job of explaining it without being too heavy-handed. I also think it was perhaps risky to end with the POV of Octavia, a character who’s barely been in the fic before the last scene, but ultimately that decision felt right to me and I think it had a good flow, a nice mellow exit from the narrative.

What I didn’t like as much was a lot of the first scene. I think it has some great bits but it was the most re-worked part of the fic, and there are still some paragraphs and phrases that I feel are a little stiff. For example, this is a paragraph that I cut entirely:

Diyoza was sure the Griffin daughter did the deed back in January and she's sure about it still. She even gives a quote to the Sun-Times about it, despite her troubles with Green. But she had no proof then, not even a body to justify a murder charge, and she has little proof now. So no one believes the investigation will come to anything.

As you can see, it gives no new information. There were other sentences and phrases that weren’t doing work but were interrupting the flow, which also got cut, but I’m still not sure that the flow is perfect in the final version.

Also displeased that I edited out a * from the version on AO3, thus letting two scenes run together. How embarrassing!!! It’s fixed now though.

Overall though I’m so pleased! I love this fic and I love that I can love things again. This year has already been so hard, just like being battered again and again by waves of a storm, and it’s only 5 weeks in but this experience was so unabashedly good and I’m so grateful for it.

[tavi-hayes]

practice challenge ~ journey to the palace

((whoopwhoop, idk how i managed to write this (given it’s quite long and i usually never ever write stuff this long) also please excuse me again for any spelling/grammar errors i try. alsoooo thanks to these wonderful girls: Bethia @h-hart​, Kat @clara-choii​ and Pia @brookelynnsanders​!))

It was silent at work today. The only sounds were the flipping of pages and the ticking on keys of a computer, followed by a frustrated sigh occasionally.

“Maybe we should get some more flutes?” I said, “they’re not that expensive and they won’t take up a lot of space here.”

Lola, being distracted by her laptop, showed no sign that she had heard what I just said.

“Helllooo, Lo are you there?”

“Huh, what?” she ran her hands through her hair as she looked my way.

I lifted the catalogue to show her the flute page.

“No Tavi,” Lo leaned her head on the back of the chair, doing the accounts must have tired her. “We already have flutes, and no one is ever interested in them. They have been here for decades.”

I rolled my eyes, “maybe that is why no one is interested. They look grim.”

Lo refocused on her laptop, and I flipped another page of the catalogue.

Oeh, the bass guitars. My favourite part.

I ran my finger over the page, paying a lot of attention to each one.

There were electronic bass guitars, but also the semi-acoustic ones. Some were very modern-looking with the brightest of colours, while others go for more of a vintage look.

I don’t know if I would ever be able to part with my own baby. The bass guitar, that I now owned, had been eyeing me every day since it had arrived in the store. It had been love at first sight.

But it was such a big investment and I just didn’t have that kind of money.

A part of my earnings was needed for us to make a living, pay the rent and do the groceries for example. And the other part that wasn’t needed for that, entered our savings jar.

We had been saving money since the day my dad was put behind bars. For whatever reason those bars had been in St. George. Freaking St. George.

The province didn’t even have direct borders with Denbeigh, Ottaro was right in between.

That made a simple, but still long, car ride impossible. Not taken the problems that come with the snowy climate into account.

That same climate also caused issues for our only transportation option.

Denbeigh’s climate was hard to predict at times. It could be a beautiful day with sunshine and a clear sky, but then you wake up the next morning to a thick layer of snow.

And because those snowfalls could happen in at least 8 out of 12 months, a lot of planes got cancelled in those months. The only airport anywhere near Winnipeg was privately owned. So the owners could literally ask the prices they wanted for the plane tickets. And boy, they were only focussed on making a profit.

For a simple family of Fives, those prices were unpayable. Hence why we had been saving money for 6 years now, still nowhere near able to pay for tickets. My mom would need a ticket, Daniel and I would too, and we just can’t leave little Aria and Arlan. My dad should be allowed to see them as well. That’s means we already need the money for 5 tickets. But if we include Daniel’s family, with his wife and little Melody, then that would equal 7 tickets.

So yeah, I would never have been able to buy that bass guitar.

Until Lo had a brilliant idea. They would give it to me as my birthday present for the upcoming 10 years. At first, I couldn’t accept that kind of gift, knowing it would have been a huge investment for the Wood family as well. But they insisted, hinting that they would get an employee discount anyway since you know Mr Wood owns the place. So, the price dropped, and they ignored me, so I had to give in and accept. It was the best gift I had ever gotten.

The stores door busted open, “GIRLS!” Gina’s voice took me back to earth. “they’re about to do the draw!”

“What draw?” apparently Lo shared my confusion.

Gina rolled her eyes and grabbed Lo’s laptop from the table. “Wait, I was working! Save it, save it!”

The laptop was put right on top of the catalogue I had just been looking through. Lo ushered over as well.

“Let me just,” Gina had opened an internet page and started typing in the website address of Winnipeg’s number one news channel, WTV. Such an original name.

The news anchor, some middle-aged woman with very fake looking blond hair, appeared on screen. “What is she wearing?” Lo asked, disgust and confusion both showing on her face.

“A track suit, it’s part of her image,” Gina unmuted the laptop, the crow-like voice of the woman filling the room, “now shush, I wanna hear this.”

“… Cameron Porter has been selected for the Illéan national ice hockey team. The star of Winnipeg’s very own ice hockey team, the Winnipeg Belugas, will accompany the national team to the world cup, taking place later this year in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Last week’s draw concluded that Illéa will have to face the German Federation and New Asia in the group stage. The national team’s training will start next week.”

Lo and I shared a look, “this is what you wanted to see Gina?”

“Since when do you care about ice hockey?” I asked, this was something new.

“Urgh, you guys are intolerable,” she silenced us with her finger.

“… and now we will switch to the royal palace in Angeles, to watch the live draw for Prince Arin’s Selection.”

The draw, of course that was what had sparked Gina’s interest. For some unknown reason, the entire Selection had slipped from my mind.

Nevertheless, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Nerves. Looking over to my friends, I noticed the tense looks on both of their faces. Lo’s hands were clasped together, while Gina’s had disappeared in the pockets of her cardigan.

“Welcome,” some weird voice-over called.

With that the camera focussed on the prince.

“Urgh,” I rolled my eyes.

Lo poked me in the side, laughing, “oh Tavi your distaste is showing.”

“I don’t understand how you can hate someone who is that good looking. I mean have you seen that jawline? Perfection.” Gina had had a crush on the prince for as long as I had known her.

I rolled my eyes again, “I don’t hate him.” The drawing began before I had time to explain myself further.

“From Allens … Idalia Moretti.”

“He doesn’t look very happy,” I couldn’t help but comment, “or comfortable.”

Gina sighed probably annoyed that she couldn’t listen to the show properly, “his engagement was called off not that long ago. That is a pretty hard thing to deal with.”

“Yeah, I see, it’s so hard that he’s having a Selection. Shouldn’t he like get over the other girl first?”

My friends ignored me.

“From Angeles … Emily Rose White.”

This thing was going to take forever. I just wanted to look at the catalogue again, not at that prince, “he’s making me feel uncomfortable, just by watching him.”

Again, no response from either of my friends.

I took that as a sign to remain silent, knowing very well my friends wouldn’t reply anyway now that their eyes were locked on the prince.

“From Dakota … Brooke Lynn Sanders.”

Gina let out a breath she was holding, “okay now is Denbeigh,” she took our hands in hers, “fingers crossed it’s one of us.”

Her hand palms were sweaty, she must really want this.

“From Denbeigh … Octavia Hayes.”

We were all silent for a minute. Then Lo started screaming, Gina joining her. “Oh my GOODNESS!”

“Tavi! You’re going to the palace! You’re going to meet the prince!”

“Yeah,” I was absolutely lost for words. Meeting the prince hadn’t been the first thing that came to my mind, hell it hadn’t even been the second or third thing.

The first thing I thought was: I’m one step closer to getting my dad out of prison. I will be in that freaking library day and night looking for the book that is going to help me. There must be something somewhere about a second opinion on a court order, or something else to annul the judge’s decision.

“Ohhh, I’m sooo jealous of you right now. You are going to meet the prince! And there’s a chance he will fall in love with you and you’ll have beautiful babies.” Gina pulled on one of my curls, it bounced up and down as she let go of it.

“Uhm, I think that particular chance can be redeemed to zero.” I bit my lip, not even in my biggest dreams had I imagined my name would be drawn.

“Tavi, listen. I know you only applied for those laws books, but you need to be friendly to the prince if you want to stay,” Lo insisted, “or else you will be eliminated.”

“And I have to interact with him?”

“There are girls who would kill for a chance of even being in one room with him,” Gina took over, she sounded very serious suddenly. “You’ll meet him that’s for sure, and if you actually try you might make it far enough to earn a date. Just at least try to be nice, okay?”

“Just don’t insult him,” Lo added, “or his family, or the country. Okay, don’t insult anyone.”

The way my best friends were looking at me brought me right back to the good old school days. That was exactly the way teachers had looked whenever I had done something naughty. Which had basically been at least once every day.

“Do you promise?” Lo asked when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try not to insult anyone.” I sighed, this is going to be so much harder than I thought.

All of a sudden a lot robot-like voice yelled “BREAKING NEWS”.

It just scared the living shit out of me. We turned as one towards the laptop again.

On the screen was that fake blond woman in her tracksuit again.

“Prince Arin just completed the draw for his very own Selection. Some famous girls will be joining him at the palace. Our very own province will be represented by Octavia Hayes. You might have heard of her, given that she is some meekly Five. But her father’s name will ring a bell. Octavia’s father is Caspar H., a dangerous convict in prison for murdering Winnipeg’s beloved mayor Wilfred Wallis. He might have very well passed the criminal gene onto his daughter. Not only is she definitely not a good representative for Denbeigh, but the lives of the royal family might all be in danger.”

“Damn it!” Stupid news anchor. Why couldn’t they just stay out of my family’s business. Now the entire country will be aware of this. My dad’s arrest did make the headlines of some newspapers when all that had gone down. But that had been 6 years ago and I had hoped no one would remember that.

But now it was out in the open. Again.

It didn’t even matter that my dad was innocent. He had already been suffering for it by being locked up far away from our family.

“Tavi,” Lo put her arms around me, “that’s just bullshit, no such thing as a criminal gene exists.”

Gina joined our hug, “you can’t take anyone seriously who wears a tracksuit on live TV.”

*** Couple of days later ***

Dear dad,

My name got drawn for the Selection, I’m going to the palace and meet the prince. Some palace person is coming to pick me up anytime now so I can’t write a lot. Plus, if the mail has already arrived then you will have to wait another month before you get this anyway.

I asked Daniel if he could start writing a monthly letter as well, maybe he can even add a little picture of Melody so you can see her for the first time. He said he will take care of mom, Aria and Arlan as well. Molly will just cook dinner for more people, which she doesn’t really mind doing. At least that’s what she said.

Anyhow I will write to you from the palace.

Lots of love, 

Octavia

Zohl wzw, R’n hxzivw. Tlrmt gl gsv kzozxv, z dslov mvd vmerilmnvmg dsviv R wlm’g pmld zmblmv. Ovzermt nln, vhkvxrzoob mld gszg rg urmzoob hvvnh orpv hsv’h gibrmt gl orev ztzrm. Zmw dszg droo gsv xlfmgib gsrmp lu nv. Droo R gfim rmgl zm lfgxzhg? Zxxliwrmt gl DGE R’n tlrmt gl hozftsgvi veviblmv rm gsv kzozxv, yvxzfhv lu blfi ‘xirnrmzo tvmvh’. Yfg gsv kvlkov dsl olev blf droo zodzbh yvorvev blfi rmmlxvmxv, vevm ru gsv dslov xlfmgib hvvnh gl gsrmp lgsvidrhv. Qfhg pmld gszg dv nrhh blf wvziob. Zmw R droo gib vevibgsrmt R xzm gl tvg blf ivovzhvw. Qfhgrxv zodzbh kivezroh.

*** At the airport ***

The car journey all the way from Winnipeg to somewhere in Sota had lasted for ages. Even though I hadn’t really been aware of that, since I fell asleep as soon as they closed the doors behind me.  

A frustrated voice had woken me up, “can you please stop drooling all over the leather upholstery?”

My eyes flew open, saliva was indeed smeared on the seat. I quickly wiped it off my face, where it had been present as well. “Sorry,” I mumbled, I then realized we had arrived at the airport, I quickly opened the car door and jumped out.

What I immediately noticed was the rain puddle I had landed in. My shoes and socks were soaking wet. Great.

“Maybe you should try to act more lady-like?” the driver said with a very disapproving tone, looking me up and down. He had already taken my guitar case out of the car and was about to put it right onto the wet street. I quickly grabbed the case out of his hands, clutching it close to my body.

The driver sighed, “there’s the entrance to the airport. Inside it will be clear which directions to follow.”

I made my way towards the entrance he had pointed at when I heard him mumble to himself, “why did I had to drive a barbarian?”

As I turned around, the car’s engine had been running again. I wasn’t sure if he could see me, nor I did I really care. I showed my middle finger to the car anyway. Asshole.

Never had I seen an airport before. It was freaking massive, people walking in all possible directions. Some carrying luggage with them, others with balloons that read “we missed you” or “welcome home”.

One day, my fam and I will be waiting at the airport, carrying one of those dumb balloons around. Coming to pick up dad.

I snapped out of my daydream by someone tapping me on my shoulder. “Miss Hayes, please come with me.”

Nodding, I followed the person not really having another choice since I had no clue which way I had to go. Maybe this is some insane kidnapper.

My heartbeat increased; did I just make a stupid mistake?

“Only one girl has arrived so far. You are to wait for the others before you can board the plane.”

Okay, no insane kidnapper then.

Unless.

This is a complete setup created by his crazy brain.

Panic filled my body, damnit how will I get out of this situation.

Okay, if I just push the person onto the floor, that will give me a chance to run for my life.

One. 

Two.

Three.

I took a deep breath in, ready to make the push. But at the last minute the person side stepped which caused me to lose my balance. He looked at me in a very funny way, “please take a seat, the flight attendant will come get you in a few minutes.”

My cheeks turned very very warm, the redness might very well have equalled the red colour of a traffic light.

Trying to calm myself down, I slumped down into a chair. Yikes, only now became I aware of it again. My socks were still wet and cold. Sigh.

After taking a few deep breaths in and out, I noticed the other girl.

“Oh hey, you’re also a Selected?” I started, realizing it wouldn’t be a bad thing to talk to someone.

She turned towards me, “I am Brooke Lynn Sanders, but just call me Brooke please!”

Not knowing what else to do, I waved at her a little awkwardly. “hi Brooke, nice to meet you. My name is Octavia, but please call me Tavi.”

“Nice to meet you Octavia. Did you have a good journey?” I could already tell she did have the lady-like manners I had been lacking.

Oh god, I couldn’t possibly tell her about the drooling situation, so I decided to stick to a vague answer. “Yeah, it was alright thanks. What about your own journey? Which province are you from?”

“My send off from Dakota was a bit bumpy but I am here now. I wish they would have let me take the train though...”

Another girl arrived, also looking very much like someone the prince could end up with. Compared to these two, I was more of a rag doll.

Pushing my feelings behind that wall deep inside me, I waved her over, “oh yeah hi, please join us.”

We chatted some more for a bit, until Haven arrived.

The way she was walking, the only person I had seen walking like that was Long-Beard Logan, the homeless guy who could often be found near New Wave Records. He walked the same way, but he had one wooden leg.

Then Haven opened her mouth, a weird voice coming out, “hi.”

I noticed Brooke shared my confusion, “uhm hello?”

She took out her phone and typed something, it read ‘I’m Haven’.

My confusion hadn’t ebbed away, “are you alright?”

She typed some more, ‘yup:)) just got a bad cold! what are your names?’.

As a response to that we all introduced ourselves again. These girls didn’t seem to be that bad, hopefully the other Selected at the palace were the same. But the chance of that being true was small. Also, why did I care what the other girls were like? I wasn’t there to make friends, with them or with the prince. I had applied for the thing I needed most. Access to the royal library.

“Have you guys ever been on a plane before? This is all very new to me.” I admitted, trying to ease the nerves that had been building up inside me ever since my name had been picked in that draw.

Brooke had a very strong opinion on planes. Private planes more specifically.

Which came as a shock to me. The private plane part. I didn’t know what I was thinking but taking a private plane had never crossed my mind.

In the meantime, Brooke started talking about the CO2 emissions.

“How else would we get to the palace without having an endless journey? It’s not like there’s a teleportation device, right?” I said a little more vicious than I intended. The higher castes used planes all the time, if anyone had a cause in the destruction of our planet it was definitely them.

Brooke definitely had thought of it all, as she mentioned the outstanding quality of the Illéan train system. Clara chimed in to agree with her.

I decided to not mention my exact thoughts about the higher castes, given the fact that I had promised my friends back home not to insult anyone. So I just nodded my head, “yeah okay I understand your point.”

We were able to board the plane shortly after that. Brooke sat down in a window-seat and Clara nestled herself in the seat next to Brooke’s.

I took a chair on the opposite side of the plane, trying to create some sort of privacy for myself without being rude.

Haven sat down in the seat next to me and smiled at me.

The entry door closed; I could no longer contain my nerves. “Here we go I guess.” I tried to calm my breathing, but it didn’t really help. I tried to think of my family back home in Denbeigh, didn’t help either. I heard my dad’s voice in my head, it was like he was actually talking to me, “You are a strong girl, the flight will be over before you know it. Octavia, you can do this.”

A weird sound whisked my dad’s voice away, I looked over towards the source of the sound. It was Brooke choking on her drink. “Please don’t die,” I said. Her dying here would be a shitty start to this whole adventure. Besides, Brooke actually seemed like a nice person.

She coughed, “I am – I am trying.”

Haven mentioned her sibling, how they were close and stuff. She then asked if we had any siblings ourselves.

This provided me with the perfect distraction. I turned towards her, “yeah, I have three siblings. One older brother, a younger sister and a younger brother as well.”

Normally I would never share such personal information with someone I had just met but talking about them was the distraction I so desperately needed from this whole plane situation.

The others talked some more, but I just realized the one and only thing that would get me through this.

Music.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna listen to some music.” I said as I took my earphones out of my bag. “Haven would you like to join?” I asked her politely, given that she was sitting right next to me and it would have been quite rude otherwise.

She smiled at me and nodded, so I handed her one of the earphones. “I do have a very mixed taste in music so you’re in for a treat.” Maybe I could even make her listen to our own music, you know casually extending Five Whispers’ audience.

As a reply, Haven winked at me, “I love a girl with mixed music taste.”

Oh who would have thought, I had something in common with another Selected. I too liked people with a diverse music preference, since music says so much about a person. The quote ‘You are what you listen to’ was on one of the walls of New Wave Records music store. It was also my own personal life motto.

Clara and Brooke continued chatting, but I didn’t listen anymore. The music had taken a hold on me and it had only released me from its grip when the plane hit the ground in Angeles.

[dontgotowarforme]

Ok, I never post anything on here unless it's a reblog or whatever.... BUT the more I rewatch hsmtmts the more I feel like I need to rant.... I feel like these characters / storylines deserved better and here's why (if anyone cares):

1. Seb and Carlos ok I guess I get that Seb wasn't meant to be a series regular character in the beginning so they didn't care much to show details of his relationship like the other main characters, but his relationship with Carlos was very rushed and not given enough attention. I need all the details on them two. Like we had to watch Nini go back and forth between Ricky and EJ multiple episodes, but we couldn't see more Seb and Carlos screen time? They are precious and sweet and deserve more scenes. (which I know s2 is supposed to explore it more since Seb is now a series regular) (here's hope the writers don't mess them up)

2. Ricky and Gina I ship Ricky and Nini (because I am absolute trash for a friends-since-kinder to lovers trope) BUT I saw the beauty in Ricky and Gina too. If the writers knew that this season was leading up to the long awaited 'I love you' scene, then why write Gina as a possible romantic interest? They had so much potential to just organically become best friends based on the shared family issues and show how boys and girls can be just friends (and then maybe be introduced as something more once they got the ok for season 2) instead of creating yet another love triangle (which technically was a square when you include Ej). Also, if I was a Rina shipper I would be upset.... y'all almost got a relationship or idk something just to see it get tossed to the side like it didn't matter 2 episodes later??? Still doesn't sit right with me.

3. Nini (relationships and acting) I absolutely love Nini, but they could've wrote her storyline better, much better. I can understand the moving-on-too-fast and love triangle (don't like either trope, but I get it) (because as a teenager you feel like life in HS is practically your entire life..... it's a confusing time and every decision you make feels like the end.) But her still getting an offer to the Academy, even though she couldn't get through most of her scenes with Ej as Troy??? Unrealistic. She was soooo happy to finally get a lead role on her own and yet her acting was horrible (which kudos to Olivia for even acting like she was a bad actor) Idk it would've made more sense if she didn't get it. (also if I was the Dean and saw Seb, Gina or Ashlyn on that stage.... Nini definitely wouldn't have been on my mind) (oops) But anyway, it's all to move the story along and create yet ANOTHER conflict between her and Ricky. (Which brings me to my next reason.....)

4. Ricky and Nini he finally said I love you (with his whole chest) and now the writers want her to choose between him or her future.... I'm upset. You know the best decision would be for her to go, and Ricky would most likely encourage it because he loves her, but why even make this a thing??? Yes, the writers want Nini to grow and find herself outside of a boy.... but come on. Idk crazy thought, but maybe just let the teens be happy for once??? It would give the show a chance to explore the lives of the other characters more in s2 and people would still watch it. (at least I would) (cause I'm also trash for healthy working relationships)

5. Nini and Gina oh so much potential missed. I understood their competition in the beginning and it made sense to both storylines, especially Gina's. And I liked how they found a friendship in the end..... but why did the Nini-Ricky-Gina love triangle ever have to be a thing??? If they wanted another love triangle, it would've been cool (in my opinion) if it was Nini and Gina as the romantic interests. LIKE IMAGINE TWO BISEXUALS??? AND ON DISNEY??? but Disney would never. (also would the ship name be Nina or Gini???)

6. Gina why did they have to blow it up in her face when she was finally happy and felt like she belonged??? And how are the writers going to manage a storyline that allows Gina to stay for more seasons??? Maybe it's because I really love Sofia Wylie and find her so talented, but I want Gina to stay and keep the family she's found in her theater friends.

Idk these were just my thoughts and opinions on what the writers/show could've done better. I know they wrote a lot of it in a way so it could hold up on as a one season story (since they didn't even know if there would be a season 2 at the time) but I still felt like complaining about it. Anyway, here's hope for season 2 (but not really because I'm prepared to be slightly annoyed disappointed again).

[antiquatedfuture]

Zine Care Packages (Antiquated Future Spring Newsletter)

What a challenging time. Things have felt pretty bleak and I debated about whether to send this spring newsletter a lot, but friends convinced me we're all in need of good news. If nothing else, I want to say two things: 1) We'll still be shipping orders (with plenty of hand-washing and sanitizing) several times a week. 2) While we always appreciate and need your financial support, we'd also like to offer the resources we have to any of you who are having a hard time. 

In short: We're offering free zines (and tapes and books) to anyone who's currently struggling financially, mentally, or physically right now. No need to tell us details, just email and say "I'd like a package," and we'll send one your way. Let it be a surprise or make a list of what you'd like and we'll send you what we can. Feel free to spread the word to your friends and community through our Facebook or Twitter posts. It's not much, admittedly, but hopefully it's something.

In more general distro news: we have a few more calendars & planners in stock (and very very on sale), we’ve been restocking things as much as we can, and we accidentally left up our temporary store-wide cassette sale (that also includes a decent handful of LPs and CDs) as well as our zine sale on select titles. We also just posted a newsletter from the record label side of Antiquated Future. We're currently lending some small financial assistance to Portland writer Martha Grover as she recovers from a brain surgery by selling a fundraiser pack of her Somnambulist zine. And if you're in the Portland area, we're helping do porch deliveries of food, baby supplies, and various resources. Please reach out if you'd like one or you know someone in need.

NEW ZINES Antonia- A rare, almost-sublime zine about place, memory, and lost history. About the ways things change and stay the same. About how the place you're from shapes who you become. About growing up in a small Midwestern town without a zip code, a place not on most maps. ($5) Behind the Zines #9: A Zine About Zines- The latest issue of newest best zine about zines around. Within: the evolution of DIY comics culture, zine-fest history, imagined zines, One Punk's Guide to collaborative zines, a history of that one Crimethinc poster, The Most Unwanted Zine, confessions of a sex-zine zinester. Contributions from our own Gina Sarti, as well as John Porcellino and so many others. ($3) Brainscan #34: A Dabbler's Week of DIY Witchery- In the wake of the controversy surrounding a recent viral article about spending a week "becoming a witch," Alex considers what her guide to a witchcraft practice would look like. The results are a day-by-day guide to trying out her particular variety of secular witchcraft (that she lovingly refers to as "DIY witchery"). ($4)

Caboose #12: Jury Duty- A personal story of serving as a juror on a medical malpractice suit. As usual, Liz Mason's playful, endlessly curious take on the world makes this a ride worth taking. A peek into the court system through the eyes of this long-running zine-star. ($4) Clock Tower Nine #15- One of our favorite Seattle zines is back with tales from the record store counter, long walks in various locales, dangerous doppelgängers, and 8-track tapes. As Clock Tower Nine ringleader Danny Noonan describes it in the introduction: "This fanzine is like a bunch of people sitting around a fire in late fall, all taking turns telling a story." ($3) Cometbus #59: Post-Mortem- How does Cometbus, after 38 years as a zine, just get better and better? It's a mystery, but it does. Issue 59 is a deep dive into both death and longevity in the underground. In short: what does sustainability look like in counterculture? This question takes Aaron on a journey from the Epitaph Records and Thrasher magazine offices to hanging out at a punk-owned vegan donut shop and a tamale stand at the farmer's market with Allison Wolfe (of Bratmobile). ($5)

Doris #23- A back-issue fave from one of the best zines ever. Long personal stories that look both outward and inward in surprising ways. ($2) Doris #26- Shy-punk-girl comics, social ecology, the cynical hour, a grandpa who built malls, hammer and nail history, and more. ($2) Eulalia #3- Two issues of the art zine Eulalia in one. Grief and romance, hand-in-hand. Gorgeously designed! Letterpress-printed covers. Each issue is bound with a special do-si-do binding, so each half can be read separately. ($10) Fluke Fanzine #17- Since 1991, Fluke has been creating great variety zines covering all realms of punk and underground culture. Graphic novelist Nate Powell, skateboard magazine historians, Maximum Rocknroll, R.E.M., '90s women-led punk, the Soophie Nun Squad family tree, more. ($3)

Forever & Everything #5- Comics on parenting, depression, coffee, therapy, alcohol, Willie Nelson, Charlie Brown, and living in New Orleans. ($5) Good Days Gone Cold Days- A photography zine/art zine made while living and working in "a house without heat, without doorknobs, and without much insulation or electricity to speak of" for a late fall in western Pennsylvania. Comes with homemade bookmark, building permit, and banjo tab. ($12) Keep Loving, Keep Fighting #8- A reprint of this 2008 issue of Keep Loving, Keep Fighting. Forty pages of feeling at home in New Orleans, communication between friends, death, visiting Montreal, and moving away. ($5)

Learning Good Consent- An essential compilation zine about consent. From personal stories to worksheets, approaches, definitions, resources, and beyond, Learning Good Consent is here to help us all feel more comfortable and be more respectful. ($4)

Little Leagues #1- The companion comics scrapbook to Simon Moreton's epic Minor Leagues series. Prose, comics and photos about being in Japan, making chutney, experiencing autumn. ($3) Little Leagues #2- Comics about being in the snow. Drawings and photos of spring. A fold-out cover with facts about lesser-spotted dogfish. ($3) Our Lady of Near Death Experiences- Jodi Darby writes about becoming a cross-country truck driver as a 23-year-old woman in the mid 1990s. A mini-memoir told in vignettes, Our Lady is a twisted love song to the road in all its complexities. A gorgeous reprint of this zine classic from 1998. (And we have the last few copies before it goes out of print!) ($10)

The Paruretic #1: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy- The first issue of one of our favorite new zine series. The Paruretic tells what the intricacies and complexities of life with parusesis, the social phobia of being pee shy. Illuminating, accessible, and worth reading every issue. ($2)

The Paruretic #2: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (College)- In this issue, Mark recalls figuring out the debilitating effects of his bladder issues when he goes to college and, for the first time, navigates living in dorms, drinking at college-town bars, and hooking-up. ($3)

The Paruretic #3: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (Vacation)- In this issue: searching out acceptable bathrooms while on the road, not urinating for ten hours while in the air, and a bathroom-by-bathroom diary of experiences. ($3) The Paruretic #4: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (The Search for Help)- In this issue, Mark reaches out, looking for help, and is met with a less-than-sympathetic medical system. Within: clueless medical professionals, almost losing a job over a urinalysis, and finally finding someone who understands. ($3) The Paruretic #5: The Story of a Guy Who's Pee Shy (Dating)- The dating issue covers how Mark handled (or avoided handling) dating in high school and college. It's a chronicle of, as Mark says, "how my shy bladder has driven every part of my love life." ($3)

Somnambulist Zine Pack Fundraiser- For the past 17 years, Portland memoirist and illustrator Martha Grover has been publishing Somnambulist zine, an expansive and playful look at the world at large (and easily one of the best zines running today). This pack includes all nine in-print issues of Somnambulist (a $40 value for $25!). All proceeds go straight to Martha's brain surgery recovery fund. Help a great writer, get nine amazing zines. ($25) Somnambulist #33: How to Survive the Portland Winter- A fun how-to guide from Portland-born writer Martha Grover. Within: dealing with all the rain, taking care of your mental health, venturing out, staying in, eating soup (with recipes!), and the truth about umbrellas. Illustrated by Liz Yerby. ($5)

Somnambulist #34: The Starfish- A single, long-form essay about Martha's journey through Cushing's disease and Addison's disease, and the lingering tumor she's chosen to not demonize or see as something separate. The Starfish is a surprising and exciting meditation on what it means to be in a body. ($3) Surely, They'll Tear it Down- A short zine letter about gender, race, identity, and not-knowing from the author of Fixer Eraser and We, the Drowned. ($2) Tattoo Punk Fanzine, Issue 3- A jam-packed new issue of Tattoo Punk, the fanzine about tattoos, punks, and tattooed punks. Edited by Ben Trogdon of everyone's favorite artsy punk paper, Nuts! ($15) Valentines Every Day- Weirdo anytime-valentines from zine-seller extraordinaire, Julie Wade. Funny, bizarre, off-kilter, occasionally unsettling. The perfect gift for that especially-odd someone. ($6) What Happened- A dreamy comic from UK artist Simon Moreton. Set in a '90s boyhood of meadows, sci-fi VHS tapes, MTV, crushes, first kisses. ($5) 

NEW BOOKS & MISCELLANY The Collected Plays by Portland Preschoolers- In short: One of our favorite little books around! A modern classic, even. Five years of collected plays written by Portland, Oregon preschoolers. Hilarious, invariably bizarre, oddly brilliant, sometimes surprisingly profound. Perfect for putting out on the coffee table, reading aloud to friends, impromptu group performances. ($10) Four-Year Depression- A book about figuring out how to love your family in the Trump era. From Billy McCall of Proof I Exist and Behind the Zines. ($10) Zine Game- A long-time favorite in the zine community, now in a fancy, professionally-made version accessible to all game lovers. Playing like a cross between canasta and Magic: The Gathering, Zine Game is all about building your own zines. A really fun time with tons of possibilities. ($16)

NEW MUSIC & SPOKEN WORD Alice Notley "Live in Seattle"- An LP of one of the most adored living poets. Alice Notley pushes boundaries, and it's an absolute joy to hear her reading her work. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Annelyse Gelman & Jason Grier "About Repulsion"- A collaboration between poet Annelyse Gelman and sound artist Jason Grier. About Repulsion mixes songs, sampled poems, textural walls, beats, noise, to create this EP of one-of-a-kind soundscapes. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Eileen Myles "Aloha / Irish Trees"- The legendary poet Eileen Myles, on vinyl for the first time. Aloha/Irish Trees features nearly an hour of Myles live in the studio, reading past and present poems. Intimate, playful, raw. (LP + digital download) ($16.95)

Harmony Holiday "The Black Saint and the Sinnerman"- Harmony Holiday's record of poems and sound collage. Adventurous and accessible, twisting cultural images into something surprising, political, socially aware. In conversation with Charles Mingus’ classic 1963 album The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Rae Armantrout "Conflation"- Fifty-four surprising and gloriously unique poems from Rae Armantrout, a Pulitzer-winning poet of great gifts. (LP + digital download) ($16.95) Susan Howe & Nathaniel Mackey  "Stray: A Graphic Tone"- Made in collaboration with Shannon Ebner, Stray: A Graphic Tone juxtaposes historic and recent material from poets Susan Howe and Nathaniel Mackey. An adventurous LP of spoken word delights. (LP + digital download) ($16.95)

Stay well, take care of each other as much as possible. Xo, Antiquated Future

[startofamoment]

that’s rough, buddy

Jake’s always had a complicated relationship with fire.

(A character study of sorts on firebender!Jake.)

Hi everyone! Welcome to this incredibly self-indulgent thing, in which I mash together my primary obsession of years past with my current reason for living. (Nevermind that they don’t intuitively mesh well. We’re just going to say that Brooklyn is kind of like Korra-era’s Republic City and call it good.)

An anon had asked me ages ago whether I had any headcanons on what type of bender each person in the squad would be. I hadn’t felt inspired to write an actual fic for this AU until the super talented @microfroggo took on my silly pitch to draw our boi Jake as a firebender a couple months ago. Because tumblr is tumblr, I’ll include the relevant links in a separate reblog down below – def check out Mikko’s work if you’re at all interested in getting something done!

PS: I should probably mention that I don’t do very much to explain the Avatar-related side of this AU. If you’re unfamiliar with the animated series, I’d recommend at least skimming through the wiki page so you get a basic understanding on the different forms of bending. (And honestly, if you have time, GO BINGE-WATCH A:TLA! I promise, you won’t regret it.)

PPS: FMA:B fans out there will note that I’ve included a little nod to everyone’s favorite Flame Alchemist… Because, yes, this is definitely just a gratuitous homage to all my hyperfixations. I’m sorry. (Not sorry.)

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

Jake inhales deeply then exhales, focusing intently on the small flame between his hands. He’s supposed to be making sure that it doesn’t blaze wildly or just die in the wind.

He’s done this particular exercise a bajillion times now. (Or maybe less – Mrs. Stratton did mention that he needed to work on his math.) Still, his dad says it’s very important to practice his control. Jake supposes that’s fair, given that it’s only been a few months since he nearly singed Nana’s eyebrows off while blowing out the candles on his blue birthday cake.

What he really wants to do is skip forward to launching fire missiles with his fists or propelling himself through the sky on flaming jets, exactly like he’s seen it done in the movies. But his dad says he’s got a long way to go before he can attempt anything more than a basic fire stream, so Jake just nods and does what he’s told. He’ll become a firebending master eventually.

Truthfully, though, Jake thinks that maybe if his dad weren’t working or golfing so much, maybe they’d get to train more often, and maybe he’d be able to progress to something other than breathing.

The funny thing is: when his dad officially walks out of his life, despite all of their training, Jake’s not sure he even still knows how to breathe.

--- 

 His mom’s an airbender, and Nana’s an airbender, and Gina and her mom are airbenders. So Jake wants to be an airbender. (If only it worked that way.) 

He’s unfortunately stuck as a firebender, with no one to teach him how to actually firebend, so he has to resort to copying the Ninja Lion-Turtles on TV. Raphael’s naturally his favorite, although he can’t make heads or tails of how to replicate his fire daggers.

He almost never experiments with bending at home, of course. He’s not the brightest, but he at least knows how dangerous it would be for one of his attempts to go wrong without anyone around to help extinguish the fire. On the rare instance that his mom isn’t at her multiple jobs, she lets him practice while she paints ceramics or cooks. She’s only had to run in with a bucket of water once, but, well– once is enough.

And yes, he could technically be enrolled in lessons… but that would cost money, and Jake would really rather have a full belly than a proper fighting stance. His mom is overworked and overwhelmed as it is; he couldn’t possibly ask her to look into registration fees at the local dojo.

 ---

 Occasionally, when he’s alone in the park with Gina, he’ll run through the few basic exercises he remembers then attempt some fire-jabs and kicks. He’s not supposed to, but he’s fairly certain that nothing will catch on fire in an open field and that, on the off chance that anything does, a patrol officer will handle it. Gina doesn’t mind at all and usually just uses the time to meditate. 

It’s on one particular trip to the park that it happens. He’s not even sure how he does it, just knows that he goes from buzzing from the inside out to shooting electricity from his fingertips. He lifts his hand up in wonder, trying to get a closer glimpse at the little iridescent bolts. He’s so enraptured that he doesn’t realize where his other hand is pointing. He doesn’t see the string of lightning hurtling straight toward his best friend.

Everything turns out fine in the end. The blast wasn’t strong enough – he isn’t strong enough –  to fatally wound her, but Gina still gets brought straight to the hospital.

“I’m okay, Jake,” she insists with a huff, waving off his umpteenth apology. “Besides, I swear I met Raava in the two seconds your lightning hit me. Did you know she’d be ethnically ambiguous? The scrolls have not done her justice at all.”

Jake chuckles, accepting the jello cup she offers him.

For the most part, he’s glad that she’s fine and that she apparently met the Avatar Spirit and that she still likes him enough to give him her dessert.

Deep down, he feels terrible. He’s never going to lightningbend again.

 ---

 Jake had assumed that he’d find his path in college and know what to do by the end of it. Instead, he’s a new graduate back in his childhood bedroom, freeloading off of his mom for as long as she’ll let him. He’s really just coasting through life and going through the motions, aimless.

Eventually, his clarity comes – not in a spark, but in a short-circuit fire erupting just a few houses away. 

He’s woken up by loud sirens blaring and screams echoing in the night. He acts on instinct, running out before remembering to put shoes on and running into the blaze without a second thought. The ground should be blistering hot beneath his feet, but he doesn’t notice at all. He keeps going until he’s parting walls of flames, ushering the family of nonbenders to safety.

In the thick smoke rising from the still-burning house, he sees destruction. In his hands, for the first time in a long time, he sees something good.

He thinks that maybe he should join the local fire department, that he should use his bending to help control and extinguish rogue flames. He thinks about it, and then thinks about it some more, and then figures that he probably wouldn’t enjoy the constant reminder of how devastating fire can be.

Months after mulling over it, he finally comes to a decision: “Mom? I think I’m going to sign up for the police academy.”

“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” she replies, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you.”

 ---

 It’s rough because all the other trainees have been honing their bending for years, whereas he’d been spending most of his life trying to restrain the inferno inside him.

Most of them laugh; one of them actually slams him against the lockers and calls him a “sorry excuse for a firebender.”

“Don’t mind him,” a voice says. “He wouldn’t know a good bender if the Avatar kicked him straight into the Spirit World.”

Jake looks up from where he’s slumped on the ground and recognizes her as the fierce metalbender no one’s been able to talk to all week. There’s a distinctive scar through her right eyebrow, and he wonders whether it came from a freak accident. (He also wonders how she got into the men’s locker room, or how she knew he needed somebody, anybody.)  

“I’m Rosa,” she says, reaching out a hand to help him up. “Wanna spar?”

 ---

 He gets better. 

He trains with any firebender that’ll take him on, watches instructional videos, goes on Yahoo! Answers… Soon enough, he’s wielding whirling discs and shooting comets of fire like the best of them.

The only thing he doesn’t even consider attempting is lightningbending. At least not until he’s in his thirties, watching wide-eyed as his new captain generates a cracking stream of electricity out of nothing. It’s just strong enough to stun the escaped convict they’ve been tailing, no real damage done.

“You want me to teach you how to lightningbend,” Holt says without preamble the next day.

Jake opens and closes his mouth dumbly, feeling thoroughly seen and not quite knowing how to respond.

“Before anything, Peralta, I should let you know that not everyone is able to manipulate lightning. It takes a different level of power and a certain kind of–”

“I can do it,” he interrupts quickly. “I’ve done it before, sir, when I was a kid. I just don’t know how to control it.”

Holt regards him for a long moment before nodding. “We start at seven tomorrow.”

 ---

 Jake’s always thought that fire meant power and aggression and pursuit. Instead, it’s weakness when he’s face to face with particularly-skilled waterbenders – those who can render him useless, temporarily buried within thick sheets of ice; or who send downpours of unrelenting, freezing rain over his head.

(He thinks, as Amy smirks and bends a rapid torrent of water toward his sternum, flinging him halfway across the training room, that he’s weak for her in a different way.)

 ---

 It had never occurred to him to measure the intensity of his flame. He’s always figured that the fire he produced was hot enough – hot enough to take down perps, hot enough to never turn the heat on in his apartment, hot enough to discreetly keep Amy’s coffee warm throughout the morning. (If she’s noticed him repeatedly finding excuses to pick up her mug, she hasn’t said anything about it.)

Charles, of all people, makes him check. “Hey Jake, do you know if you can keep a flame constant at say 350 to 425 degrees Fahrenheit?”

Jake turns away from his computer screen to look at him, his brow scrunched together in confusion. “Why?”

“I was thinking of doing an open-fire roast for the precinct’s Turkey Day dinner this year.”

“Boyle, you want me to firebend our main course?”

“It would make me so happy.”

Noting zero sarcasm in his response, Jake shrugs then swivels his chair back to his desk. “Okay, yeah– But ask Gina if we can book the training room for this. I’m not firebending a turkey in my apartment.”

 ---

 It turns out that being a walking furnace really does have its perks. Or at least that’s what Jake realizes as Amy burrows into his side, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles sleepily, exhausted from the day’s departmentally-mandated sparring practice and the just-as-steamy bedroom activities that followed.

(It had to have been well over their thousandth time facing off in the precinct gym, both of them familiar enough with each other that they could anticipate nearly all of their attacks… Except he really could never have foreseen Amy’s final move: completely disarming him, not with a tidal wave but with a kiss.)

“Warm?” he scoffs teasingly. “I think you mean hot.”

She groans loudly but cuddles closer to him still, her smile burning against his bare skin.

 ---

 He gets thrown for a loop when their major serial murder case boils down to a ring of firebenders, all stuck in their old way of thinking.  

“You’re not them,” Amy reminds him, running a gentle but steady hand down his back.

I could be, he thinks. Because even now – especially now – in the calm silence of the evidence lockup, he can feel the sheer power thrumming beneath his skin. All it would take is for him to get too angry or too drunk or too anything, and the worst could happen.

“You’re a good person, Jake,” she says, her tone more firm than before. “You always have been.”

He swallows thickly and nods, letting her pull him into a long embrace.

 ---

 If there’s one thing he’s wished he could do with his firebending, it’s healing. He’s watched Amy do it countless of times, stepping up as the precinct’s unofficial healer whenever necessary. He’s felt the soothing power of it himself – cool water coaxing at his skin, repairing everything from a black eye to a bloody nose to a stiff back.

Right now, watching the love of his life start to bleed out before his eyes… He’s never felt more helpless.

“Damn it!” Jake yells, pushing his jacket into her side, willing the bleeding to stop. With the shooter knocked out and cuffed in the corner, he’s finally free to assess the damage. “When is the ambulance going to get there? You need a healer, now! ”

“J-Jake,” she chokes out, bringing a shaky hand to his clenched fist. “F-f-fire c-can cauter-r-rize.”

He lets out a sharp gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “You want me to burn you?!” He shakes his head vehemently. “No, Amy, no. It’s too dangerous. I could kill you–”

“Y-you won’t,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. The open trust in her eyes makes him want to sob. “Jake.”

“Okay,” he says, wiping hot tears with the back of his hand. “Okay.”

 ---

 “Can you do the twinkling lights again, Uncle Jake? Pleeaaase?”

It’s bedtime at the Jeffords household, and two little girls are decidedly not asleep.

“Please, Uncle Jake? Aunt Amy? One last story and the twinkling lights?”

He meets Amy’s gaze and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs, her lips curling into a smile. “I suppose just one short book wouldn’t hurt. Right, Jake?”

He hums, feigning thought while glancing at the clock. “We might have just enough time before your daddy and mommy get back.”

Cagney and Lacey cheer as he switches off their bedside lamp, and then watch with glee as he fills their room with dozens of tiny, carefully-placed flames. He makes them flicker with a precise movement of his hands, makes them float like fireflies in the night sky.

The twins fall asleep soon enough, lulled by the soft tone of Amy’s voice and the amber glow of the lights.

Sometimes Jake forgets how enchanting fire can be.

 ---

 Yet again, he’s at the mercy of a waterbender.

This time, it’s his daughter, only two-weeks-old and somehow already able to cause ripples and waves as she moves a tiny hand through the warm water in her tub. She lacks any real control, which is perhaps the biggest problem.

“Amy!” he calls out, equal parts awed and panicked. There’s nothing much he can do right now, apart from maybe distracting the baby with a dancing flame. (Not that he’d allow her anywhere near fire, at least not yet.)  

 ---

 “I’m going to be a waterbender like Mommy,” his son declares one day, with all the confidence of a child that’s crossed the jungle gym for the first time. He’s a little older than most kids are when they start bending, but it’s too early to be concerned about it; he could just be a late bloomer. (Granted, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t start bending at all. They’d love him just the same if he were a nonbender.)

“How about firebending?” Jake jests lightly, feeling a bit wounded but also kind of relieved.

“Hmm, maybe,” Max shrugs, before running off again to play.  

Of course, of course, when the boy eventually does start bending, it’s a scorching stream of fire that bursts from his small outstretched fist. He’d been mimicking the probenders they’d seen on TV the day before, copying their fighting stances down to a tee.

Jake meets his eyes and sees the same mixture of fear and amazement he’s come to know so well. He quickly takes control of the wild flame, tamping it down to a low ember before gently passing it back to his son.

Max nurses the glowing warmth between his two palms, staring at it in fierce concentration. It flares too-strong for a moment, then recedes but doesn’t fizzle out.

Jake nods at him and smiles, pride blossoming in his chest.

“That’s it. Use your breath, son.”

[transracialqueer]

Five Potential Side Effects of Transracial Adoption

by Sunny J Reed

A trans- anything nowadays is controversial, but one trans- we don’t hear enough about are transracial adoptees. This small but vocal population got their title from being adopted by families of a different race than theirs — usually whites. But adoption, the so-called #BraveLove, comes with a steep price; often, transracial adoptees grow up with significant challenges, partly due to the fact that their appearance breaks the racially-homogenous nuclear family mold.

I am transracially adopted. My work is an outgrowth of my experience, research, and conversations with other members of the adoption triad; that is, adoptees, birth parents, and adoptive parents. This piece is a response to the misunderstandings and assumptions surrounding transracial adoption, and I hope it brings awareness to some rarely-discussed side-effects of the practice. While this isn’t an exhaustive list, by any means, these are just a few of the struggles that many transracial adoptees grapple with on a daily basis.

1. Racial Identity Crises, or “You Mean I’m Not White?”

Racial identity crises are common among transracial adoptees: what’s in the mirror may not reflect which box you want to check. I grew up in a predominantly white town that barely saw an Asian before — let alone an Asian with white parents. Growing up, I’d forget about my Korean-ness until I’d pass a mirror or someone slanted their eyes down at me, reminding me that oh yeah, I’m not white.

There’s a simple explanation for this confusion: “As members of families that are generally identified as white,” writes Kim Park Nelson, “Korean adoptees are often assimilated into the family as white and subsequently assimilated into racial and cultural identities of whiteness.”

Being raised in an ethnically-diverse area with access to culturally-aware individuals would help keep external reactions in check, but still belies the race-based role you’re expected to play in public. Twila L. Perry relates an anecdote illustrating the complexities of being black but raised in a white family:

“A young man in his personal statement identified himself as having been adopted and reared by white parents, with white siblings and mostly all white friends. He described himself as a Black man in a white middle-class world, reared in it and by it, yet not truly a part of it. His skin told those whom he encountered that he was Black at first glance, before his personality-shaped by his upbringing and experiences-came into play.”

Positive racial identity formation might be transracial adoption’s greatest challenge since much of the dialogue related to race and color begins at home. Multiracial and interracial families sometimes have difficulties finding the language to discuss this problem, so it’s an uphill climb for transracial parents (Same Family, Different Colors is a great study on this).

Parents can begin by talking openly about their child’s race. Acknowledging differences is not racist, nor does it draw negative attention to your child’s unique status in your family. Instead, being honest about it places your child on the path to self-acceptance.

2. Forced Cultural Appreciation (à la “Culture Camps”)

Picture culture camp like band camp (no, not quite the band camp talked about in American Pie). The big difference is that, unlike band camp, culture camp expects you to learn heritage appreciation in the span of just one week instead of how to better tune your trumpet. Sometimes adoption agencies sponsor such programs, designed to immerse an adoptee in an intense week or two of things like ethnic food, adoptee bonding, and talks with real people of your race, as opposed to you, the poseur.

These camps often get the side-eye — and rightfully so. Critics argue that “fostering cultural awareness or ethnic pride does not teach a child how to deal with episodes of racial bias.”

Much like part-time church-going does little in the way of earning your way to the Pearly Gates, once-yearly visits with people that look like you won’t make you a real whatever-you-are. I know culture camps aren’t going away, so a better solution would be using these events as supplements to whatever you’re doing at home with your child, not as the sole source of heritage awareness. And yes, racial self-appreciation should be a lifelong project.

3. Mistaken Identities -aka — “I’m Not the Hired Help”

Transracial adoptees’ obvious racial differences provoke brazen inquiries regarding interfamilial relationships. Having “How much did she cost?” and “Is she really your daughter?” asked over your head while being mistaken for your brother’s girlfriend does not contribute to positive self-image. It publically questions your place in the only family you’ve ever known, setting the stage for insecure attachments and self-doubt.

Mistaken identities aren’t just awkward, they’re insulting. Sara Docan-Morganinterviewed several Korean adoptees regarding what she describes as “intrusive interactions,” and found that “participants reported being mistaken for foreign exchange students, refugees, newly arrived Korean immigrants, and housecleaners. [One adoptee] recalled going to a Christmas party where someone approached her and said, ‘Welcome to America!’”

Obvious racism aside, transracial adoptees often find themselves having to validate their existence, which is something biological children are unlikely to face. Docan-Morgan suggests that parents’ responses to such interactions can either reinforce family bonds or weaken them, so expecting the public’s scrutiny and preparing for it should be a crucial piece in transracial adoptive parent education.

4. Well-Meaning, Yet Unprepared Parents

Sure, they’ll be issued a handy guide (here’s one from the 1980s) on raising a non-white you, but beyond a few educational activities and get-togethers with other transracial families, they’re on their own (unless online forums count as legitimate resources).

Some parents may good-heartedly acknowledge your heritage by providing dolls and books and eating your culture’s food. Others may mistakenly adopt a colorblind attitude, believing they don’t see color; they just see people. But, as Gina Miranda Samuels says, “Having a certain heritage, being given books or dolls that reflect that heritage, or even using a particular racial label to self-identify are alone insufficient for developing a social identity.”

Regarding colorblindness, Samuels explains that it risks “shaming children by signaling that there is something very visible and unchangeable about them (their skin, hair, bodies) that others (including their own parents) must overlook and ignore in order for the child to be accepted, belong, or considered as equal.”

As mentioned in point #1 above, talking about color while acknowledging your child’s race in a genuine, proactive way can counteract these problems. This means white parents must acknowledge their inability to provide the necessary skills for surviving in a racialized world; sure, it might mean admitting a parenting limitation, but working through it together might help your child feel empowered instead of isolated. Talking to transracial adoptees — not just those with rosy perspectives — will be an invaluable investment for your child.

I’d also suggest that white parents admit their privilege. White privilege in transracial adoption is beautifully covered by Marika Lindholm, herself a mother of transracially adopted children. Listening to these stories, despite their rawness, will help you become a better parent. By acknowledging that you may take for granted that being part of a societal majority can come with dominant-culture benefits, you open your mind to the fact that your transracial child may not experience life in the same way as you. It doesn’t mean you love your adopted child any less — but as a parent, you owe it to your child to prepare yourself.

5. Supply and Demand

During the early decades of transracial adoption (1940–1980), racial tensions in the United States were so high that few people considered adopting black babies. People clamored for white babies, leaving many healthy black children aging in the system. (Sadly, this still happens today.) And since adoption criteria limited potential parents to affluent white Christians, blacks encountered near insurmountable adoption roadblocks.

Korea offered an easy solution. “Compared to the controversy over adopting black and Native American children,” says Arissa H. Oh, author of To Save the Children of Korea, “Korean children appeared free of cultural and political baggage…Korean children were also seen as free in another important sense: abandoned or relinquished by faraway birth parents who would not return for their child.”

After the Korean War, adopting Korean babies became a form of parental patriotism — kind of like a bastardized version of rebuilding from within. During this time, intercountry adoption fulfilled a political need as well as a familial one. Eleana H. Kim makes this connection as well: “Christian Americanism, anti-Communism, and adoption were closely tied in the 1950s, a period that witnessed a proliferation of the word “adoption” in appeals for sponsorship and long-distance fostering of Korean waifs and orphans.”

Although we’ve seen marked declines in South Korean adoptions, intercountry and transracial adoptions continue today, retaining some of their politically-motivated roots and humanitarian efforts. We need to keep this history in mind since knee-jerk emotional adoptions — despite the time it takes to process them — have serious repercussions for the children involved.

But we can make it better

None of this implies that transracial adoption is evil. Not at all. Consider this missive as more of a PSA for those considering adoption and a support piece for those who are transracially adopted. I’m aware that I’ll receive a lot of pushback on my work, and that’s okay. I’m writing from the perspective of what I call the “original transracial adoption boom,” and I consider myself part of one the earliest generations of transracial adoptees. Advancements in the field, many spurred by adoptees like myself, have contributed to many positive changes. However, we still have work to do if we’re going to fix an imperfect system based on emotional needs and oftentimes, one-sided decision making.

(source in the notes)

[insertpenname-here]

Writeblr Winter Gift Exchange

A Quick Intro

Name/nickname and pronouns: Jeana (pronounced Gina) she/her

Is your Writeblr a sideblog? Nope! Main blog.

Do you celebrate a specific holiday? What and when is it? I celebrate Christmas on Dec. 25th

Do you have any special time constraints (exams, traveling, holiday observances, etc)? Nope! I’ll be working throughout my winter break, but I’ll make it work. 

For the Giving

What would you like to give? Bold which apply

Short fics/writing, moodboards/edits, playlists/music, drawing/art, Other (please specify) I love narrating stories. If you want a story of yours turned into audio, or for me to send you an audio instead of short fic, that would be awesome!

Content you DO want to do: I love writing sci-fi, romance, fantasy. I’m fine with writing pretty much anything, including erotica and erom. Also, if you want fanfic of your own work, I’m down. (I know it’s a dream of mine to have fanfic written of my stories, so it might be your dream too)

Content you DON’T want to do: Just no art. I can’t art. 

How many slots do you have open? 2 or 3, what ever works out best!

How would you like to be contacted? Message is best!

For the Getting

What source material would you like used for the gift you receive? Something based on Your Original Content, Their Original Content, or Fandom? Please include reference links or tags to make your giver’s life easier.

I’d love to see you use my original content or your own! If you want to use mine, I only have one full chapter posted for my story here. If you need to read more to get a feel for it, just let me know! I have three other chapters that are very rough, but I’m willing to share with you!

Moodboard I made for a few of my characters (along with some info about them):

Richard: Senior Agent for the MPS, uses his magic to manipulate the air. His personal song is a classical symphony. He’s very organized and hardworking. Without his work, he’d be lost. He doesn’t have many friends, or any aside from Amirah, Hazel (his cat) and his family, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys being alone. Despite his outward serious demeanor, a big softy on the inside. He’s the youngest and only deaf agent in the MPS, both facts that he is extremely proud of.

Amirah: In charge of the Junior Agency. She’s a black gay woman who’s risen through the ranks due to her incredible power over manipulating light and her attention to details. She’s loud and proud, and loves getting into arguments with Richard. She’s married to her wife Lily who is pregnant with their baby boy. Her personal song is a rock anthem.

Chrysanthemum: Often describe (by Richard) as the lovechild between a unicorn and a rainbow. She loves heels and skirts and pastel colors. She’s incredibly kind and smart and tends to ramble when she gets on a topic that she is passionate about. She studies Necromancy, though due to her magic license being revoked, can not practice it. Her humor is on par with that of a middle school boy. Also, in mood board she is shown to be white, but I decided that she has vitiligo. Her song is a folksy love song.

What type of content would you like to receive? Bold which apply

Short fics/writing, moodboards/edits, playlists/music, drawing/art, Other (please specify)

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[amyscascadingtabs]

for the first time, I think I’d consider the stay

It's the night before the wedding, and Jake is nervous. Amy calms him down.

Read on AO3

(I've been writing this on my phone late at night and early in the morning throughout the week and then I ended up with something which I've tried to edit until it seemed decent, which is... this I guess. Super soft and super fluffy like always when I write these two because w e l l. THEY’RE GETTING MARRIED)

The lights in their bedroom have been shut off for an hour now. A faint glow from street lights outside shining through the curtains is the room’s only source of illumination, the odd hum of an especially loud car or motorbike is the only sound except their breathing he can hear. He still can’t sleep. It feels as if someone has superglued his eyelids open or as if Rosa laced his water with caffeine again, only none of that is true this time. The reason Jake Peralta can’t fall asleep is because he’s nervous.

After the intense last week of hysterical wedding planning, complete with napkin choices and gift bag assembling and dessert orders, there are only hours left now. His tux hangs ready next to the dress he’s yet to see his so-soon-to-be-wife in, the rings have been ready for a long time and lay in matching boxes on his drawer. He even finished learning his vows on time after Gina came over and helped him practice.

(He had a few questions about her methods, most of which included a lot of yelling and a fair amount of verbal threats, but he knows the vows by heart now so he supposes she can’t have been all bad.)

He’s getting married tomorrow. He’s getting married to the best person, best former detective, current sergeant and future captain he knows, the one curled up next to him in bed with her hand laced in his. Amy stirs a little in her sleep. She mumbles something incoherent, and he marvels over the perfect feeling of safety he gets from having her so close to him each night.

(Sleeping next to her is one of the best things he knows after, well, sleeping with her as in sexy-timez. When the two of those events follow each other, which - not that he’s bragging or anything - is often, Jake’s practically in heaven.)

He wonders if she’s as nervous for tomorrow as he is. Everything since the day after Halloween, when the planning begun, has been leading up to the day that’s awaiting them tomorrow. Everything is ready, and now when it’s here he can’t help but shake the sensation it’s all too good to be true. What if something goes horribly wrong? What if he somehow has inherited his father’s less than worthless marriage-skills? What if Amy suddenly changes her mind and doesn’t want to marry him?

He has to check.

“Ames?”

“Mm-hmm?” Her voice is low, barely audible, but it calms him still.

“Do you want to get married tomorrow?”, he leans over to whisper in her ear. She doesn’t open her eyes, but the fond smile she gives him is enough to let him know she heard him.

“Go to sleep, Jake”, she answers, still smiling.

“Do you want to marry me tomorrow?”

“Yeah, babe. I want to marry you tomorrow. Now go to sleep.”

“I still can’t believe you said yes when I proposed”, Jake admits, blatantly ignoring her orders about closing his eyes. “I mean, I figured you would, but I didn’t know for sure. You could’ve refused.”

“You think I would have refused to marry you?” She turns around to face him, looking positively amused.

“You could have! You’re a strong independent woman who don’t need no man.” It’s an attempt to make her laugh, like so many other things he does, but the truth it holds is causing his cheeks to redden in the half-darkness.

“Well, luckily need and want are two different things. And this strong, independent woman wants to marry you. A lot.” She gives him an innocent forehead smooch before resting her head on her chest, the relaxing weight calming him as much as the scent of her, warm and familiar, does. “Now please get some rest. I have to get up in five hours if I’m going to look pretty for this wedding.”

“You could wear an old lost and found Halloween costume and still be the prettiest in the entire world, Ames.”

“I know you think that. But wait until you see me in that dress. You will lose your mind.”

He wraps his arms around her, right hand playing with her hair. “Amy Peralta, I don’t think I can wait another minute.”

“Jacob Santiago, I think you can wait a few more hours. Just close your eyes.” She squeezes the one of his hands not in her hair and buries her nose in his t-shirt. “You don’t have to be nervous. We’re on track with the binder, so it’s going to be fine.”

“I know. I’m not nervous anymore.” He means it. It’s much more difficult to worry when she’s in his arms all sleepy and affectionate in the most lovable combination. To be fair, he’s not sure he could ever feel a single negative thing in these moments.

“I love you”, she says before closing her eyes again.

“I love you too.”

What is there to be nervous about, anyway? What’s the worst thing that could happen? (A bomb threat? Pshh. He has to be realistic.)

Jake has known he wants this for over a year now. He’s been sure of it every day since that April evening with a single typo in a crossword puzzle and a sudden insight that yes, he wants to spend the rest of his life with this high-strung and binder-loving, quick-witted and drop-dead gorgeous nerd that gets upset over errors in crossword puzzles. As long as she’s there next to him, he knows it will all be okay.

Tomorrow his love for her - and hers for him - will be made official in front of their friends and family. He will promise her his forever and she will promise him hers. They’ll be husband and wife, real and actual grown-ups with their names on a contract. Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago will be Jake and Amy Santiago-Peralta.

He whispers those names to himself as he finally feels his body grow heavy and his thoughts fog.

He really can’t wait to marry Amy Santiago.

Only a few more hours. He’s just going to get some rest first.

[mucdonald]

Hey y’all!! I’m Jinx, I’m always tired and I use caps lock too much & ramble like it’s no one’s business. I’ll be playing Mary MacDonald and she’s truly one of my favorite characters I’ve been writing for years -- so I’m so so excited to bring her here to this wonderful RP! Most of what’s under the cut are just some fun rambles, trying to give you a proper look at Mary but I’ve also included a stat sheet and biography for further insight! 

AESTHETIC: Double winged black & gold eyeliner, graphic nerdy tees, tight fitting jeans, staying up all night, being the best friend you can be, giving the best presents,  perfectly manicured hands, always biting back, dark purple lipstick, scattered newspapers, marijuana smoke, Queen on vinyl, horned rimmed glasses, faded denim, quiet optimism, open cynicism, being messy with the words you speak but not write.

CHARACTER INSPO: Margo Hanson ( The Magicians ), Gina Linetti ( B99 ), Spencer Hastings ( PLL ), Cristina Yang ( Grey’s Anatomy ), Rachel Green ( FRIENDS ), Ben Wyatt ( Parks & Rec ), Ella Lopez ( Lucifer )

INFO: → biography • stat sheet • pinterest 

TRIGGERS: racism, prejudice, ptsd, drugs 

so mary is a libra/virgo cusp, which fits her p well tbh. september 23th, hoes, so she’s a lil older than the rest of her classmates though she definitely doesn’t act it.

her parents are sucky to her tbh but her brother and her are partners in crime. unfortunately he’s in his last year of uni before med school rn and he’s totally focused on that and not around as much.

coming to hogwarts was a dream and she met these people who are undoubtedly family.

in her fifth year mary had made a newspaper of her own for the school, only to find it all RUINED bc some ppl had fucked it up the day before she was gonna hand them out ( if u wanna be that person hmu ). it really upset her but it made her even more want to be a journalist and hasn’t stopped writing since. it’s not really a thing she talks about often, tbh? she used to a lot but she’s v scared deep down that something’ll happen again so she’s kept it to herself and in the future will get an offer from the prophet to write for them ( she’ll be treated p shitty due to being a muggleborn woman of color BUT ). at the moment though she really doesn’t know what to do with her life and feels particularly aimless despite her being super intelligent and having p good grades. really really aimless.

did i mention she loves her friends more than she loves herself????? BC SHE REALLY DOES. i imagine when she was in the hospital after her attack ( bc of mental reasons ) they came to visit her and it just made her love them more. regarding the incident though, while we don’t have a mulciber ( this is also very much open ended until we have one ) i imagine that mary, while she didn’t ask to be attacked, definitely instigated it to a degree. i imagine she could’ve easily egged on mulciber, as she usually does not know how to have a filter, and honestly i could’ve seen her doing it for a long time. in my opinion, this is why mulciber didn’t get kicked out from school -- because i could imagine the administration bringing up some BS like ‘well she instigated it’ also just being prejudiced bc she’s a muggleborn and a woc! but again, all of this is really open to changing as i don’t want to godmod! 

if you can handle her personality and shit, she’ll most likely love you. 

loves the bad guys with the sad eyes and the mouth full of white lies TBH it’s such a mess. not even because she thinks she can change them or make them better … it’s just her type it seems like … it’s REALLY FRUSTRATING. don’t ask her about her ex. she also love dorks tho. mary is definitely not interested in any kind of love or relationships though.

but she’s also BI BI BI she really thinks girls are a gift to the universe. she’s really figuring it out more so NOW, is probably out to her friends but not AT ALL to her parents, yikes

in the future she WILL have a chewbacca costume, too bad star wars hasn’t come out yet

is pretty rich and would buy her friends all chewbaca costumes if they wanted ( in the future )

is one of those stoners who are also perfectionistic and hardworking

WILL FIGHT BIGOTS ALL DAY EVERYDAY, will NEVER compromise who she is bc they hate her for her BLOOD. NEVER EVER. will ALWAYS PUNCH ASSHOLES AND BIGOTS IN THE FACE

she does suffer from ptsd, but she’s had a lot of therapy over the past summer that have helped her deal with it. she does still sometimes have random angry misplaced outbursts and still have nightmares but they’ve gotten a lot better thanks to the miracle that is Marijuana. she’s definitely still in the messy ass healing place though

would probably share her pot with you too she’s p nice about that

OH SHE WEARS GLASSES AND SHES GOT FRECKLES ACROSS HER NOSE AND CHEEKS!!!!!!

she really loves her friends, btw, idk if i mentioned that. i wanted to put peter quill as one of her character parallels bc she really acts like him sometimes and can be that reckless and stupid but it felt really random along side everyone ELSE so like THERE’S THAT FUN FACT

 CONNECTIONS ( though i’m doing badly at thinking of these rn ): 

FRIENDSHIPS: i need every sort of friendship! i need mary’s best friends! friends who bond over having a fucking hard time right now! stoner friends! friends mary stays up with all night to study with!

PURISTS AND ASSHOLES SHE’S PUNCHED IN THE FACE: self explanatory! 

FLINGS: mary is v much the type to casually hook up with people so i’m open to all these sorts of connections!! 

ANTAGONISTIC: these two butt heads whether it’s because they’re so alike or because they both just have a different set of ideals but do like challenging each other!!

TUTORS: mary is great with her school subjects in theory but in practice she’s definitely not the strongest witch and needs help from other people much more talented at magic!

BAD INFLUENCE: especially this year, mary is giving into her vices, into her complicated feelings, up all hours of the night, maybe someone who indulges this, someone she doesn’t realize is really trying to get her to give into this negative shit!

GOOD INFLUENCE: someone who helps mary see the good still, who pushes her to push through her pain or at least accept it. just a good human you know! 

MOM FRIEND: i mean y’all see she’s a mess someone give her a mom friend. pls. 

PAST RELATIONSHIPS/ROMANTIC TENSION: i’m open to maybe one or two lil cutesy relationships?? mary’s first love/everything broke her heart the summer before her fifth year so anytime before that. even if it was just something cute and innocent and it just didn’t work out or maybe they had something, it was there, but when she went home and fell in love w/ the dude who then broke her heart, she was TOTALLY closed off and it just never progressed from there. 

PARTY FRIEND: they always have a great time partying together, some of mary and them best times! tbh this could work for anyone as long as they’d be able to put up with mary and have a fun time

ANYTHING ELSE: i personally love talking about ideas etc so! anything else is great too!

[retvenkos]

amends pt. 7 // ricky bowen

High School Musical: The Musical: The Series - Slow Burn Ricky Bowen x Stage Manager!Reader Fic. Summary: That’s asking a lot of the theatre gods. Then again, it does include a lot of drama, so maybe it might just work out. pt. 1 // pt. 2 // pt. 3 // pt. 4 // pt. 5 // pt. 6 // pt. 7 // pt. 8 // pt. 8.5-ish // pt. 9 //  unfinished

You hated to say it, you really did, but maybe Miss Jen almost losing her job was just what the show needed. You looked around at everyone in rehearsal, and for the first time since this seemingly cursed production started, could smile.

Kourtney was matching the blue boa for “Bop To The Top” to the set decorations (which were finished weeks before opening night - the first time in high school theatre history!), Miss Jen was helping Gina and E.J. get the dynamics for their characters correctly, Carlos was leading Ricky and Nini through the choreography for “Breaking Free,” and they cast was clicking. The leads looked like friends, again. Close friends that would band together to save their dying show; close friends that joke with each other about things that had happened in the past without digging up skeletons in the closet. What you noticed most of all, though, was how Ricky absolutely beamed.

“So, months later, is the musical finally the escape I promised it would be?” You slowly ambled toward Ricky as the song ended. You tried your hardest to come off as cool and casual, but the butterflies in your stomach were bruising your ribcage and they slammed into it, full force - a development that you couldn’t decide whether it was something you hated or loved.

Ricky laughed good-naturedly at your comment and you felt your heart swell with pride. “Well, being an East High Wildcat is definitely different than being and East High Leopard-” Ricky cut himself off to catch a water bottle that Nini tossed to him, “-although neither is terrible at the moment.”

You nodded happily at his words. Everything was coming together - it really was. “And being Ricky? How’s that going?” You were careful with your choice of words, but your tone was light, as though it was nothing.

Ricky capped his water bottle thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You did your best not to stare, but with each passing day, your efforts had to be stronger for the same result. Luckily, Ricky was too lost in his thoughts to notice. “Well, I’ve made amends with Nini,” you both nodded and when he looked at you, his eyes were soft, “and I’ve moved on from her too.”

“Really?” You hated yourself for the hope that snuck into your words. How pathetic could you be? “I mean, that’s huge!”

“Yeah,” Ricky laughed sheepishly, averting his eyes. “I, uh, had a talk with Gina on the night of Homecoming. She helped me realize a couple of things.” He looked back up at you, the corners of his mouth pulling ever so slightly upward. You looked into his deep brown eyes and were trapped.

They were particularly lustrous under the stage lights, and even though they were full of hope there was something fearful in them - almost as though he was afraid to be exposed for too long. They crinkled sweetly in the corners from the smile that had started to break out on his face.

It occurred to you after a moment that you had been looking too long, but when you tried to find words to disrupt the moment, nothing came to mind. Part of you was glad; if you could stay here for the rest of your life, you would be happy.

The ping of your phone interrupted the moment.

You saw Ricky blink twice and you muttered an apology sheepishly as you tugged it out of your jeans pocket.

from: red (4:37 p.m.) If you keep looking at him I am going to gag and fall off the catwalk.

Your face was suddenly full of heat. You cursed under your breath and turned to Ricky. “It’s Big Red - he needs help with the lights.” Ricky nodded, downing another water bottle. “Keep up the good work!” You shot him a thumbs up before running off to where the ladders were.

Yes, Big Red was aware of your not-so-secret crush on Ricky. Honestly, it was a miracle that he hadn’t spilled her secret yet. And the number of looks he shot your way when the three of you were hanging out? You would kill him if he wasn’t a vital part of stage crew. He killed it on the soundboard.

“Are you going to try and out me every time Ricky and I are together?” You crawled across the catwalk, careful not to hit your head on any of the low hanging lights above you. Big Red turned his head toward you as you came closer, the biggest Cheshire grin on his face.

“I think you’re quite capable of doing that yourself.” You slapped his arm playfully with one of your gloves, careful not to compromise the position he was - moving the light to illuminate the center of the stage. “But honestly, you should just go for it!”

You scoffed and tilted the light a bit, trying to get his mind back on task. Big Red just looked at you momentarily before rolling his eyes. “Maybe I will,” you mumbled under your breath. From your vantage point, you could see Ricky below, practicing his lines with E.J. They were still a little stiff together, but Ricky was comfortable enough to pat him on the back as he laughed at one of “Chad’s” lines. A smile crossed your face as you watched him.

“Y’know, some might consider that stalking.” You scowled at Big Red and he smiled innocently.

“Just you wait until you have a crush. I’m going to make it hell for you.” Big Red laughed at your scowl.

“That’ll be the day.”

…

“Hey, E.J.?” You jogged to catch up with the tall senior, and he turned at the sound of his name. You bit your lip nervously. “Um… What’s going on in rehearsal? You don’t seem to have the positivity you used to.”

He looked around the backstage area as if he was trying to find a way out. You sighed. When Miss Jen had asked you to confront E.J. about his ‘lack of enthusiasm,’ you weren’t too jazzed either. But it was your job as a stage manager - and you knew it was for the better of the whole production.

“Yeah, well it’s hard to be positive when your world is crumbling around you,” his words were flat - not because he didn’t care, but because he was tired of pretending. “Nini hates me, and half of the cast won’t talk to me.”

“Hey,” you tried to catch his eyes, which were now glued to the floor. “I know some stuff has gone down these last couple weeks-” E.J. laughed incredulously and you shrugged a bit, “-but that doesn’t mean you can’t change. And don’t worry about Nini or the cast - worry about you. Once you start being better, Nini is going to come around. So will the rest of the cast. I promise.” E.J. looked at you hopefully and you gave him a reassuring smile. “We need you, E.J., don’t forget that.”

E.J. muttered a thank you before turning and walking out. You sighed, tipping your head back to look up at the ceiling. Even when things were getting better, there was still damage control that needed to be done.

“How does it feel being a personal therapist to 40 angsty teenagers?” Gina’s voice cut through the silent room and startled you a bit. You turned around to find her leaning against the set piece for the New Year's Eve party, her signature grin on her face.

You laughed and she chuckled softly as you walked towards her. “Yeah, well at least I never have to worry about you.” You smile good-naturedly and she forced a smile back. “At least one person on the cast has it all together.”

Gina let out an exasperated sigh and you could already feel yourself start to regret your choice of words. “Looks can be deceiving sometimes.” You looked at her and noticed something almost sad in her eyes.

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was little more than a whisper, but she heard it.

“It will be.” Her face hardened with every word. “I just… can’t get attached, y’know?” She smiled sadly at you and you nodded silently.

“See you later, Gina.” The woman in question held up a hand in farewell as you walked out. You turned around before you officially left and watched her look fondly at the sets around her. There was something sad in her movements, something that lent to the fact that there was something else happening.

You grabbed your phone out of your pocket, contemplating what to do for a moment. With a decisive nod of your head, you pressed Ricky’s contact and listened to the phone ring as you left the school.

“(N/n)?”

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