fayedartmouth

[fayedartmouth]

[fayedartmouth]

[fayedartmouth]

bring back tumblr ask culture let me. bother you with questions and statements

[fayedartmouth]

any snippets to share? preferably whumpy ones, but i'll take anything! i love your writing so much and i seriously can't understand how you are able to write so much and so well 💛

Do you have a specific fic you'd like a snippet of? Just ask. I love sharing my nonsense.

That's the part that I can't explain; writing is a compulsion. If I don't do it, I feel wrong and weird. It's kind of how I feel sane, even though it makes me crazy.

I just love having people care about it, lol

Below the cut, there's a snippet from the fic I have about middle school JJ getting sick in class -- and puking up blood (for reasons!).

It’s a losing battle.

Or he’s lost it already, just like every other battle JJ fights, over before it starts. 

Everything goes dark.  The pain rips through him with blinding clarity.  His stomach finally does it; it tears itself in half – and that’s all.  It turns itself inside out, and he’s retching before he knows what’s what.  He feels it, the bitter bile that comes up his throat and radiates into his sinuses.  There’s no way to force it back; there’s no way for him to do anything.

“JJ?” Mr. Corey says in sudden alarm.  The kids around him are tittering, and he sees Maggie Newcomb scramble away from him.  Ethan Masters has out his phone.  “JJ–”

It comes out in pained rush, his chest aching from the motion, and vomit hits his desk – covering his papers and his books.  He thinks vaguely how mad his dad is going to be; they’ll have to pay for that textbook if he’s ruined it, and he’s not sure if it’s possible to get bodily fluids out of the binding.

“JJ!”

There’s nothing to be done for it.  Not for his textbook; not for his classmates.  Not for Mr. Corey or what little is left of his pride and dignity.  His stomach convulses again, bringing up another round of bile.  This one is hotter – even more bitter.

And when he sees it splatter on his desk – all over the ground – it looks wrong.  Too dark.  Tinged red.

“Oh, shit,” Ethan says.

Maggie is crying.

“JJ,” Mr. Corey says, closer now.  For JJ, the room is spinning, his balance precarious at best.  He’s still spewing whatever is in his stomach, and Mr. Corey’s hand is on his shoulder at the exact moment it’s too much.

The next convulsion darkens his vision around the edges.  His knees give out and he catches himself against his desk.  His hand slips on the vomit, though, and the convulsion has wracked its way up his spine.  He’s on his knees before he realizes he’s falling, the rush of the vomit burning through him with an intensity he can’t fight against.

He’s crying; he’s gasping.  He spits desperately, and blood and drool trickle to the floor.  More kids are scrambling away now, and he hears Mr. Corey curse.  “JJ – just – JJ–”

But JJ’s body betrays him.  His heart is pounding, a cold sweat breaking out over his body.  His arms shake as he holds himself up, and more vomit hits the ground in front of him.  It’s dark; it’s wrong.  Something’s wrong.

[fayedartmouth]

Hello! I just wanted to see if there are any other projects you're currently working on outside the fix it and the best of a bad deal mega fics?

What am I NOT working on?

Seriously I have too many fics. It's wildly out of control.

A few of the ones I'm working on most:

-JJ getting taken by a serial killer.

-JJ puking up blood in middle school.

-A full-on Cambank sibling AU of S1.

-AU post S3 of Rafe getting revenge on the Pogues.

-My singular canon-compliant fic where Kiara is pregnant with JJ's baby after S4. I hate that fic so much lol but I will finish it someday.

-A few future fics in the fix-it verse that are just really whumpy and fun because Pope will be an ER doctor and JJ is in constant need of medical care.

Those are the ones open on my computer right now -- but there are definitely others! Best of a Bad Deal is complete at least and will hopefully start going up later this summer. I am focusing heavily on the next fix-it fic now as my primary project. But my side projects are insane.

[fayedartmouth]

Every unhinged fic writer needs an equally unhinged friend who "yes ands" their ideas and encourages them to write all their most far fetched and insane stories.

[fayedartmouth]

Fanfiction writers be like:

"here's the immensely time consuming 100K word novel-length passion project I'm working on between my real life job and family! It eats up hundreds of hours of my one and only life, causes me emotional harm, and I gain basically nothing from it! Also I put it on the internet for free so anyone can read if they want. Hope you love it!" :)

[fayedartmouth]

[fayedartmouth]

Rudy Pankow As JJ Maybank In Outer Banks S4 - The Enduro (2024)

[fayedartmouth]

Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood

[fayedartmouth]

Shout out to characters who want to be used. Shout out to characters who are so desperate to be worth something that they'll endure anything. Shout out to characters who build their entire self worth around being useful, being a tool. Shout out to characters who don't care how they are treated, as long as someone pays them any attention at all

[fayedartmouth]

biblically accurate jiara

[fayedartmouth]

How it feels to find a fanfic where your favorite character is going through literally the worst horrors you can imagine

[fayedartmouth]

"I need to see them suffer" I say about a character who already does nothing but suffer

[fayedartmouth]

Anyone want a short JJ Maybank fic? I wrote a snippet that works as a standalone whump piece...

This isn't a prompt from anything in particular -- it's not one of the games I've done. But @woudsohfiv wanted JJ hurt -- but awake. I started in my head with the line "It's not that bad" and came up with this:

"It's not that bad," JJ says.

John B stares at him, gaping.  He struggles to find the words; he struggles to move.  Shit, he can't even think right now.

"I swear," JJ says again, swallowing convulsively as his body shakes.  "It's really fine."

But there's blood.

There's a lot of blood.

It's running down JJ's arm, coating the entire thing red.  The liquid -- thick and sticky -- drips from JJ's fingertips and it's already forming a puddle on the ground on the porch of the Chateau.  He can't see the source -- but. JJ's left hand is sloppily holding his bicep, in some vain attempt to stem the blood.

It's not working.

At all.

"I just--" JJ starts, faltering a little.  He blinks fast a few times, taking a shaky breath as the last of the color seems to drain from his face.  "I just need to sit down."

That's an understatement -- clearly.

Because JJ makes it approximately another second.

Before his eyes roll up and his knees crumple.  He goes down hard; he goes down fast.  It's all John B can do to lunge through the threshold of the door and catching him before they both hit the porch with a thud.

"JJ?" he says, voice tight as he calls for his best friend.  "JJ!"

He twists, trying to shift his body so he can see what's going on.  He ends up on his ass, JJ sprawled on top of him.  His limbs are long and heavy, both blood coated hands splayed at his sides.  John B can feel the blood as it drips on him now, JJ's head lolling against his chest.

Somehow, his eyes are open.

"JJ?" he says, reaching down and tilting his face toward him.  "What the hell?"

JJ blinks slower now, like it's taking all his effort to stay away.  Now that JJ's hand is gone, John B can see the source.  It's a gash -- deep and jagged -- cutting across JJ's upper arm.  It's shredded what's left of his t-shirt, and it doesn't take more than a cursory glance to see how far down it's gone.  Straight to the bone.

"Just put some pressure on it," JJ slurs, like that's going to fix it.  "Just got to -- slow the bleeding--"

JJ's eyelids start to flutter, and John B curses.  "You're bleeding out, J," he says, heart starting to pound as he shifts again, getting his body out from under JJ's.  He lowers JJ's head, cushioning it until it's on the ground.  He cups JJ's face for a second.  "What happened?"

JJ's eyes are open -- but the blue is too glassy.  He looks at John B, but it's not clear if he actually sees him, even as he tries to answer.  "Just an accident," he says, the words barely strung together.  "He didn't mean it."

His gaze drifts off for a second, and John B feels the anger coil in his gut.  "Your dad?" he asks.

JJ hums a little, exhaling heavily as he seems to let his body go limp.  "It was an accident," he mumbles.  "I just -- got in the way.  I should know better.  When he's drinking--"

There are a thousand possibilities, and each one is shit.  There's no explanation that somehow makes this palatable.

That Luke would do this to JJ.

And then just let him go.

It's just like JJ to lick his wounds in private.

Even if those wounds involved bleeding to death.

"Shit," he says, reaching down to put pressure on the arm.  He's working with gravity -- and his full faculties -- so his grip is stronger than JJ's, and he's able to pinch it off with some force.  Enough for JJ to shudder, trying to pull away with a whine.  "This is really bad, J."

JJ shakes his head, his whole body heaving as he tries to take the next breath.  "It's fine," he says, the words barely coherent.  "I just -- need to stop the bleeding."

He can feel it, the pulse of the blood against his hands.  It's like a piece of gum to stem a dam.  It's not enough; it won't hold.  The blood keeps pooling on the ground, soaking into the wood boards.  

"Did you walk here like this?" he asks, nothing short of incredulous.  He sees the trail of blood up the steps and across the floor.  A bloody smudge on the door.  "J?"

JJ's gaze wanders to him again, like it may take all he has to focus.  "No, I took my bike," he says, looking away like he can't quite remember.  "I needed to -- get out of there.  Fast."

He can't imagine JJ was in any condition to ride.

But then, if JJ had walked, he would have bled out on the side of the road.

If John B doesn't do something, he may still bleed out now.

"JJ, we need to call an ambulance," he says, because he can't think of anything else.  "This cut something.  Something deep."

"No," he protests, making a weak attempt to push himself up.  "I'm okay.  Just keep pressure on it."

The words falter, even as he says them, and his energy flags before he can even get all the way up.  His eyes go unfocused for a moment, and John B has to do <i>something</i>.  JJ's bleeding to death; he can't just sit here and watch him die.  JJ came here for a reason.

That's what he tells himself.

JJ came <i>here</i>. He trusts John B to get him through this.

No matter what.

"Okay," he says, letting out a breath as he collects himself.  He reaches down with one hand, shifting to undo his belt.  It's not easy -- working with one hand -- but he undoes the latch and yanks it free.

On the ground, JJ watches him dully.  "I like you, B," he slurs.  "But not like that."

"Shut up," he hisses.  "And give me a sec."

He has to brace himself, prepare himself -- for what comes next.  The tourniquet is the only option left, the only way that they'll keep the blood in check.  But he'll need both hands to apply it.

Which means, he has to let go.

For a second, he has to let JJ bleed.

It might be too much, but it's their only chance.  It's JJ's only chance.

He looks at him.  "This is going to hurt," he says.   "But I swear,  JJ.  I've got you.  Okay?"

JJ looks back at him.  No more bravado.  

Just fear.

He looks young; he looks so young.

For all John B wants to hold on, he knows the only option is to let go.

To save JJ.

He has no choice.

For JJ.

He lets go, swallowing hard as he doesn't look at the blood that comes pouring out in fresh waves.  JJ goes strangely lax for a moment, like he can feel the life drain out of him, and John B's fingers are numb as he snakes the belt around JJ's upper arm.  He finds the spot above the injury, struggling to loop the belt through the buckle.

He pulls tight.  

At the pressure, JJ gasps -- crying out weakly as his body bucks.  John B doesn't stop, but he latches it off -- yanking it taut and securing it with all he has.  JJ is sobbing now, trying to curl away from the pain, but John B holds him down -- looking, watching.

There's still blood everywhere.  It's like a damn crime scene.

But the wound itself has stopped bleeding.

He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment.  

The tourniquet has worked.

The relief is real.

The relief is also short-lived.

Because a tourniquet is a short-term solution.  A stopgap.

"Okay," he says, forcing himself to swallow.  His grapples in his pocket for his phone.  His fingers are shaking as he pulls it out as JJ rolls his head toward his arm.

"What'd you do?" he asks weakly.

He pulls up the emergency number, his fingers leaving blood streaks on the screen.  "Stopping the bleeding."

JJ blinks at it dumbly.

"It'll buy you time,"  he says, connecting the call.

JJ's brow furrows deeply, breathing still staggered as he gasps for oxygen between his pale lips.  "For what?"

"A hospital," John B says.  "And a blood transfusion, probably."

JJ makes a sound of protest -- but John B ignores it as a voice answers on the other end of the line.  "911, what's your emergency."

"My friend," John B says, bringing his attention around.  "He's got a cut on his arm and it's bleeding -- a lot."

"Have you tried applying pressure?" the voice asks.

"You don't understand," John B says.  "I think he severed something.  I applied a tourniquet but--"

"What's your location?"

He supplies the address. He answers the questions about JJ's age and condition.  He tells the operator about the nature of the injury and no, he doesn't know how it happened.

"Help will be there soon," the voice promises.

He looks down, still surprised to find JJ looking up at him.  His eyes are a little vacant now, the puffs of air coming through his mouth starting to grow weaker.  John B can't help it; he drops the phone, using both his hands to cup JJ's face again.

"Help's coming, J," he promises.  "You're going to be okay."

JJ's mouth moves, but words don't come out.  His brow furrows again -- a weak, strained motion.  "Help's coming?" he asks.

It's a sure sign of how weak JJ is -- how bad this is -- that he doesn't fight.  That he doesn't resist, that he doesn't put up any resistance.  He looks at John B like he trusts him, he looks at John B like he's his whole damn world.  All he's got left.

Maybe all he's ever had.

John B smiles, the motion cracking across his face in a way that he feels, deep in his soul.  There are tears in his eyes that he won't cry for JJ's sake as he keeps his touch steady.  "It's not that bad," he says, echoing JJ's promise from the start.  "I'm here now.  You're here now."

JJ looks at him like he believes everything.  Every last word as his body gives way.

"I'm fine," he echoes softly, like it's the one true thing either of them has left.

It's not that bad -- together.

They're fine -- together.

They just have to keep it together for a few more years until they're adults.  They just have to survive a little bit longer until they get to call the shots.  They just have to stem the flow -- from Luke's abuse, from Big John's absence, from an island that would chew them up and spit them out.  They just have to keep on the pressure, and stay awake.

Before they make it to the other side.

"I swear," John B says, almost choking on the sob in his chest even as he hears the sirens coming up the road.  "It's really fine."

[fayedartmouth]

God grant me the strength to do the things I enjoy

[fayedartmouth]

Absolutely dying to hear more about either of the kidnapped JJ fics you mentioned 🤩

I'm not sure which ones I've talked about for sure! I have a number of ones with a kidnapping trope. But I think the two I mentioned most recently were the Groff one and the serial killer one.

(I also have one where Luke is asked for a ransom, which he completely ignores, leaving JJ just to waste away until the Pogues find him.)

While I really really like the Groff idea, I don't have anything more than the two scenes I believe I've already posted. What I think is fun about that concept is that it really allows us to play out the Groff/JJ relationship, and let Groff use JJ for ongoing things -- like the crown, keeping the Pogues in line, clearing up Goat Island's inheritance, and all of Groff's crimes back on the OBX. I feel like Groff is incredibly opportunistic, and using JJ to continue to get what he wants would be a convenient thing for him to do. S4 set up JJ's identity crisis but never let us see it, and I would love to do that with this storyline.

So it's an idea I really love and hope to write -- someday. But I already have one massive fix-it, so it's just not today.

However, the serial killer fic? That's got a little bit to it in my plotting. It's a really dark preseries fic that explores the idea of how vulnerable JJ is to certain things -- and how easily he could be targeted for something like that, especially at a younger age. The fic would have sections POV shifts between JB and JJ -- and JB's would be grounded in just how no one believes JB that something's going on with JJ. When he goes missing, they think he's just a runaway and no one puts much energy into finding him at all.

I'll drop a bit below, with the moment JJ is finally unable to escape. It's a situation where he gets lured into a position and eventually can't get out of it -- and then he's really stuck for a really difficult time before he manages to escape.

I do hope to get to this fic sooner rather than later -- I have about 12k written to it. I'm focusing on finishing Best of a Bad Deal right now -- and then I'm going to be on vacation. When I get back, near the end of June, I hope to hit some fics pretty hard.

He pushes his chair back, catching himself on the table while everything starts to spin.  He panics, feeling it rise in the back of his throat while alarm bells start to go off in his head.

He needs to get out of here now.

His coordination is bad, but he gets to his feet anyway.  The chair scrapes against the floor, and he stumbles.  The chair crashes back, hitting the floor hard.  JJ feels the noise rattle through him, as his vision starts to go hazy at the edges, the blackness creeping in.

He braces himself, heart hammering so loud that it deafens him.  His eyes start to burn as his throat seizes up.

“JJ, let me help you—“

James is too close to him, suddenly.  The sound of his voice cuts through his mind, as his fight or flight instinct kicks in.

Hard.

This man isn’t here to help him.

This man has never been here to help him.

The overwhelming stupidity of it all is too much, and JJ tries to breathe, even as his limbs go numb and heavy.

“JJ, please.”

James touches his arm, his fingers around JJ’s bicep.  He startles, yanking himself away.  He careens forward, but he only makes it a step before his legs stop working.  Everything is going dim, and JJ clings frantically to consciousness.  If he passes out, it’s done.  If he closes his eyes, it’s over.

“Come on, JJ.  You can’t fight it.”

He’s right, of course.

JJ can’t fight it.

JJ can’t do anything.  

His heart reaches a muffled peak before his knees give out.  He’s falling hard, he’s falling fast.

And James’s arms catch him, drawing him close.  He hoists him up, cradling him like he’s nothing.  “No,” he mumbles, too weak to sob.  “No, I don’t — please—“

“Hush, now,” James shushes him, propping him up so JJ’s head is cradles in the warm place on James’s neck.  “Don’t try to talk.”

JJ makes one, last fleeting protest, but the sound is drowned out by the low rumble of James’s voice.

“I’ve got you, JJ,” he croons, hand smoothing through JJ’s hair.  “I’ve got you.”

He’s right, JJ concludes with horrifying certainty.

He’s absolutely right.