#like if you see me not shut up aout dr is because

[the-acid-pear]

let me be honest for a second here my grandma died so if yall see me get increasingly insaner and hit post limit at like 4 pm this is why im trying to fucking cope. and somehwat succeeding. but tumblr is the only place where im honest so let me say i want to throw up lol

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 22: Jackson/Raven, Daisies

Woah yeah wrote a random thing.

Jackson/Raven, ~900 words

Post-S3-canon-divergent (aka yet another “praimfaya? I’ve never heard of her” universe)

This is like kinda a romantic relationship but it could also be read as a close friendship if you want. I headcanon Jackson as bi.

My tag list: @ciewill @dealingdreams @shadowheron2013 @julyrubyrose @wonderland-promises @hanav @rycewritestrash @thelittlefanpire @musicnote902 @stonybnatural @earthgay2052 , @bellarkehastakenovermylife , @bellarkewriting, @astridandoddsandedds, @justbecauseyoubelievesomething (lmk if you would like to be added to or deleted from this list)

*

Physical therapy twice a week. Her leg. Her shoulder.

Arkadia retreats into itself; the gates close; for several days, no one knows that the Chancellor is dead, or who speaks for them in Polis, or what is being said in Polis, up above the blood-strewn streets. Raven watches the people of Alpha and Mecha and the survivors from Farm stagger in, tired like she is tired, shaking off a bad dream and with scrapes and scratches and bruises and aches they cannot name, which they catalogue over moonshine in the hangar deck, while outside it starts to rain.

Physical therapy twice a week. Her shoulder heals. Her leg—

When Bellamy returns, he puts on the Chancellor's pin. Abby, Kane, and Clarke stay away. Octavia stays away.

Raven gets used to the long chilly days, how each one is longer than the last, and the endless rains. She gets used to her routine. She starts looking forward to therapy sessions in med bay, and Dr. Jackson's patient hands on her. Sometimes they don't talk at all but sometimes, when he asks her how she's doing, she stares up at the shadowy high ceiling above and tells him the truth, not just about the stress and knots of her muscles, but aout her low moods, and her worries, her uncertainty like the gray wash of the sky. She asks how he is and the corner of his mouth curls up and he says, "About the same," and she tells him that's not fair: she's said her part.

They take walks together around the settlement, and some days the walks are difficult and sometimes, she feels almost like she used to, taking deep breaths of the damp air and shivering against the chill, and hardly any pain in her at all. Like maybe she's been bent up and scrambled and broken, but now she's straightened herself out and ironed out the creases and she's almost good as new. They pause at the gate and Jackson wraps his arm around her, like he wants to keep her warm. She holds her jacket closed tight and leans into him.

Arkadia is a mess of mud that never dries. The rains turn the dirt to muck and the people stomp and run through the muck, and Raven feels it dragging at her heels as she walks the same circuit around the place, again and again.

As the weeks pass, the sky grows clearer, the days warmer; the frost stops seeping in overnight. The trees outside the wall bloom with new buds. One afternoon, Raven takes the Rover out, Jackson in the passenger seat, and they drive out past the gates and past the trees. They drive until they reach a meadow where the new grass sprouts in a symphony of green, strewn over with wildflowers, fluttering with fluorescent butterflies. Jackson helps her down from behind the wheel. Even when she's on the ground, hard-packed dirt under her feet and grasses catching at her ankles, she doesn't let go. She's not quite holding on to him, not quite caught in an embrace; she's got one hand on the open Rover door and the other arm around him, and she closes her eyes tight when she leans against his chest. She feels him press a kiss to the crown of her head.

They sit out in the sun and listen to the sounds of bugs and birds; the grass tickles at Raven's arms when she lies down and looks up at the sky. Big fluffy clouds in the blue today. Next to her, Jackson is picking out white flowers from the ground.

"Did you take the chip because of me?" she asks. He pauses abruptly; when she turns her head to catalogue the stillness of him, the grass and bits of flowers poke along her cheek.

"I don't know how you could think that," he answers finally.

"I mean that's why A.L.I.E. targeted me. To make the chip seem... more appealing to people. Like if it could fix me, it could fix anyone."

"Raven, you don't need fixing—"

"Then why did I take it?" She rests her hands on her stomach, fingers curling against her shirt; she looks up at the biggest of the white, drifting clouds.

Jackson doesn't speak for a long time, and then he says, "I don't know. If I would have taken it anyway. To be honest, I can't remember what I was thinking at all."

She does. She remembers precisely the weight of the decision as she made it, like she'd fallen not to the ground but through it, deep into it, deep into a quickly sinking hole. Her leg that would never heal. A new body to live with, for the rest of her life. Pain management for the rest of her life.

"Do you still feel it?" she asks. "The bit of her—it—still inside you?"

She looks up and sees him shaking his head. "Clarke destroyed it—"

"She shut it off. But it's still there." She passes her hand across her forehead, pushing strands of hair out of her face. "Even more for me. I still feel it all the time." And: "Whatever I was when I got to Earth, I'm not that anymore."

They don't leave until the clouds start to turn ominous and gray, and the bright afternoon darkens with the threat of new rain. Jackson gets to his feet first, then helps her up. With his other hand, he presents her with a small bouquet of round, white-petaled flowers, with soft yellow circles at their centers.