honestly love the parallel of gina and nini having these massive opportunities and seeing how ricky responded to it but most importantly how they respond to rickyâs support.
with nini she didnât like how ricky was so clingy to the relationship and didnât like that he would ever entertain the idea that she would stay for him. even though ricky was very supportive and all he said was that he wished she could be there with him. as much as they loved each other, they just werenât compatible.
with gina she wants the complete opposite. she wants ricky to be clingy and love her selfishly (within reason of course). funny enough, gina is actually the perfect recipient of the text he sent nini in season 2 because thatâs exactly what she wanted to hear from him. they are so incredibly compatible in the way they love each other and they deserve that type of love so much.
and i think for ricky it was a lesson for him to know that he should never stop being himself in his relationships because the right person would love him the exact same way he loves them. with all his clingy and dorky traits.
It is inherently fun and sexy to say statements that swap the traditional genders of pronouns and terms mid-statement, such as:
"I'm going to make him my wife"
"She's my boyfriend"
"Who says a guy can't be a pretty princess?"
"That girl's the coolest dude I've ever met"
"She's a madman who has to be stopped"
"It's not his fault he's a material girl"
Gender is a set of watercolors and the prettiest shades come from mixing the paints together.
âAre you sure there arenât any bears out here?â
âThere are no bears in New Jersey, Mickey.â Ema was snappier than usual, a result of their mindless wandering out in the outskirts of New Jersey.
Spoon shone a flashlight in her face. âActually, there are quite a few black bears in New Jersey. Itâs a relatively small amount and they arenât dangerous unless you provoke them.â
Ema slapped the flashlight away. âPoint that at me again and Iâll get you before any bear does."
"But then you'll have one less person to help if a bear attacks."
âDoes anyone have any idea where we are?â Mickey interrupted.
They had lost their campsite at sundown when Spoon convinced them to visit a pond a few miles away and had been searching for it ever since.
It must've been well past six now, as the skys were pitch black, and Mickey was starting to get angsty. He had never been afraid of the darkness but he had also never experienced darkness quite like this. A complete emptiness. The ambiguity of what surronded him and what it could do. He was relieved to have Spoon and Ema along but wasnât sure if they'd keep him sane or if their bickering would drive him to insanity.
Spoon crouched, digging into the ragged canvas.
âWhat are you doing?â Ema snapped.
âI left a trail of jelly beans to track our path but I think something ate them,â he said.
Mickey trailed away from the group. He clicked away the Low Battery signal on his phone and shone his flashlight around. âHey, guys, Iâve seen this tree stump before. We passed it on our way to camp when we first got here.â
They mustâve not heard him because Spoon and Ema continued their bickering, the sound almost as loud as the chirping cicadas.
âWhy would you use jelly beans!â Ema shouted.
âI didnât exactly think they were an approved animal diet!â
âYou idiot! Iâll show you an approved dietââ
Mickey stepped between them, holding his arms out to keep them at bay. It took more force to hold Ema back than expected. The adrenaline from her anger must have upped her strength ten times.
âGuys. Camp. I think itâs over there.â
Spoon stepped back, looking in the direction Mickey pointed.
âDo you hear that?â he said.
The three of them quieted down. And low and behold, between the hum of cicadas was the roar of whales coming from Spoonâs noise machine.
âFollow me!â he said.
Ema slapped Mickeyâs arm away and followed behind.
âWhy do you even need a noise machine? Weâre in the woods. Thereâs noise everywhere.â
Spoon shrugged. âIt helps me sleep better."
When Mickey caught up to them and was back at camp he wanted nothing more than to climb into his tent and fall asleep. Ema was quick to enter her own tent. She zipped it shut without a word.
âNight, Ema!â Spoon yelled before looking at his own unbuilt ten.
Mickey was the only one of them with experience camping. He knew the proper way to build a tent and where to set up camp. He knew how to start a fire and could tell good firewood from bad. Ema quickly catched on, building her tent almost as fast as him, and aquiring a hefty amount of firewood. Spoon, on the other hand, did not. His tent laid on the ground in a sad pile of poles and tarp, next to the twigs he collected for smores.
Mickey sighed. âDo you want to stay in my tent?â
âYes, please.â Spoon gathered his noise machine and rushed inside.
Mickey followed behind and zipped the tent. He was too tired to register the whistle of whales as he fell asleep.
âââ
a/n: writing shelter fics to fill the void of shelter season 2
Mickey felt Ashleyâs eyes on him. Her gaze burned hotter than the afternoon sun. He wore a sleeveless tank top to avoid the heat but was starting to think she alone could cause heatstroke. It almost threw him off his game.
Almost.
Ashley studied him carefully. She watched as he dribbled the ball before letting it fly in the air and into the basketball hoop. She thought about how good he was at basketball, how effortlessly he handled the ball, like it could never escape from him. He gripped it in his hands and lifted his arms. She looked away when his tank top rose, revealing the remnants of a happy trail.
Her arms rose in celebration when the ball fell through the hoop with a swish sound.
âYouâre really good at that,â she said.
He smiled, wiping sweat off his forehead. âIâve been playing since I was a kid.â He found a spot in front of her on his driveway. The basketball laid between his legs before Ashley grabbed it.
âI donât think Iâve ever made a shot in my life,â she said, grabbing her chin. âNope. Never.â Her hand-eye coordination was almost as bad as her Spanish.
Mickey stole the ball back from Ashley. âI can show you how.â
âOh, no. No no no.â She shook her head.
Mickey grinned, standing. âYou canât be with me and not know how to shoot a ball. Thatâs like⊠if the ice cream man sold pickles instead of ice cream.â
Ashley laughed, she couldnât help it. Mickey was never short on bad analogies. He had an everlasting supply that always made her laugh.
âWhatever. You know what I mean.â He pulled her to her feet. âStand here. Spread your legs like this.â He demonstrated two slightly separated feet. Ashley followed along. âBend your knees, then dribble and release.â
Once again the ball flew effortlessly into the hoop. Mickey chased it before passing it to Ashley.
She caught it nervously.
Ashley was usually nervous and quite shy, but it wasnât shooting the ball she was afraid of. It was looking dumb while doing it. That feeling you get after you embarrass yourself. The memories that haunt you even years after the embarrassing event first occurred.
But she tried anyway.
The ball hit the backboard before falling to the ground. No swish. No score. She had missed.
âNot bad,â Mickey said, retrieving the ball.
âNot great,â Ashley said.
âYour hands⊠You were holding the ball wrong. Let meâhere.â He handed her the ball, adjusting her hold on it. He put one of her hands on top and the other on the side, then looped to the front to examine his work. âThatâs good,â he said, nodding. âTry now.â
Ashley dribbled the ball, careful not to ruin her hand placement, then bent her knees, jumped, and released.
Swish, the sound was overshadowed by Mickeyâs cheers.
He scooped her in his arms and all she could smell was his amber scent. All she could feel was his warm sweaty skin against hers. He spun her around a while before putting her down.
They were face-to-face now. Both smiling. Both leaning forward. Mickey was slightly out of breath, his mind preoccupied with Ashley, and Ashley, still reeling from her shot, was incredibly nervous. They were going to kiss. They had never kissed before.
Their faces were inches away when Shira Bolitar came outside.
âHey guys, Iâm gonna order a pizza. Is pepperoni okay?â she asked.
Ashley had never been so red.
Mickey had never wanted Shira gone more.
He pushed down a surge of anger and said, âPepperoniâs fine!â
Ashley nodded, following Ms. Bolitar into the house.
They were halfway through their game day and Zoey had beaten Zach in almost everything. She had several chess wins under her belt and one win in paper football, which prior to today she didnât know was even a thing. Her mind was still reeling from the wins when Zach suggested they juggle a soccer ball.
Zoey wasnât sure what he meant by juggle. The only juggling she knew was by hand, preferably with something soft that wouldnât hit her in the head. Again. But when Zach pulled a soccer ball down from the top shelf of a closet, she knew she was in for something entirely different.
âOh... you meant juggle a ball?â Her voice was as shaky and dubious as she felt. âWe shouldnât⊠We could break something.â
âIâm seriously offended by how little you trust our soccer skills,â Zach said. âJust control the ball. Itâll be fine.âÂ
The ball in question was old and dusty. And probably more flat than it shouldâve been. Zach blew the dust away and dropped the ball to the floor before picking it up with his feet. The ball balanced on his toes as he passed it from one foot to another before kicking it to Zoey, who against her better wishes, flinched.
âI wasnât ready!â she shouted.
âIf you stay ready you wonât have to get ready.â Zach chased the ball and handed it to her. âHere. You start,â he said.
Zoey took a deep breath. She knew how soccer worked. She watched a few games with her dad the days before he and her mom split, but had never actually played before. The cocky part of herâthe part that believed everything could be solved with numbers and algorithmsâbelieved she would do well, if she ever got a chance. If she could deconstruct the architectural design of a building with geometry, surely she could kick a ball with her feet. How hard could it possibly be?Â
She held the ball above her foot and let it drop to the ground, then she picked it up with her other foot like Zach did, hopping around on one leg until she built up enough courage to pass it to her other foot.
A smile stretched across her face as she caught the ball.
âOh my god,â she said. âI did it!â
âRight, now pass it to me.â Zach stepped back, awaiting the ball.
Zoey nodded and launched it his way. Only she mustâve done something wrong because it curled to the side, flying past him and into a vase. She watched as Zachâs jaw dropped comically slow, and a wave of guilt shot through her as his blue eyes trailed the ceramic pieces now scattered on the wooden floor.
âI am so sorry!" She rushed to collect the pieces.
How much would the vase cost to replace? Tens? Hundreds? She wasnât sure. But mostly she worried about Zach, who would now know for sure that she wasnât a real soccer player. A real player would control the ball. Pass it with ease and accuracy.Â
âDonât worry about it,â Zach said, crouching down next to her. His amber scent engulfed her as his eyes met hers and any worry she had diminished. âCareful. You might cut yourself.â
She wished his warning came sooner when a speck of red emerged from a slit on her finger. A burning feeling accompanied the wound and she stuck the finger in her mouth to reduce it.
âIâll get a bandaid,â Zach said.
Moments later he returned with a blue bandage to wrap her finger in. His eyes shifted away from her as he swept the remainder of the ceramic bits in a dust pan and she plopped down on the couch to watch.
âSorry about that. Iâm a little off my game today.âÂ
âYou donât have to be sorry,â Zach said. âIt was my idea to play inside.â He joined her on the couch, laying his head down on her lap as if nothing had ever happened. âAt least now we know who the better soccer player is.â
Zoey bopped him on his head, feeling unusably defensive of the soccer playing Zoey that wasnât her. Would that Zoey have beaten him?Â
They sat in comfortable silence as she ran a hand through his short hair.
âWanna play battletoads?â Zach asked.
âSure,â she said. And somehow she felt jealous of Zoey Wallace. The Zoey she never knew and could never be. Because if this was her life, then she was pretty damn lucky. âLetâs go play battletoads.â
âââ
a/n: this is my attempt at learning to write in 3rd person
titsay
ellievsbear
germansingergirl
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
gamechangershow
