LaylaP2003

[laylap2003]

Snippet from a WIP where JJ and Luke’s conversation about Larissa and the Genrette’s goes a different direction. Loosely inspired by the Noah Kahan song.

#jjmaybank #denydenydeny #outerbanks #noahkahan #lukemaybank

JJ tried to breathe. Which was supposed to be simple, right? Just in through his nose, out through his mouth, nice and slow and even and controlled like the way Kiara was always getting on him about.

She called it guided meditation and said it was grounding and spiritual, all the things she swore by.

To him… it was all kinda bullshit.

But to her…it was a last-ditch effort she’d taken up as a way to keep him from completely losing it so JJ was willing to give it a try for her.

Only for her.

It didn’t matter either way now though because it wasn’t working and truth was, he couldn’t really remember the last time it had actually worked at all.

Maybe before the letter?

The stupid-ominous-fancy cursive-big words saying a whole lot of shit without actually saying anything at all-letter.

Or maybe it was before he walked into their living room today with a dead body and Pope covered in blood and Cleo just staring off behind them like if she didn’t look at Terrance lying there it wouldn’t be real.

Maybe even before that.

Before Kiara on the beach with that baby sea turtle in her hands and a jeep revving towards her. On the dock claiming he’s never taken her on a real date like every night they’d spent together on the boat or in bed talking until the sun came up, every day spent surfing or fishing or every time he’d planned just them doing something he thought was special hadn’t been good enough. Before the hospital bracelet on her wrist or her face under the water, screaming for air that wasn’t there.

Before she almost didn’t come back because of him.

Before she almost died because of him.

Yeah. It was definitely sometime before that.

He let out another deep breath and dragged a hand down his face, eyes set out on the water like the lapping waves could actually give him something, any glimmer of relief in his chest like it used to, if he just stared out long enough.

It didn’t.

He was messed up, that was for sure. And the shittiest part was that he was so close to having it all.

Like it really wasn’t actually that long ago that he thought he knew what he was doing. Or at least he knew how to fake it good enough to pull off that he did.

The money, the house, the snapper, the shop, the whole “getting his shit together” thing…

Kiara.

It was like for a second there, he actually thought, really, truly thought, he wouldn't screw it up.

But that was his thing wasn’t it?

Screw it up, burn it down, and act like it doesn’t matter except it does. It always does.

And now he’s just…here, sitting on freaking Barracuda Mike’s dock, staring out at water that doesn’t give a damn about him anymore, alone, waiting on a phone that probably won’t ring.

So he tried to breathe, he really did, but it came out shaky and rattled in his chest. He blinked back hard, salty-sea breeze stinging like glass in his eyes and pressed his palm to his chest.

Lately, for some reason he can’t quite place, it felt like he didn’t even know who the hell he was anymore. Which was insane, because he’s JJ Maybank. Just two letters, just JJ. A native Outer Banks local, a salt-lifer, a Maybank, a Pogue down to his bones.

It was supposed to be simple, life after chaos. They did it, after all. They got the gold, he got the girl and settled down.

But ever since the storm and the shop went down and the bills started stacking back up again and the Enduro and Wes Genrette and the amulet and those damn words digging a hole in his head—ask him about Albatross, nothing has been simple.

And then the phone rang.

JJ didn’t grab it right away, just stared at it, watching it vibrate against the wood of the dock for a second questioning whether he actually wanted to answer it at all. Maybe not knowing was better than whatever can of shit he was about to open. He wanted to let it go. Maybe let the phone shake right off the edge of the dock and disappear into the dark water forever.

Maybe let it take him with it too.

Problem solved…maybe.

Not really.

He shook his head and grabbed at the phone, hitting accept before he could talk himself out of it.

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

For a second it was just static, enough time to force another breath, then a voice he hadn’t heard in so long broke through.

“Hey, J. It’s your old man.”

[laylap2003]

deny. deny. deny.

[laylap2003]

noah kahan will always be obx coded for me

[laylap2003]

Heyy 🤗

Please tell me more about the Sucker Punch series and how each Pogue finds out JJ is abused. But especially the Sucker Punch. I'm intrigued 👀 👀

Hey!! Sucker Punch is my pre-season one series that takes place mostly around Pogues being 12,13,14 and I think I’m planning now to bring it up to the start of S1. It’s basically an excuse for a ton of JJ-Whump.

Blame it on the fathers will be the next installment and is so close to being done. Luke ‘accidentally’ breaks JJ’s arm while he’s working a less-than-legal job with him and Barracuda Mike and the aftermath of that.

I’ll add a snippet below.

The abuse storyline will take place in each of the Pogues perspective of finding out about Luke and JJ’s past. It’ll start with John B thinking back to when he first figured out what was going on when they were kids all the way through the series to Pope and Kiara realizing in S1, Cleo figuring it out on her own on the island and eventually Sarah finding out and not believing how no one told her/she didn’t figure it out herself by then (if there was a point where someone told Sarah outright about JJ’s abuse on the show, im pretending it didn’t happen).

Anyway— a snippet of Blame it on the fathers:

At first it was just the little floaty feeling JJ was pretty much used to by now, like his head wasn’t screwed on quite right. He blinked hard and kept going, clenching his jaw against the spots in the corners of his vision. He thought maybe if he moved faster, he’d be done sooner…simple enough of a plan right.

But it only made things worse.

Because before he knew it the sky twisted a little when he looked up. The dock tilted under his feet when he stepped back from the boat. And then the ringing started in his ears. Then his legs buckled. Not all the way down, but enough that he had to grip onto the wooden railing to steady himself. He sucked in a deep breath, lungs refusing to fill right. His fingers had gone kind of numb too, which probably wasn’t a great sign.

“You taking a nap, princess?” Luke snapped from behind him.

JJ didn’t answer. He just shook his head and turned back toward the dock. He could still feel Luke’s eyes on him, though, that sharp disappointed look that said you’re not enough and you never have been.

So JJ straightened up and set his jaw, chest out. He’d take it one crate at a time.

He bent down to grab the next one and the moment he lifted it, white-hot pain shot across his ribs. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood but he kept going. The boat rocked as he stepped onto it. He stumbled just a little, the crate shifting just a bit.

“Get you shit together,” Luke shouted at him.

JJ flinched, adjusted the weight, got it down and then stepped back on the dock like nothing happened. But the entire world was spinning now, the dock slanted completely under his feet. He swayed, catching himself, trying to breathe slow but Mike was watching him now too, amused almost, like he’d bet money on JJ fucking this up.

JJ didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He refused to actually.

So he bent down for another crate and this is when his vision fully tunneled, black spots forming at the edges of his mind. He grabbed the sides anyway and pushed through it. The crate felt heavier than the others did, his legs shook and his breath rattled in his chest but he lifted it fully anyways.

Just a few more.

Just a few more and he could be done and maybe, just maybe, Luke wouldn’t look at him for the rest of the night. Maybe he could sneak out and catch the others at the chateau before Pope and Kie’s curfew.

But JJ only made it halfway before everything around him went completely sideways.

The his vision fuzzed out, black creeping in just a little more and a little more until suddenly everything went dark, his knees buckled and his grip slipped.

“Shit.”

The crate fell out of his hands before he had the chance to correct it and it slammed against the dock with a loud crack. The corner split open, just enough for the contents inside to spill out across the wood.

JJ hit the dock hard, blinking fast as the world flickered back into focus. His stomach rolled. His head pounded. But it wasn’t the fall that made him freeze. It was what was lying in front of him.

Not gear. Not parts. Not anything normal or okay.

It was packets of white powder. The kind that didn’t come from any grocery store. He didn’t know what was in them exactly, but he knew what they were. And it sure as hell wasn’t the splenda he spent his summers re-stocking at The Wreck.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” Luke’s voice hit as he ran towards the mess.

JJ didn’t even have time to move. He just stared at the crate, heart pounding, cold chill sneaking up his spine. Then Luke was right there, hand clamping down on his forearm so hard it made JJ flinch.

“What the hell did you do?”

[laylap2003]

Oooooh girly, I have a couple I need info or snippets on! (I deleted 2 so other people can ask you haha)

5. Peace (JJ and Kie early relationship after S. America)

7. Deep dive into each pogue finding out JJ is abused

Heyyy, Im glad there are some that interest you. It is seriously so fun to talk about stories in process!

Peace is set post El Dorado during the time where they get back to OBX but don’t have the money or any stability yet. It dives into the awkwardness of JJ and Kiara’s early relationship, like they kissed, they told each other that they love each other but didn’t define exactly what that means. It’s tense and akward, but John B and Sarah take time alone to grieve their fathers, Pope and Cleo go back to his parents for a bit leaving JJ and Kiara to figure themselves out.

It’s based on the lyrics from the Taylor Swift song “would it be enough if I could never give you peace”.

The deep dive into each pogue finding out about JJ is separated into each of their perspectives ranging from John B finding out when they’re ten all the way to Sarah being the last to really find out all of it while their living in his old house post S3….

Here’s a snippet of that one:

JJ had always been loud.

Even in kindergarten, he was the kid who couldn’t sit still, who shouted out answers whether he knew they were right or not, who turned every plastic spoon into a slingshot and every stick into a sword.

JJ was wild.

That’s what everyone called him.

Their teachers rolled their eyes, parents clucked their tongues, and kids either followed him or stayed the hell away.

But John B saw the other stuff too. The stuff everyone else seemed to miss.

John B saw the way JJ flinched when a locker slammed too close to his head. The way he talked too loud and too fast like if he didn’t fill the space with noise, something worse might crawl in. He saw how JJ clung to him during sleepovers, his fingers digging into the sleeping bag when the lights went out.

Sometimes, he remembered waking up in the middle of the night and finding JJ wide awake beside him, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling like it was going to crack wide open and crush them both.

They never talked about it.

How JJ would look over and whisper, “You awake?” like he hadn’t been holding his breath for hours. And John B would just nod, and how that was just enough for JJ to finally fall asleep.

The thing was, not many people remember either that before 8th JJ was always the smallest one in their class.

He was so little in a way that pissed him off to no end.

JJ hated being picked last, hated being called “shrimp” or “crybaby” or anything that made him seem soft.

So over time, he learned to put a mask over it and eventually his height and muscles from working on boats and surfing swell caught up with the rest of their grade, but that the mask never really fell.

But John B had seen what happened before the mask.

He remembered the first time JJ came over and got real quiet when Big John slammed a cabinet door.

“Sorry,” JJ had muttered.

Just one word, but he looked like he was waiting to get hit anyway.

That’s the part that stuck in John B’s memory.

Not the surfing or the jokes or even the blood pact they made with Capri Suns and mosquito bites the first day of school.

What stuck was that look, like JJ was always on the verge of running.

And maybe that’s why John B kept letting him stay over and kept making excuses to invite him back.

Even when Big John sighed and said, “That Maybank kid again?” Even when JJ broke a lamp wrestling or tracked mud across the carpet or lied about how long he was allowed to stay.

Because John B knew. Even at ten, he knew for sure.

JJ was wild for the thrill of it, he was wild to survive.

[laylap2003]

Hey you!! For the WIP ask game, I would love to hear about the chronic brain injury long fic.👀 That sounds like something I will eat up!!

I think this one would totally be up your alley, @tpwk1321 .

I started it SO long ago at this point (pre-season 4) and then it just kinda fizzled out halfway done while I was writing all my S4 fix-it type things.

Basically it takes place after S3 when the Pogues have their gold and their house and the business and are just living and happy.

JJ takes a few (minor) hits to the head but it brings out a diagnosis of CTE/Post- concussion syndrome like professional hockey/football players get from prolonged head trauma, majorly as a result from all the head trauma he’s had from Luke during his life.

I have about half written and the rest mapped out to be seriously long.

Here’s a snippet:

The charter was going smoother than JJ expected it to, especially considering his rough start.

On board was a family of five, classic Midwest, wide-eyed, full of wonder, and completely in awe of the ocean like they were standing on Mars instead of the east coast. John B had them eating out of the palm of his hand, tossing the kids pirate hats and telling wild stories about their own treasure hunts. The dad’s face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas when JJ handed him the rod with a huge wahoo on the line, his first catch ever. Even the mom’s little bout of seasickness hadn’t put much of a damper on the day.

He could already tell they’d be walking away with a big fat tip.

But as they neared the dock, almost home-free, John B was securing the lines, and JJ took a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead, feeling like they’d pulled off a solid day’s work.

Then, in the next second, he felt a shift under his feet, the deck going slick from saltwater for just a moment.

Kiara’s voice rang in his head, teasing and warning in the smug tone that he’s learned to love and hate, “You really need boat shoes, J. Those boots are not gonna cut it for long.”

But of course, he hadn’t listened.

And of course was right.

She was always right.

Because before he could react, JJ’s feet slid out from under him and his balance was completely gone in an instant. He hit the deck hard, the back of his head smacking off something solid on the way down.

It wasn’t a huge blow, but enough to make a sharp thud echo in his skull and John B wince from where he stood. But the moment JJ’s head hit the deck, everything changed.

His vision blurred, the sky warping like he was staring through broken glass, and a high pitched ringing hit his ears, drowning out the sound of the waves and John B’s voice. His chest went tight, and for a split second, nothing but panic washed over him. He couldn’t get his bearings, he couldn’t focus, his whole body shifting as if the world was being ripped out from under him and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Something felt really, really wrong.

[laylap2003]

WIP Tag

RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs. People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!

Thanks @rosss38 and @princessofnothingcharming . I’ve been so bad at Tumblr/A03/Everything lately but have so much on my to do list. I needed the motivation to dive in and actually finish some of these!

All OBX of course:

1. JJ’s song

2. My version of season five

3. Death by 1000 Cuts (mini s5, Jj is alive but no one knows and Kie is losing it)

4. JJ chronic brain injury long fic

5. Peace (JJ and Kie early relationship after S. America)

6. Sucker Punch Series

— I’ve got sensitive lungs man

— Blame it on the fathers (the ones that said they’d stay)

— Broke a bone that never healed in my hand

7. Deep dive into each pogue finding out JJ is abused

8. JJ joins the Marines (letters back and forth)

9. Kie used to live on the cut

10. Cradle to Grave

I think mostly everyone has already been tagged!

[laylap2003]

@fayedartmouth fix it— Nowhere to Stand (and Now No Where to Hide) is breathing life back into my heart.

Why couldn’t you have been in the OBX writer’s room!! Anyway…inspired me to work on my own fix it that is still very much a WIP:

This is a snippet of a flashback when the Pogue 100% believe JJ is dead (he is 100% not, of course).

The hospital hallway smelled like bleach and sand and blood. She was covered in it…John B was covered in it. Pope and Cleo and Sarah were covered in it.

JJ was covered in it, even as more and more spilled out of him.

She hadn’t breathed since it happened. Hadn’t breathed since they got him here.

She still wasn’t breathing now.

Kiara didnt breathe when she watched JJ’s body jerk once, violently and then gone still. The monitor above his head whined in a terrifying, final, flateline.

She could hear Pope gasp. She could feel John B slam his fish against the brick wall. She saw Cleo turn to him. She could see Sarah start sobbing.

And Kiara…

She felt her body tremble and her knees give out. And she didn’t breathe.

She remembers police yelling at them to stop. She remembers John B’s hands on her pulling her out into the hallway and out the hospital exit. She remembers the sun being too bright and the sand in her eyes as they ran.

Then reality kicked in. And Kiara cried. Fought. Scratched and punched at anything she could. John B’s arms as they held her down. Pope as he got in front of her, stopping her from running straight back to the hospital.

She screamed JJ’s name until her voice was gone. Screamed like it could bring him back.

But JJ wasn’t there anymore to scream back. He wasn’t anywhere anymore at all.

[laylap2003]

A snippet from a fix it that is a FAR way from being done…a true fix-it post S4 where JJ lives but the others don’t know it.

John B’s POV

He pressed the palm of his hand against his eye now, hard enough to see stars. He’d tried to stay busy ever since they’d left…manning the boat, checking the engine, counting rations, making sure no one jumped overboard even though he’s thought about it more than once.

Because everytime he looked at Kiara…curled up and silent, practically comatose…he felt it all over again. The sound, the smell of blood.

JJ going completely still.

That hit hardest…because the JJ Maybank he’s known since he was six years old was never still.

Not ever.

He was always jumping off something, climbing shit, starting fights, pushing buttons, pushing luck, pushing him. He moved like he was outrunning something…long before he was actually outrunning something. And the only time he ever even slowed down was to throw an arm around one of them and remind them who they were and that he loved them.

And now he was still.

Still and cold and alone and NOT HERE.

Dead.

God, JJ was dead.

John B bit down hard on his fist now, knuckles pressed against his teeth to stop himself from screaming out and scaring Sarah.

He thought he could keep it in. Keep it deep enough if he just kept steering, feeding Sarah, kept pretending like they were gonna just pull into Kildare, make it back home, and everything would magically be fine…he could outrun it just like JJ used to.

But he couldn’t.

He broke. Fully and completely.

It started with a sound he couldn’t hold back anymore, a half-sob, half-broken laugh, and then it was just him in the bunk, curled in on himself, shoulders shaking, fingers ripping at his hair.

The sobs came in hot, ripping, messy waves.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see anything but JJ’s body. He couldn’t hear anything but the screams. He couldn’t smell anything but JJ’s blood. He couldn't feel anything but the pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over. “I’m sorry, bro. I left you. I left you. I left you. I’m so fucking sorry…”

He never got to say good bye. Never really got to say thank you for saving Sarah’s life. Never got to tell him he loves him one last time. Never got to bury him or bring him home. None of it. Not in the way JJ deserved.

He’d never see him again.

Never fight again. Never laugh again. Never surf or smoke or drive around in the Twinkie with JJ riding shot gun. John B would never get to make things right.

JJ was gone. And it felt like someone had carved a chunk of bone out of his chest and it hurt so bad it feels like a part of him got buried back there in that hospital too.

[laylap2003]

wanted to try posting a snippet here while I try to hold out of posting to A03 until it’s finished.

JJ Maybank should have known he’d end up in a place like this eventually.

The walls are blank. Not quite white, just that weird beige-ish institutional shade that doesn't really even look like a color at all. Pale like a hospital room, but somehow even colder than that. The overhead fluorescent lights hum in a way that won’t stop and is really starting to drive him fucking insane. He squints up at them once, then looks back down at the paper in front of him.

It already has a smudge on it. He picked up the pencil and stared at it. The name of the facility “Changing Tides Treatment Program” engraved into the wood. He rubs the eraser against the mark but it just makes the smudge darker and more cloudy.

The more he tries the worse it gets.

Yeah, that feels just about right.

There are other people in the room, sitting at the same folding tables. Everyone in the same uniform, gray sweatpants and white t-shirts, eyes that don’t look all the way open even when they are. Some stare at the ground. Some pick at their skin. One guy across from JJ keeps tapping his own pencil against the table. Someone behind him is crying, not loud but noticeable enough.

All of them are older than him by at least ten years.

He just turned nineteen.

He feels awful.

His head aches. His muscles feel like cement. Every bone hollowed out and replaced with static…like everything inside him is short-circuiting. His skin is cold and damp under the cheap t-shirt but he keeps sweating despite it. Even his fingers are shaking…just enough to piss him off.

It’s been seventy-two hours since he had a drink.

Seventy-two.

And he’s counted every damn second of it.

Every second since John B and Pope dragged him off the dock and shoved him into the Twinkie like a kidnapping.

Every second since Kiara stood outside the intake door with her arms crossed and her jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt as they admitted him.

He was drunk out of his mind…because when was he not.

That night was bad, he’ll admit it.

Slurring, swaying, bleeding from somewhere near his eyebrow from something he couldn’t quite remember. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever been, not by a long shot, but it was bad enough.

Bad enough for all three of them to finally say enough.

It’s a blur that night, but he remembers the yelling. A lot of yelling, actually. Stuff he wishes he didn’t remember. Stuff he knows came out mean and cruel. Things about them. Worse things about himself. About how none of this would help and how maybe he didn’t even want the help anyways.

How they should stop trying and leave him to die.

He knows he said shitty things.

Things he can’t take back.

But now, sitting here with a dull pencil and a lot of regret, he still wondered:

Do I really need this?

The counselor leading the group session, a man in his forties with broad shoulders and a tired kind of kindness in his voice, cleared his throat.

“Write about your first drink,” he says.

JJ stares at him for a beat too long. Then he laughs, low and rough without a lic of actual humor in it.

“You sure?”

He can't help but ask with his typical smirk.

The man just looks at him with far more patience than JJ thinks he deserves…like he’s heard the same questions a hundred times this week alone and knows the answer is never going to change.

JJ shakes his head. Looks down again at the blank paper waiting for him to spill.

He taps the pencil once, twice. The laugh is gone. He doesn’t know if he’s ready for any of this.

But thats the thing about rehab, he guesses. It doesn’t need for him to be ready, does it?