“Leticia gasps, and raises her flashlight beam up from where it was pointed at their chests (well, Julian’s chest, Jacques’ hips), to look at their faces, the beam going back and forth between the two of them, before she lets out several curses in French, and launches herself at the two men, nearly knocking The Janitor to the floor (if it weren’t for Jacques still holding onto his arm, Julian would have gone down), and wrapping them both in a tight embrace.”
Word counter says 82 words.
I really don’t know how my writing style, which I think reflects my thought processes pretty well, didn’t clue me in that I’ve probably got ADD.
But also, is that okay to follow? It makes perfect sense to me, but again...not neurotypical, that much I am certain of.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
One of Frank’s bad choices has dire repercussions for two members of The Gang. Can they (and their friendship) survive the aftermath?
CharMac Pre-Slash. Major Hurt/Comfort.
My first Sunny fanfic is done, and beta’d by the lovely @brownwithafrown. I’m nervous. Always am posting, but this being a first fic in a fandom, i’m extra nervous. It’s also the longest thing I’ve ever written, fic wise, by far. Bu tI’m also excited to share.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Charlie Kelly/Mac McDonald, Mac McDonald/Other(s)
Additional Tags: charlie and mac get some much needed therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Anxiety Attacks, Dissociation, Protective!Mac, Childhood Sexual Abuse, mild (for me) violence, some blood, again it's mild for my writing, featuring a three way mostly naked fight, the boys feel feelings, and don't die from it, minor drug and alcohol abuse, minor for them, i mean it's the gang, Vomiting, Self-Harm
Series: Part 2 of Love So Sterng
Summary:
Mac and Charlie are still struggling in the aftermath of the shooting. Will they become stronger together, or will they succumb to their traumas and the bad habits they've formed over decades of avoidance and denial?
ISAIP Fic Teaser - Love So Sterng I: Pound Puppy Eyes
I’m working on a fanfic. i’ve been working on it forever....since January. It’s easily the longest fanfic I’ve every written, and clocks in at ~42,000 works. AND I’ve finished it. Currently, @brownwithafrown is very kindly betaing it. I discovered, on reaching the ending, that the fic will be a series. I’m so proud of finishing that i thought i’d post the the opening scene tonight.
Warnings (for the fic in general, not just the opening scene): Graphic violence. Foul language. More violence (in this scene). Blood. Vomit. Mentions of past (physical) child abuse and neglect, as well as mentions/discussions of past childhood sexual abuse (aka: Uncle Jack). Self harm. Prescription drug misuse. Anxiety/Panic Attacks. Non-canon Character Death. [I think that’s all - am I missing any @brownwithafrown?]
This scene especially is heavy on the violence/whumping of Charlie and Mac. The endgame is CharMac, though this fanfic doesn’t go there. No other pairings in this fic,
Title: Love So Sterng I: Pound Puppy Eyes
Summary: One of Frank’s bad choices has dire repercussions for two members of The Gang. Can they (and their friendships) survive the aftermath?
Mac doesn't register what he's hearing, at first.
He's down in the basement, rearranging the boxes of extra booze. Charlie complained he piled them too high. There was a step stool right there, for that very reason, but Charlie said he didn't like climbing on things, (not if he wasn't blitzed out of his head on inhalants and climbing a leaning tower of boxes to freedom via an air vent, apparently). And when Dee went down to get rum, she just squawked that the boxes were too heavy and that she was dizzy from basement fumes. Dumb bitch. So now Mac is pulling down the boxes, taking out four bottles per box so that there's only eight rather than twelve in the box, and stacking the boxes so they're chest height, no higher.
It's not his fault that he didn't know his own strength anymore (not that anyone gives a shit how hard he worked to look good and keep them safe with his hot new rockin' bod) and so he made the boxes too heavy. He hated doing inventory anyway because of this. Everyone had an opinion, but no one did the work (not that he didn't try to slide out of it himself). Also, it's not his fault that he couldn't find any more boxes. So now there's a lot of liquor bottles all around him on the floor. Brown liquor, clear liquor, whatever the hell Jägermeister is… And Mac may be debating snagging a few bottles for his and Dennis's place. It's not really stealing, if he's taking something he'd just drink in the bar without paying, right?
He has to admit, it's a decent workout, lifting boxes and moving things around, which is why he put on his workout mix a little while ago. The music tells his body to go more faster. So his ear buds are in, not even at maximum volume, but it still takes a while for him to realize that there is an awful lot of stomping and crashing going on upstairs for a bar that is closed. Charlie is up there cleaning while Mac moves the stock around. They closed early, it was only eleven on a Tuesday, but Dee was out on a 'date' (yeah, right) and Charlie was bummed because he hadn't seen Frank in days, and Mac was bummed because Dennis was in North Dakota again, visiting D/BJ ('don't call him Dennis-slash-Brian Junior' Dennis had shouted at him, but Mac thought the nickname was great and wanted to keep it - at least until the rest of the gang heard it - they had rules about this, banning of nicknames was not allowed without the nicknamer and nicknamed present, as well as at least one other member of the gang). So they decided to have a movie night to keep Charlie's spirits up. Which was why he is thinking about what liquor to snag – whiskey was winning out because Charlie tended to get sad as shit when he drank vodka straight and if Mac was honest with himself, Jägermeister made him kind of violent (the last time he had drank nothing but Jäger and Redbull, he put his hand through the mirror in the apartment's bathroom) when he accidentally sets a box on the earbuds cord and doesn't realize until the little earbud is ripped out of his right ear as he turns to grab the next box.
Just in time to hear a loud thud and Charlie scream. Mac's guts turn to ice. Because he knows each and every one of Charlie's screams, from frustrated to happy, sad to hungry, stoned to confessing love, (Charlie screams a lot) and that one was a rare one. That was the sound of pain. Charlie says something, Mac can just pick up on the highest sounds through the floor, and then there's another, softer thud than the one before.
Silence. Something is not right. Mac knows it in his bones. He runs for the stairs, he can't leave Charlie of all people alone up there with a threat, Charlie wasn't good in situations like this, didn't know how to ever just shut up and follow instructions, listening to the robber's words rather than getting distracted by like the light reflecting in a puddle or whatever else caught his eye – Mac once watched Charlie stare at the point of a mugger's knife for, like, three whole minutes before getting his wallet out while Mac and the crackhead *both* screamed at him fork over his cash. Which was only two dollars, in nickels, for some odd reason. Charlie was lucky Mac was with him and he didn't get knifed then, 'cause Mac was more smart and took Charlie's arm and ran as the mugger stared at his fistful of silvery metal and got this frustrated I'm gonna stab you anyway look on his face.
And. Yeah. No one is supposed to hurt Charlie. Not when Mac is around. He had made that promise to himself, and out loud to Charlie when they were like eight and Charlie had crawled through his bedroom window (scaring the shit out of Mac, who didn't know Charlie could climb up the side of his house like Spiderman!), sobbing and refusing to say why. Eight year old Mac was Ronnie then, and he held on to his friend and promised that he'd protect him, which just made Charlie cry harder. Mac had never forgotten that promise, and in school he caught more than one beating that was meant for the other man (and okay, sometimes Charlie got his ass kicked on Mac's behalf, but those weren't Mac's fault!), but Mac had made a promise to his oldest friend that day nearly forty years ago. He isn't going to break that now!
Charlie's rat bashing stick is leaning against the wall by the basement door. Without any other weapon, Mac decides it is better than nothing. Part of him is tempted to hide down in the basement and not come out. If it was anyone else up there alone, maybe he'd do that. But there's another thud, and now he can hear through the basement door the other guy's deep voice - fuck he's probably big - and Charlie's higher one shouting something, but he can't figure out what the fuck either of them are saying.
Charlie shouts again in pain, and that gets Mac moving again. It's Charlie. He can't leave him. Even if Mac is so scared his guts are frozen ice, he knows he has to see what's going on. He edges into the keg room, glad the door is open into the bar and he can sneak over to the doorway. What he sees makes him want to turn tail and hide, but also go over and beat the man's brains in with his bare fists.
Charlie is curled up fetal on the floor, on arm around his middle and the other up over his head, and Mac is pretty sure there's blood on Charlie's face, but he can't really see at the angle he's at. The dude, who is about Mac's height but looks much less beefy, but he's got a gun pointed at Charlie, and that's scarier than if Arnold himself was in the room. Mac heart is thudding so hard in his throat as he watches that he's afraid they both will hear it thudding and give him away, but they don't. The man just boots Charlie in the face, twice in rapid succession, boom boom without giving Charlie a chance to recover or even get his hands up to protect himself and says calmly: "I know you know where Frank is," while Charlie groans in pain, blood leaking between his fingers as he cups his hand to his smashed and bleeding nose.
"I don't!" Charlie answers, his voice is muffled by the hand he's got to his face, but it makes something twist in Mac's chest to hear Charlie sounding desperate and clogged with blood.
The man growls, actually growls and Charlie tries to shrink away, but he's got a dazed look on his face like he's not all there anymore and Mac can't blame him. Being kicked in the face is disorientating. The man reaches down and wraps his free hand in Charlie's hair and pulls up - Charlie cries out and has to grip the man's arm to keep from losing hair. The man shakes his fist and jerks Charlie's head around (wow, Mac's never seen an adult do that to another adult, though his father was fond of doing that to him when he was being a little bitch that didn't listen good). The man lets go of his hair and looks at the sleeve of the gray blazer he's wearing, marked by the blood that was on Charlie's hand.
Charlie's eyes go wide and he starts to raise his hands up, but the stranger is quicker. Mac watches it happen in what feels like slow-motion, helpless to stop it, the man swinging the gun in his hand in a wide, punishing arch that ends with a crack against Charlie's left cheekbone and Charlie starts to fall to the side, but the man grabs Charlie's shirt collar in his fist to keep Charlie upright and hits Charlie in the face with the gun twice more so quick Charlie doesn't get a chance to brace himself between blows. The bastard isn't giving Mac a chance to step in, he's got the gun too close to Charlie for Mac to try and stop him - he can't take the risk that the man will shoot Charlie before he will get to them.
Seeing the man just whale on Charlie makes Mac angry, his hand tightens on the Rat Stick as he watches. He prays as he does because he can't *do fucking anything*, just watch as the man lets go of Charlie's shirt and Charlie fucking crumples to the ground with a moan of pain. Mac fucking prays more in those moments than he has in the last year, begging God or Jesus or like, Saint Jude (the patron saint of lost causes and therefore pretty much the one that probably gives a shit about guys like Mac and Charlie) to step in and not let Charlie get shot. Mac isn't sure what he'll do if Charlie were to die.
Charlie doesn't get shot. Instead, he fucking *writhes* on the floor, banging his right fist into the ground, hard, muttering 'fuck, fuck, fuck!' under his breath. Like that can distract from the pain that his face must be in. Mac hates himself for just watching, but he knows, he *knows* he only has one chance to surprise the bastard with the gun and get Charlie (and him) out of this alive.
The bastard points the gun at Charlie. "Tell me where Frank is and I won't shoot you in your fucking face."
"I don't know where he is," Charlie says, his voice is still desperate, that sad desperate of someone who knows that they won't be believed, even though he's telling the truth.
The asshole growls again, and steps towards Charlie, the gun pointed at the floor as he raises his foot to kick Charlie again. And Mac decides that's it. Here's his chance. He needs to step in now, while the gun is pointed at the floor rather than Charlie. Mac finds that despite how much he hates seeing Charlie hurt, how much he hates this guy for hurting Charlie, a large part of him wants to be a coward and hang back, rush for the safety of the basement and hide there. But he can't do that. Can't leave Charlie to get beat up more, or worse.
Mac raises the bat and runs at the bastard. The guy turns to him just as Mac swings the bat. The spiked bat makes solid contact with the prick's head, Mac feels the shock of it connecting go down his arms (it's like driving a speeding car into a brick wall) and then Mac is sitting on his ass, having fallen for a reason he can't quite figure out for a long, dazed moment.
The guy hits the ground, the bat sticking to him, a spike shoved into his right eye, another driven in to his cheek. Mac stares at him, because the guy isn't moving, not even to breathe, and Mac still isn't sure why he's sitting down, except that *he* can't breathe and something catches his eye, he looks away from the not moving man and looks down at himself, because the something that caught his eye was blood, bright red and on his chest and it's his blood, and...and....there was a bang of the gun going off, wasn't there?
So my fic based on the head canon that Will bakes by doors-death and then supplemented by my own twisted brand of muse and fed by anroisinrua‘s encouragement is currently 1400 words. It’s not even half finished. *face palm*
But I’m totally writing now despite it being 3 am. I want to have this thing ready to share tomorrow. Solangelo and Jercy action. Medicinal marijuana for the children of the big 3. Anybody interested?
