#intercoastal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roanofarcc · 3 months ago

Text

BABYDOLL: CHAPTER SIXTEEN. FROM BAD TO WORSE

jj maybank x fem!routledge OC // read on Ao3

In which a boy with zero self preservation falls in love with a girl clawing at life.

chapter summary. the pogues attempt to steal back the gold one last time; pope follows the rest of them off the deep-end; walking into a lion's den will almost always be a bad a idea

word count. 2.8k || masterlist

previous chapter < >next chapter

“Here’s the plan,” JJ began, loading the gun in the back of the Twinkie, despite the glare of disapproval from Lottie that he tried to ease with a toothy smile. “We go in there, guns a-blazin’ and make Ward Cameron beg for mercy. We take as much gold as possible, then get the hell out of there.”

From the driver’s seat, John B. nods in agreement with JJ’s plan. “We the send that shit down the intercoastal and wait for the weather.”

“When that’s said and done, we exit to Cuba,” Pope finished.

JJ shot him a look. “Cuba? Nah, man. We go to Xcalak, the jewel of the Yucatán. They’ve got thick lobsters, mangos, and no word for money down there.”

They all dreamed of an escape to somewhere far away from their problems. Somewhere warm where they could waste their days away surfing, with no threat of the real world knocking on their door. There would be no more treasure hunts, no more Ward Cameron, and no more being undermined or left behind. They’d finish what their dad started, tell Ward to go fuck himself, and live out the rest of their days eating mangos and being best friends.

Lottie knew that all sounded too good to be true, that the gold would make all of their issues vanish, but she’d watched it happen to Kooks nearly every day. While she braced for a less than happy ending, she went along with it anyone in the off chance that they’d come out on top. To try to think like her friends and brother, hopeful that they hadn’t completely been knocked off the gameboard yet.

Rich people never played fair; that was how they always won. Maybe it was time the Pogues took a page out of their playbook. The odds were obviously stacked heavily against them, but maybe their lack of reputation to save could help them best Ward.

John B. parked the van outside the private airstrip, and they raced up to the chain-linked fence that surrounded it. Pope pulled out his binoculars and relayed what he saw happening on and around the Cameron’s large plane that sat on the tarmac. People milled about around it, but it was hard for the rest of them to see what they were doing.

Ward’s men were hauling boxes of what probably contained the gold onto the plane. Lottie had no idea how they were supposed to get it off of there without being intercepted.

Snatching the binoculars from Pope, John B. stared through them intently for only a moment before he got this odd look on his face.

“What is it?” asked Lottie.

“Sarah,” he muttered, jaw clenched.

“She’s with him?” then asked JJ.

Sarah didn’t believe that her dad killed their dad, and as much as they sucked- especially for John B.- it made some sense. It was in the same realm as Lottie, having a hard time believing her dad had been murdered. Sarah probably couldn’t wrap her head around it; it was a big, life-shattering kind of truth. He was her dad, at the end of the day.

However, would Sarah really flee with their gold? Lottie thought she was on their side, and that she was different.

“Wait a minute,” John B. said, peering back at the scene. “I-I think he’s hurting her.”

Lottie grabbed the binoculars from his hands, much to his protest, and got a better look at what was going on. Ward grabbed Sarah, practically dragging her toward the plane steps. Sarah was struggling against him, flailing her arms and trying and failing to plant her feet to keep herself in place. But Ward was twice her size and pushed her up the stairs, blocking them with his body so she couldn’t run back down them. She had no choice but to board the plane.

Bringing the binoculars down, she handed them back to her brother. “I don’t think she wants to go.”

John B. was already a step ahead, racing back to the van. He didn’t wait for the rest of them to join him before he gunned the Twinkie right toward the fence surrounding the airstrip, crashing through it. Lottie stumbled back at the chain links broken, making way for the van. They yelled after him but were helpless as John B. raced toward Ward’s plane.

Dragging a hand down her face, Lottie watched with bated breath as the van sped onto the runway. She knew the only thing running through his mind was to get to Sarah.

“What the hell is he thinking?!” Pope yelled

JJ shook his head. “He’s not.”

Lottie reached for the binoculars her brother dropped and struggled to watch as he raced against the Cameron’s plane as it started down the runway. He managed to pull ahead of the plane a good ways before he pulled the van in the direct line of the plane, giving Ward the choice to stop or hit him.

Her heart dropped at the sight as she watched with white knuckles holding onto the binoculars.

“He’s gotta stop the plane,” she whispered, something between a prayer and speaking it into existence. Despite losing her dad months ago, the wound of his confirmed death ripped that wound right back open. Lottie couldn’t handle Ward being responsible for another death in her family; he already took her dad, he couldn’t take her brother too. “He’s gotta stop the plane,” she repeated, a little louder that time.

The plane was so close to the van, barreling toward it before it halted so suddenly, brakes screeching as it stopped only a handful of feet away from the Twinkie.

“Jesus Christ,” JJ muttered. They all let out relieved sighs.

There was a split second of calm and relief before the sound of sirens filled Lottie’s ears. By the sound of them, they were growing closer by the second.

“I can’t get arrested,” Pope said, panic shining in his eyes.

JJ followed Pope’s words with, “I’m on probation.”

“We’re no good if we’re in jail,” Kie said. She nodded her head back toward the road. “Let’s go.” She and Pope took off, but Lottie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the runway, watching as John B. got out of the van and stood face to face with the man who killed their father. What if he tried to hurt John B. again? Just because the police were on their way didn’t mean they’d favor or even listen to anything John B. said.

A hand grasped Lottie’s elbow, pulling her attention away from the runway. JJ looked like he didn’t want to leave either, none of them really did, but he and Pope couldn’t risk getting in even more trouble, and Kie had a point. Yet, that was Lottie’s brother.

“He’s got it under control, Lot,” said JJ. “We gotta go. We can’t help him if they catch us.”

Lottie spared one last look at the distant figures before she relented, letting JJ slip his hand into hers as they followed behind Kie and Pope, running away just before the police arrived.

Not too far from the airstrip, the Pogues waited at the boat yard, hunkered down between piles of scrap parts and junk. Lottie doubled over, eyes closed, as she tried to ease her anxious heart before it beat right out of her chest.

They didn’t get more than a moment of peace before a sputtering in the sky forced their attention upward. The Cameron’s plan was hard to miss, flying low right over them as if to rub it in their faces one last time that the Pogues were never meant to beat the Kooks. Their gold rose in the sky with their hope along with it.

Lottie gave in to her burning legs and stitch in her side, sitting down on the dirty ground with a pathetic groan.

Kie had a similar reaction, pressing her hands against her face and shaking her head. JJ kicked the nearest thing he could, sending a piece of scrap metal halfway across the yard with a string of curse words falling from his lips.

Pope had the biggest reaction, much to their surprise.

He screamed something angry and sad and threw the first thing he could get his hands on against the shed wall as hard as he could. A metal pipe, about the size of a baseball bat, leaned against a pile of junk. Pope grabbed it and just started hitting every breakable object he could find. Glass shattered and debris clattered against the ground with each yell that tore from his throat.

They all watched in shock as the most level-headed Pogue among them broke down. Kie attempted to talk to him, but Pope had to get it all out of his system, pent-up anger and utter disappointment as their gold was taken right from their hands. They waited until his anger morphed into heavy, uneven breaths before he collapsed onto the ground.

Lottie moved to sit beside him without a word. Pope squeezed his eyes shut before he buried his head in Lottie’s shoulder, his anger melting into sadness as he started to cry quietly. She sat still, let him get it out of his system.

“Damn, dude,” JJ said, whistling lowly. “I was wondering when that was gonna happen.”

Kie sent JJ a glare. “Not helpful,” she said.

With a sniffle, Pope raised his head from Lottie’s shoulder, cheeks wet and a deep frown on his lips. “I lost my scholarship,” he said miserably. “I walked about in the middle of my interview. Now everything i-is gone. It’s not gonna happen.”

At his words, Lottie wanted to cry too.

“You did that for us?” Kie asked Pope.

He scoffed in response. “No. I did it for nothing.”

JJ plopped down on the other side of Pope and held out the weed pen he kept in his bag for “emergencies,” offering it to Pope.

“Welcome to my world,” JJ said. He pressed the pen into Pope’s hand. With slight hesitation, he took it and stood up. Pope was the only one in their group who didn’t smoke; he said he needed to keep his brain cells intact.

“JJ-” Kie started to scold JJ for even offering that Pope, but he was swift to cut her off, voice raised.

“What, Kie? He’s right! It doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Pope stared at the pen for a long moment. Lottie could see the wheels turning in his head before he brought it to his lips and took a hit; she just sighed.

“You don’t have to do that, Pope,” Kie said.

“Why do you care?” he bit back.

Footsteps came from behind them, stopping any conversation. They spun around, worried the cops had found them, but they were met by John B. Lottie was the first to him, wanting to both hug and punch him, but before she could do either, she noticed that his hands were coated in red.

It looked like he had dipped them in paint and then tried to wipe them off on his shirt.

Lottie grabbed his wrists, staring at his hands with wide, panicked eyes. It wasn’t paint, but rather blood. The metallic smell hit her nose. “Is it yours?” she asked.

Slowly, seemingly in a daze, John B. shook his head. His eyes were glassy and unfocused, looking through her rather than at her.

A million more questions swam around Lottie’s brain, but she couldn’t ask them before the sound of more sirens pierced the air. To avoid being spotted, they all ducked behind a pile of junk that shielded them from sight of the main road. Lottie looked over her brother for any injuries, despite his answer.

“What happened?” asked Kie.

John B.’s chin trembled before he buried his head in his hands. Blood smeared against his face, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Peterkin,” he managed to croak out. “S-She tried to stop Ward. She knew what he was doing and what he did. She believed me. But then Rafe showed up and…” John B.’s sadness shifted quickly into anger as he looked up, roughly rubbing his face to rid it of the drying blood, but it was only smearing more from the blood caked on his hands.

Lottie untied the bandana she used as a headband and grabbed her brother’s face, carefully wiping the blood from it. It reminded her of all of the times they had cleaned each other’s scraped knees after toppling off their bikes or falling from tree limbs. Yet, it lacked an innocence to it. The blood was someone else's, and Lottie doubted it came from something as simple as a scraped knee or elbow.

“Rafe shot Peterkin,” John B. said after a beat.

Lottie froze, nausea welling up in her stomach. She was wiping Peterkin’s blood from her brother’s face. It was her blood on his hands and shirt.

“Oh, God,” Kie cried.

Dropping the bandana, Lottie instinctively started picking at her fingernails, allowing the slight sting to keep her from totally freaking out. It grounded her, at least enough.

John B. wiped his hands with the ruined bandana and shook his head. “I tried to help her. But Rafe started losing his fucking mind even more. I…I had to run. Sarah was trying to radio for help, but I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t even know Peterkin’s alive.”

No one said a word. They just sat there in tense silence, mulling over John B.’s words. Everything had been for nothing, nothing at all.

➤

The sun started to set when the Pogues found themselves pulling into the police station’s parking lot in Kie’s mom’s car, since the Twinkie was stuck at a crime scene.

“What are we doing here?” asked Lottie, looking pointedly at her brother.

He rolled his shoulders back like he was trying to hype himself up. “Someone’s gotta tell them what really happened at the airstrip.”

Pope broke out in a coughing fit, smoking a new joint JJ had somehow found time to roll. Pope tried to smoke away his troubles, which clearly didn’t seem to be working because he just kept coughing up the smoke every time he inhaled. Irritated, Kie threw a bottle of water at him, hitting him in the gut.

From the trunk, JJ leaned against the backseat and patted John B.’s shoulder. “Look man, I’m gonna be real with you right now. You might end up in the lion's den, but you don’t go in there on purpose,” he said. “Just like my old man told me, you should never trust cops under any circumstances.”

“Your old man’s an abusive liar,” Kie snapped, causing JJ to shrug in response.

Pope chugged half of the water bottle before he said, “I’m with JJ on this one. Fuck the police. When was the last time they ever helped us?”

“Peterkin did,” Lottie said. She glanced down at her hands in her lap. She hadn’t stopped picking her nails since that morning, making them raw and red and stinging like a bitch but she couldn’t stop herself. She was scared that if she did stop, she’d fall into that spiral of paralyzing panic. That was one of the last things they needed at the moment.

Lottie continued, “She looked out for us.” And look where that got Peterkin.

“They need to know,” said John B. He stepped out of the car and headed toward the station.

Once he was inside, Lottie slumped against the back seat with a sigh.

No one spoke as they waited; the only noise came from the quiet hum of the radio and Pope’s occasional coughing.

It wasn’t more than three minutes later that John B. came barreling out of the police station, yelling at Kie to get ready to drive. They all sat up straight in alarm as John B. jumped into the passenger seat and told Kie to book it. Confused, she threw the car into drive and started to take off out of the parking lot, but two police officers were hot on their tail, running up to the car. One of them grabbed onto the car through the opened passenger-side window, reaching for John B. and demanding them to stop, while the other chased after the car.

“What do I do?!” Kie yelled, panicked, but it was hardly heard above everyone else’s confused yelling as to why the police were chasing after them.

Lottie watched the scene with wide eyes before she leaned forward and squeezed Kie’s shoulder. “Just drive!”

As Kie tried to speed up, John B. opened the car door enough to knock the female officer down to the ground, leaving her rolling against the asphalt before Kie was fully able to speed away.

“John,” Lottie said lowly, her fingers starting to bleed as she tried to peel away her anxiety. “What. Was. That?”

He glanced over his shoulder at them, guilt shining on his face. “Ward told the cops I killed Peterkin.”

#outer banks #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x original character #outer banks fanfiction #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #rafe cameron #sarah cameron #obx #obx fanfiction #obx season 1

22 notes · View notes

ask-postcrash-curly · 14 days ago

Note

Chirp, chirp... Hello again, dear! Mum.

That is a wonderful idea; my very own "bird journal!" I am surprised I have never considered this before! Perhaps it will help me pass the time all the while, especially during migration season! Alongside everything else I've already to do, haha. It has been a while since I have updated you on the room progress, hasn't it?

Things are coming along smoothly, now— everything that I've wished to keep and sort later I've packed and stored into my room instead. Kestrel and I have been working on refurbishing the pieces that can be kept, and donating what cannot— though, if you do not mind, blue jay, I think... I think that I would wish to keep my mother's rocking chair in its place, in the corner by the window. It does not feel right to move it. Perhaps you can still make use of it too, yes? It is quite comfortable for such an old thing. "Just like me," Mom would have said, hah.

It is all a bit sad looking at the moment, rather empty, but... I know that it will not last forever. Ah, right! I have also been looking into new paint for the walls, but I just cannot decide for certain which color would be best. I've a few swatches here— do give me your opinion, if you would. And do not tell me that it does not matter, Grant Curly Warbler! Leaving everything up to me does not make this any easier, you know! In fact it makes things quite difficult!

[Her apparition suddenly leans over beside him, showing him a large card comprised of several sets of blue swatches. They have already been marked with both her and Kestrel's notes. https://i.imgur.com/YN2AGcd.png]

Take your time to decide if you need to, sweetie. I am quite partial to "jay bird" the most, though the others in that same group are also quite nice... and the boating blues are very lively! I cannot say that I care much for the grayer hues, though... but ultimately it is your decision, of course. I suppose I should be thankful that there is not much of a rush to see this through, hah...

[She sets the swatch card down over his lap in case he needs more time to look them over. Meanwhile, she reaches for a book beside her and reads a few specific entries from Amy Tan's The Backyard Bird Chronicles, in which fledgling crows and scrub jays attempt to learn from their parents how to infiltrate a squirrel-proof songbird feeder, with little success.]

And, by the way... I think that Orion is a beautiful name; I know my mother would have loved it even more. And you do know that I would love you regardless of what you wished to go by. But I will say that I am quite happy that you are still my Grant Curly, for now. ♡

Mum! Hey again.

Definitely sounds like your sort of thing. Let me know how it goes if you try!

Of course, yeah. Don't mind in the slightest.

Well, it doesn't. I've told you over and over I'll be happy with anything. Okay, okay! I'm sorry, I just really don't have much of a preference.

Wow, okay, this is something to start with. Never realized there were so many shades of blue. And one of them is just called "Intercoastal Gray." Not even pretending to be blue. Hmm... Lots of good options here, yeah? Lots... I kinda like Cosmic Dust, but maybe it's a bit too much on the darker side? It looks pretty much the same as the oasis one, too. Any thoughts? ...I'll wait 'til you're done with this, hahah. Honestly, though, if it's squirrel-proof I don't see why the little birds can't get it. They're clearly not squirrels.

...Thank you, Mum. I appreciate that. But rest assured that it is not my name and never has been. And never will be! Frankly, I don't understand where it's come from.

#curlyposting #kind words

8 notes · View notes