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staticscreenwriting · 2 months

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My name being Jo makes this fic extra funny 😅

I looooove this 💗

Candygram

Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw

4.8k Words Master List

“Just do it.” Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts.

Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease.

You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science.

“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames.

“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.”

“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin.

“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans.

“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face.

“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”

“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again.

“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”

You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought.

During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.

You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once.

Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand.

“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”

“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan.

“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried.

“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”

Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded.

“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.”

“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for.

“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”

“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.”

“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”

“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed.

---

Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window.

No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone.

He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other.

“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class.

“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”

More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down.

Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting.

And nothing else.

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one.

Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash.

It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.

That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work.

---

“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?”

“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”

“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted.

“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”

Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.

Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook.

By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time.

“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops.

He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement.

Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-

You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough.

Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card.

Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either.

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either.

You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love.

Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan.

Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend.

“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper.

You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent.

The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon.

“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again.

Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from-

To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send.

Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read.

“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away.

“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out.

“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”

You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later.

Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him.

Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention.

But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day.

Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah.

“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work.

“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”

“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?”

“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out.

After that... well, the ball is in his court.

Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough.

“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”

“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”

“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully.

“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused.

“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”

“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.”

You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?

---

“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up.

He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it.

Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense.

One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off.

Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be.

You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle.

Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-

It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend.

Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this.

You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner.

The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...

It looked like some bird

Some sort of weird bird

Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-

Eddie Munson had sent you the cards.

Eddie had-

“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter.

Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!

You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN?

The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light.

What was that about?

Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least.

You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met.

This whole thing could have been planned better, actually.

You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker.

There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now.

“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him.

When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice?

Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you.

“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.”

He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out.

To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.”

“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”

He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.”

“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him.

“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged.

“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.

“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you.

“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him.

“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south.

“Spell my name, Eddie.”

You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened.

“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve.

“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack.

Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it.

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”

“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”

“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath.

Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town.

“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”

Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them.

“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening.

“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared.

As you began to walk away, he called out after you.

“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”

Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly.

“So... how do you actually spell your name?”

---

Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.

Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

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A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Two — Our Song

Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.

The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.

He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.

“Looks good, man.”

John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.

“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”

“I don’t stress-build.”

He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.

He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.

“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”

John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.

“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “

Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.

“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”

“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”

JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.

He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.

Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.

He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.

The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.

“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “

“Just what?”

JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.

This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.

And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.

“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”

“Do you still love her?”

JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.

“JB, I don’t think it matters.”

“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”

“Dude I — “

“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”

JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.

Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Maybe John B. has a point.

“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”

The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.

In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.

Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.

The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?

“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.

Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.

As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.

“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.

So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.

And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.

She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.

He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.

“Hey, do I know you?”

She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.

A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”

She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”

And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her. “That’ll be 86 cents please.”

She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.

Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.

He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.

Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife. Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.

She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.

It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.

“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”

John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.

The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.

Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.

Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.

“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.

“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.

“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”

“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”

“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”

His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.

JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.

The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.

“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.

Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.

“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”

“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.

“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”

“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.

“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.

“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”

“He said butt stuff.”

“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.

“Sorry.”

“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”

Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.

“Well, let's drink to that!”

“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.

“To good friends.”

“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.

“To spending time with the people you love most.”

As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.

“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”

JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.

Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.

“To old memories. And to making new ones.”

Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.

“Cheers, sunshine.”

“Cheers, JJ”

What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.

The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.

Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.

“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.

“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”

“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”

His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.

“I ran into your dad today.”

There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.

“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”

“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”

“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”

“What did you doooo?”

He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.

“ I slashed his tire.”

“You did not.”

“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”

“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.

“Hey, Stevie?”

The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.

“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”

Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”

He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.

“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”

JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.

“That’s not our wedding song.”

“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”

He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.

“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”

He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.

“And this song was playing.”

When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.

“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”

Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.

A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.

“You'll remember me when the west wind moves Among the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold”

Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.

“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “

“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”

“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.

“Yeah?”

They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.

“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”

Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.

“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”

“You sent them before?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”

He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.

“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”

“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”

The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.

Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?

“JJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”

"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”

She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.

“Only if you promise me something though.”

Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.

“You’ll save a dance for me.”

All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.

The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”

“I never made promises lightly And there have been some that I've broken But I swear in the days still left We'll walk in fields of gold We'll walk in fields of gold

Ooh Many years have passed since those summer days Among the fields of barley See the children run as the sun goes down As you lie in fields of gold.”

#one more timezone reblog then ill leave you alone

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

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I‘m afraid you need to face the truth. Without a clique of popular blogs promoting you, your writing is doomed not to be noticed. It‘s the exact same for me. I see fics getting hundreds, sometimes thousands of notes though the writing or storytelling is often only subpar (not always tho, many great writers out there too) just because the muns are super active on the dash all the time and thus, have a huge following. (Or don’t reblog other writers’ stuff out of principle bc they don’t wanna share the spotlight.) Sucking it up to them might work, but it’s just so exhausting to fake, isn’t it? I wish I could tell you better news my friend. I’m sorry. It’s always the same for us small writing blogs. Hugs.

I've had this in my inbox for a while and I kept forgetting about answering. Genuinely though you are so right. It feels like if you're not consistently putting out stuff you don't even have to start because people will not give you the time of day. But it's hard when you're working a full time job.

Then when I do have the time to sit down and write quite honestly all the passion and love I have for it evaporates when I think about the fact that more likely than not it will not get more than 10 notes (2 of which are from me timezone reblogging and one is @lovelylittlebarnes pitty reblogging to help me out cause shes my ride or die).

It's so hard getting into a fandom writing space now and It didnt used to be. Everyone used to be so welcoming and now it's all so competitive and quick. If you're not hitting that one fic at the right time earning a base following and putting you on the radar then you can pretty much forget about it.

And the whole "you write for yourself" stuff is absolute bullshit too. Stories are meant to be shared and interacted with. If I did it for myself only, I wouldnt need to be on tumblr. Stories are a social thing.

I also feel like people just dont browse the tags anymore. They find one or two big blogs to follow and then rely on those to churn out content or reccomend them (their friends blogs) stories.

You are so right though, sucking up to big blogs sounds exhausting and quite frankly I dont have the time either. It's hard enough holding up my actual friendships 😅

I'm just grieving how it used to be a community instead of a popularity contest.

Hey if you wanna come of anon and talk to me feel free to do so, I'd love to read your works and support you in any way possible. ❤

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

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Reblogging again in the hopes someone sees it 😔

‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’

– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)

Stevie hasn’t been back to the Outer Banks in 4 years. Ever since the atomic meltdown happened between her and JJ. The one they don’t talk about. The one that still has them hurting 4 years later.

When she finds herself back on the island to help her mother with the wedding preparations, she doesn’t expect for an ocean of memories, unspoken words, suppressed feelings and wrong decisions to come crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?

Chapter One Chapter Two

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

Text

... and once again posting on tumblr leaves me devastated cause I put hours into something that gets 3 notes.

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

Text

‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’

– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)

What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?

Chapter One Chapter Two

#timezone reblog

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

Text

A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Two — Our Song

“Looks good, man.”

John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?”

“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”

“I don’t stress-build.”

He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.

“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”

John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.

“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”

“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”

He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.

“Just what?”

This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.

And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.

“Do you still love her?”

“JB, I don’t think it matters.”

“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”

“Dude I — “

“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”

Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Maybe John B. has a point.

“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”

The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.

“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.

“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.

And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.

“Hey, do I know you?”

She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.

A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”

She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”

She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.

Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.

She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.

“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”

Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.

Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.

“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.

“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”

“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”

“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”

The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.

“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.

Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.

“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”

“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.

“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”

“He said butt stuff.”

“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.

“Sorry.”

“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”

“Well, let's drink to that!”

“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.

“To good friends.”

“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.

“To spending time with the people you love most.”

“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”

JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.

“To old memories. And to making new ones.”

“Cheers, sunshine.”

“Cheers, JJ”

What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.

Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.

“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.

“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”

“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”

“I ran into your dad today.”

There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.

“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”

“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”

“What did you doooo?”

He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.

“ I slashed his tire.”

“You did not.”

“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”

“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Hey, Stevie?”

The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”

He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.

“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”

JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.

“That’s not our wedding song.”

“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”

“And this song was playing.”

When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.

“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”

A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.

“You'll remember me when the west wind moves Among the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold”

“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “

“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”

“Yeah?”

They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.

“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”

“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”

“You sent them before?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”

He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.

“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”

“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”

The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.

“JJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”

"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”

She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.

“Only if you promise me something though.”

Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.

“You’ll save a dance for me.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”

“I never made promises lightly And there have been some that I've broken But I swear in the days still left We'll walk in fields of gold We'll walk in fields of gold

Ooh Many years have passed since those summer days Among the fields of barley See the children run as the sun goes down As you lie in fields of gold.”

#timezone reblog

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

Text

‘The truth is I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back’

– Melanie Carmichael (Sweet Home Alabama, 2002)

What happens when old mistakes are being discovered, A love long forgotten is being remembered and a pristine A4 size manila envelope holds the key to Stevie and JJ’s future?

Chapter One Chapter Two

#jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x female oc #jj maybank x original female character #jj maybank fanfictio #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank imagines #JJ maybank x reader #JJ maybank x female!reader #jj maybank x f!reader #I know this is not a x reader story but tagging it with x reader is the only way people actually see this in the tags #cause y'all don't browse the OC tag and refuse to reblog stuff #I hate it too but you gotta do what you gotta do #sorry about it just scroll on if its not your thing

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staticscreenwriting · 10 months

Text

A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Two — Our Song

“Looks good, man.”

John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?”

“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”

“I don’t stress-build.”

He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.

“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”

John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.

“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”

“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”

He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.

“Just what?”

This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.

And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.

“Do you still love her?”

“JB, I don’t think it matters.”

“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”

“Dude I — “

“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”

Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Maybe John B. has a point.

“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”

The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.

“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.

“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.

And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.

“Hey, do I know you?”

She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.

A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”

She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”

She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.

Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.

She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.

“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”

Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.

Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.

“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.

“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”

“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”

“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”

The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.

“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.

Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.

“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”

“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.

“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”

“He said butt stuff.”

“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.

“Sorry.”

“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”

“Well, let's drink to that!”

“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.

“To good friends.”

“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.

“To spending time with the people you love most.”

“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”

JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.

“To old memories. And to making new ones.”

“Cheers, sunshine.”

“Cheers, JJ”

What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.

Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.

“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.

“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”

“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”

“I ran into your dad today.”

There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.

“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”

“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”

“What did you doooo?”

He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.

“ I slashed his tire.”

“You did not.”

“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”

“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Hey, Stevie?”

The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”

He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.

“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”

JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.

“That’s not our wedding song.”

“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”

“And this song was playing.”

When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.

“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”

A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.

“You'll remember me when the west wind moves Among the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold”

“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “

“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”

“Yeah?”

They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.

“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”

“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”

“You sent them before?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”

He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.

“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”

“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”

The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.

“JJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”

"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”

She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.

“Only if you promise me something though.”

Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.

“You’ll save a dance for me.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”

“I never made promises lightly And there have been some that I've broken But I swear in the days still left We'll walk in fields of gold We'll walk in fields of gold

Ooh Many years have passed since those summer days Among the fields of barley See the children run as the sun goes down As you lie in fields of gold.”

#jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x female oc #JJ maybank f!OC #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank imagines #JJ maybank writing #JJ maybank story #outer banks imagines #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fanficton

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staticscreenwriting · 1 year

Text

maybe the night would take me home II Frankie Morales

Part 1 : "Divorce And The American South" & "The Thunderbird Inn"

a Frankie Morales Story inspired by the album "We Don't Have Each Other" by Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties.

A/N : This imagine series will deal with sensitive topics please see my tags for TW. Please proceed with caution. Also there’s mention of smoking and alcohol. English is not my native language, go easy on me please. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated

There's a hole in the wall and a square where the wallpaper is a lighter shade of beige than the rest. There probably used to be a painting or a mirror. The ceiling fan is missing one of its blades and there's a huge rip in the ugly brown curtain that's blocking the street lights from flooding the room.

He can just about make out the glow coming from the street light in front of his window. There used to be more color permeating the thin curtains and throwing kaleidoscope patterns into his motel room but people have started to take down their Christmas lights leaving him with just the ugly yellow of the street lamp.

The motel room is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks it's fitting because that's exactly how he feels and really, he doesn’t mind it all that much.

The clerk at the front desk, he wants to say his name is Steve, is nice, and always pours him a cup of coffee whenever he finds Frankie sitting in the tiny lobby area of the Motel where the vending machines are. The coffee isn’t good but it’s warm and that’s enough these days.

“Long night?” he asks and every time Frankie nods and says “Sure has been.” Steve then grants him one of those smiles that lets you know the person is looking straight through your lie but they’re way too nice to call you out on your bullshit.

“Well, tomorrow’s a new day. Hope that one is better,” he replies, every time.

Frankie nods again knowing full well it won’t be.

He’s given Frankie a break on the rent this week.

“Look don’t you worry about it. Just make sure you pay me back with next week’s rent. I know you’re good for it.”

“I probably am.”

Steve was laughing then. He probably won’t laugh when he hears that Frankie’s coming up short again this week.

Back in his tiny motel room, his clammy hands grab the room's phone tightly. It will probably cost him a fortune to use it — again — though after throwing it against a solid brick wall, his cell phone is but a piece of junk left somewhere by the side of the truck stop.

He doesn't really need it anyway. Too many pictures and memories and shit he doesn't want to think about because he can’t get it back.

He takes another sip from the bottle. He thinks it's whiskey but he might be wrong. It all tastes the same these days.

Calling her won’t do any good and he knows but he can't help himself. It's like an itch that he just has to scratch. It's like a desperate need that he has to satisfy. It's like an addiction he has to feed.

It's 2 in the morning and she's most likely asleep and Frankie hates himself for waking her up. She's lost enough sleep as it is. But his mind is so loud and he needs to get all of these things off his chest. All the things he didn't say when he should have, when it counted, when it meant something, when she needed him to.

It's not the first time he's called either. He wonders if she'll ever pick up.

There's a perfectly clear picture burned into his mind of the first time he'd called her after he left. He had been stranded at some run-down truck stop that could've been the perfect location for the first kill in a horror movie. There was a bottle of water in his hand and the phone receiver in the other.

He can't recall how long he'd spent inside the phone booth reading her number out loud and trying to work up the courage to call her but he knows it's been quite a while. And when he did he was met with the dial tone. With every beep his heart sunk a little further, felt a little heavier.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Her voice sounded so cheery and he remembers the tears threatening to leave his eyes at the sound of it. She hadn't sounded this cheery in a long long time and his heart broke knowing that was partially his fault.

" Hey Y/N, It's me .... Frankie. If you’re listening can you please pick up the phone? I know you're home. "

He could still recall her daily schedule better than anything, after all, they had been living together for years.

" I know where I went wrong. I really do. I uh— I'm at a truck stop. Not sure where I'm going yet but I'll call you. Please talk to me, baby. I love you. "

He remembers his heart breaking and breaking more and shattering and it hasn't been fixed yet. There's that little cynical corner of his brain that tells him it never will be fixed. All good things come to an end sooner or later and this is THE good thing in his life. She is the best thing. She was the chance he never thought he’d get. A shot at redemption.

That other day he found a bar just outside the township line. He goes most every night now whenever he can feel a bad night coming. All nights are bad nights now. The floors are sticky and the bar is dusty but the drinks are cheap and the barkeeper doesn’t bother to get him tangled up in any kind of conversation. All Frankie gets is a look of pity as he pours him another drink. Fuck, he didn’t know that he looks that pathetic.

The alcohol doesn’t numb his heart the way it used to. Back when he woke up in a cold sweat with visions of a life he tried so hard to leave behind he could always count on the inside of a bottle to make the demons disappear for a while. Then when that stopped working, the drugs managed to do it.

And then when he hit rock bottom, for some inexplicable reason, life chose to send him her and she made every other coping mechanism pale in comparison. Her love did not make the demons go away, or the fear, or the guilt. Her love made him realize that he could live a good life regardless. That even the worst parts of him are worthy of love.

He thinks she might’ve been wrong.

There's a half-empty pack of cigarettes laying on the nightstand. He hasn't touched them for a while. Got them at that same truck stop where he smashed his phone but only smoked half a pack before he remembered that promise he made her a long time ago, back when she had first told him, back when they were happy.

And he failed. Because for a while he’d felt like the reason he stopped smoking in the first place had vanished. If there was no one to promise something to, was there even a promise to begin with?

The cigarettes bring back memories of the second time he'd called her. It was right after he arrived here, at this very same motel. With the very same peeling wallpaper and the chipped door and the ceiling fan that is missing one blade and the carpet with the burn marks. The same motel he is basically succumbing in right now.

He was less nervous the second time he'd called her, less nervous but more fucked up. Half drunk on cheap whiskey and half drunk on the infinite sadness he's felt ever since their life went to shit.

This time he didn't make himself believe she'd pick up. He knew she wouldn't and maybe that was a good thing. Frankie didn't want her to know he was shitfaced, that he tried to numb the pain with past vices he promised to leave behind.

" Hey Y/N "

As the words rolled off his lips there was no doubt in his mind that she'd still know. He sounded drunk. He hated it.

" Just wanted to tell you that uh — I uh I've been trying to quit. I went from a pack and a half a day to this e-cigarette bullshit. "

It had been a stupid idea, thinking this e-cigarette shit would do anything for him but it was worth a try. Everything was worth a try for her.

" It stops the coughing fits. I know that you always hated my smoking habit. I hope you can be a little proud of me. I know I don't deserve it. I love you, bye."

There was a time, Frankie thinks and scoffs, when he thought love was enough. What a fool he'd been. Now he knows that's all proper bullshit.

It isn't like he doesn't love her, he loves her entirely too much for his own good.

It's that too much love can destroy you. It eats you up from the inside out.

He can't keep himself from loving her though, and from holding onto that little spark of hope that she might still love him back. After all they've been through, all they had to endure, the thought that she might one day forgive him and love him again was the only thing still keeping him afloat. Without her, he'd sink. And maybe, he thinks, maybe love is enough. It's enough to make him go on.

There's a fly buzzing around the room, sitting down on Frankie’s arm from time to time. He doesn't have the energy to swat her away.

A little voice in his mind wonders what would happen if he just kept laying here. Maybe if he only lays here long enough, maybe the bugs will eat him alive. Maybe the night will swallow him and take him home. Maybe she’ll come looking for him.

His mind wanders off to places he tried hard to forget. To the tears and the pain and the way she didn't yell at him. Not once.

She didn't scream or yell or throw stuff at him. She just stared and let it all wash over her as if she was invincible.

He knew she wasn't. Knows she isn’t now. She wasn't invincible but she was too deeply wounded to care anymore and that was the most terrifying part of it all.

He wanted her to yell so he knew she still cared.

He thinks of the dream and how he saw himself, lifeless, alone. How everyone was looking at him as they lowered his casket into the ground. How his friends were there, his brother, his family, and even the neighbors. Not her though. She wasn't there.

His fingers are dialing the familiar numbers before he can even fully register what's happening.

There's the dial tone that he's grown to know so well lately. Three more and he gets to hear her voice.

Two.

One.

" Hello this is Y/N, I can't pick up the phone right now but feel free to leave a message after the tone and I'll ring you back. Ok, bye. "

Lies. She won’t call back. But that's okay, he understands why she doesn’t. Why she can’t.

" Y/N It's me again. Frankie. "

He combs his fingers through his hair nervously.

" Of course, it's me, who else would call you at this time? I'm sorry. "

He's been saying sorry an awful lot lately. Especially considering the fact that he hasn't been very generous with that word when it really mattered.

" I had a dream. About you. Well not exactly about you. Actually, you weren't in it and that's kind of the problem. "

Remembering the dream sends a cold shiver down his back.

" I uh — I was on a plane. I flew back north, no idea where I wanted to go. All I know is that I didn't make it there. Plane went down like it was made of paper. They were all at the funeral. My funeral. Everyone. Not you though. You — You weren't there Y/N. That scares me. I hope you'd come to the funeral. I'd want you there. "

He knows it's time. She's not gonna pick up anytime soon so this might be his only chance of ever getting to admit his faults of ever talking about the actual problem, the root of all the pain and heartbreak. It's not face-to-face but it's the next best thing. It's his only shot.

" Y/N, I know I fucked up. I do know. It's just after it happened. After — "

Saying it out loud will make it real. It will break his heart once again. He's an adult though and has been running from his issues long enough. This stupid urge to flee made this all so much worse.

Take a breath.

And face the reality.

" After it happened. When we lost the baby I just, I shut off. I shut you out and I am so sorry. I just, I needed to be strong for you but I wasn't. All I did was push you away. I never listened. I wasn't there. I should've been there for you to help you get through this but I was too busy keeping myself from bursting at the seams. Fuck, I was so selfish. If I could change the way I treated you, treated the situation, trust me I would. I would. I miss her so much Y/N and I never even got to meet her and I didn't want to put this all-consuming sadness on you so I pulled away. I didn't want to make you hurt even more than you already were but that's exactly what I did and I will never forgive myself for that. I hope you can though. I love you so much. "

There's a hole in his chest the size of a newborn.

It's the size of a little baby girl he never got to meet. A little baby girl he always imagined would have his eyes and her mother's breathtaking smile. A little baby girl he'd raise to be brave and generous and smart and wonderful.

There is a hole in his chest the size of a little baby girl and he knows it will never fully heal.

He should've been there for her, his wife, the mother of his child. He had tried so hard, so hard to hide his sadness and pain from her instead of embracing it with her by his side. He should've been there with her so they could hold each other above the waters. But he let her drown by herself and he would never fully forgive himself for that.

" I love you Y/N and I'm coming home soon I promise. That's if you still want to see me. I won't let you go through the darkness alone anymore though. I love you. "

He hangs up the phone and without a warning, the tears roll down his cheeks. They're the silent kind, the painful kind. But for once, since it all happened they're not entirely from sadness, a small part of him is feeling a little lighter now that he's faced reality. A small part of him cries tears of relief. A small part of him still believes that maybe things with his wife can work out again if only he can show her how much he cares and loves her. That he can hold her hand even through the darkest of times.

A small part of him knows that it can't get worse than this.

A small part of him, a small part knows she loves him back. Even with that gray cloud hanging over him reminding him of the paperwork that might be waiting for him at home.

is dull and gray and hopeless and broken and ugly and Frankie thinks that things can only get better from here on out.

It’s 2am when he sneaks out of his room and past the lobby. Steve will forgive him, he’s sure of it. For the two weeks' rent and for not saying goodbye.

The world is fast asleep as his car takes him down the empty streets towards the bar he found some resemblance of comfort in for the last few weeks.

One last drink, he tells himself. But this one won’t be for the bad days ahead. This one will mark a page turned, a step taken.

“Whiskey?” the barkeeper inquires, already pulling the bottle from the shelf.

“Gimme a beer instead. Whatever bottles you have in the fridge is fine.”

No more words are exchanged as the barkeeper hands Frankie the cold bottle.

This one’s for the daughter he’ll never meet, he thinks, and the wife who shouldn’t love him no more but god does he hope and pray she still does. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s got half a tank of gas left and as soon as the bottle is empty he’ll make his way home.

Not the motel.

Home. Their apartment.

And he’ll face whatever is waiting there for him.

That’s the thing about losing everything — things can only get better from here on out.

#timezone reblog.#reblogging for peeps in different time zones :)

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