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#Like idk how to say this but I'm over IT as a whole- but the emotions are still kinda left over?

rebel-shaw · 1 day

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GUYS HELP I was at work, and I had this scenario pop in my head that made me look like this all day.

I'm not a good writer, so the talented fallout Fandom has my blessing to expand on this idea of mine🙏🙏🙏 but here it goes.

Ok, so what if Janey is frozen in cryo (maybe in vault 31?) The whole 219 years so she haven't aged a day at all, and what if Cooper and Lucy go back to her vault to get more supplies and then Norm tells them about vault 31 and they go look at it. (Maybe it won't be easy, maybe there a fight idk) And when they get there, they find the pods, and then Copper finds Janey.....

He was in shock, frozen. Lucy, notice and go over to look and see her name. (Maybe at this point, she knows his full name and put two and two together) Anyway, they all agree to let her out, but Cooper is nervous. I mean, look at him... He is not the same man Janey knew as her father, but he is too the same or so lucy tells him. (having maybe seen a bit more of his old self by then) She convinced him to see her when she's ready, after all being thawed out, takes a lot out of someone. Janey is asleep for a few days, and once she's wakes up, she needs to get her bearings. In the meantime, Cooper is trying his best to clean up taking many showers. (That's his stinky ass needs after 219 years) Washing his clothes the same cowboy outfit he been wearing since the last time he saw her, but even after all that, he's still afraid. He doesn't want to touch her because no matter what he does, he's so irradiated that he'll taint her, but lucy consoles him by saying she's been exposed to it anyway, giving she was there when the bombs fell. It doesn't do much, but it calms him down enough so that he'll be in the same room as her

Anyway, Lucy goes in first. It has been about a week since Janey has been thawed. Lucy, having been a school teacher, knows how to explain stuff to kids. She slowly tells Janey how long she has been asleep for, how she is safe, how her dad is here. And how he been looking for her all the time, about how. "That him not being in a vault did things to him." About how. "Even though he may look scary, it's still her dad." Janey nods and understands she tells Lucy she's ready to see him, and Lucy goes to get Cooper. (Whether Lucy stayed in the room or not, I don't know.) But Cooper walks in the room, in a cleaner but still worn out blue cowboy uniform not having on the duster coat or vest. There she is.... standing in the room a few feet away from him, his mouth to dry to talk. It's not like he could talk anyway. What would he even say to her?

It felt like time froze, but it also felt like an eternity of silence. Janey was the first to do anything. Walking over to him, Cooper stepped back a bit but stopped. She was right in front of him. She looked him up and down, and she finally spoke to him. "Well.... i guess i can't play. i got your nose with you anymore, huh?"

And with that, Cooper, who was holding his breath this whole time, was able to breathe again. Not caring about anything else but her, he fell to his knees and hugged her for the first time in 219 years and cried.

#but yeah not a fun thought to have at the beginning of a shift #if y'all want make fics and art of this idea i will be thankful 🙏#fallout amazon #fallout tv series #fallout #lucy maclean #cooper howard #janey howard #ghoulcy

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 2 days

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Wait, wait. So. Carlisle is a doctor, right? But. Human Carlisle was a preacher's son. Not a doctor. And. I'm just realizing, I'm sure the books say something about this but I must have glossed over it. Carlisle... as a vampire... learned to be a doctor. Before meeting the Volturi even???

This man just. walks into idk 18th century med school. and is like "Don't mind me I'm definitely not afflicted with a strange condition, let's just learn from these cadavers"

Do you think he did a residency??? Young Carlisle, eating rats in the sewers by night, understudy at some hospital by day. Germ theory wasn't even a thing then! Oh my god I bet he killed people by mistake from infection due to unsanitary hands. Do you think he realizes??

And. And. And. Medicine was a whole different bag of bones back then. The cadavers were often stolen! Sometimes by the teaching doctors! Somehow I can't see this son of a preacher-man digging up graves, but he had to have tacitly condoned it.

What even is this man? I mean we know he's big no judgement with the vampires killing humans, but by god he really doesn't judge anyone does he???

(Any early-Doctorage meta thoughts you have would be appreciated!)

@therealvinelle has a great post that covers pretty much everything you're asking

Oh, anon, the books said a lot about this. I think the movies briefly mentioned it but it wasn't that important to them so they kind of skipped it.

It's to the point where there's not much meta to be had, we pretty much get the whole story.

But yes, Carlisle starts out as a vampire hunting priest, and this does not go well for him. He then has a terrible time trying to kill himself only to find he could eat animals, goes to Volterra, yada yada, then leaves.

So yes, the medical career was pointedly after the Volturi (though Meyer keeps her timeline weird and vague about when Carlisle was with the Volturi and how long, but it seems he showed up there within a few decades of turning if that and left a few decades later)

We learn than Carlisle afterwards pursued a number of things in university, enrolling himself, trying to decide what he wanted to actually do with his life (among these apparently was music I believe) but he eventually settled on medicine.

Carlisle predates doing residencies and just slinks in at modern medicine as we recognize it in the western world (he would have just been starting/been after we decided "actually, we need to cut up bodies to study anatomy"). So yes, there were a lot of things people thought they knew at the time and did that Carlisle would have been caught up in to then learn "oh fuck" later.

That said, we're told canonically that Carlisle often goes back to university to make sure he's up to date with the field, so he's not telling you that your humors are out of whack if you visit him.

But yes, he's a weird dude.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #carlisle cullen #meta #headcanon #opinion #vinelle #therealvinelle

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sarah-sandwich-writes · 4 months

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HOLD ON WAIT UP HOLD THE PHONE

I KNOW I WAS GONE FOR A FEW MONTHS THERE BUT HAS BLUE LIKE DON'T FORGET ABOUT ME ALWAYS BEEN A PART OF A SERIES OR IS THAT A NEW DEVELOPMENT???

I FEEL LIKE ITS CHRISTMAS ALL OVER AGAIN FUCK Y E A H

Okay so

I...

have been cooking

by which I mean illusions of grandeur and

schemes

And I have not been forthcoming lol Everyone kind of disappeared all at the same time so I kind of stopped talking about what I'm doing but I have been biding my time, quietly putting mechanisms into motion and plotting and occasionally cackling over my cauldron.

I finished the first draft of Blue like don't forget about me and didn't like it so I cut out all the sci-fi fantasy stuff (bye bye aliens farewell superpowers) and in November wrote a new first draft that's all contemporary romance babeee and I'm so in love with it I'm turning it into a little 3-part (possibly 4 if I can't control myself) series.

The original childhood years have been split off into a prequel novella called Red like my bleeding heart in your hand. Then Blue like don't forget about me will take place 20 years later. Nash works at Cherished Hope Nursing Home

“And what is it you do? At the nursing home, I mean.” I wipe shit off of old people. And Teddy’s a hockey player. What’s Luke, an underwear model? He shouldn’t have come.

Teddy comes back to town for a funeral and

Teddy looks at him for the first time in twenty years and every ounce of warmth leaves his expression. Message received. He should not have come.

OKAY SO AND THEN the next book will be Jo's POV and is called Violet like these delights. and MAYBE there will be a 4th from Luke's POV bc he gets to live this time by the grace of god (me) but it'll depend on how Violet goes (its current state is mostly vibes and a single overarching theme so, stand by).

Red needs a clean-up round of edits to snip out the few little threads that connected it to OG blue. And rewritten blue is basically done. I've done the major revisions and am about to start line edits and after those are done I'm sending it out to beta readers (lmk if you're interested).

There are concise actual summaries in my pinned post btw lol

WHICH REMINDS ME

The series title is Wildflowers of Deliverance. Which I'm extremely proud of. Did you notice did you notice how each title incorporates a wildflower did you did you? and the town they grew up in where Nash and Teddy first met is called Deliverance!!! It's okay I know I'm a genius.

And this brings us to the meal okay? because like I said I've been Cooking™ quietly but steadily for a few months now. ANd what have I been cooking? PLOTS and PLANS

I've decided on a pen name: Sarah B. Elisa

I've created a(nother) side blog for it that will be exclusively centered on my og writing and geared more toward readers rather than writers like this blog is: @sarahbe-writing

I'm going to create a website (as soon as I convince myself to spend money)

and a newsletter (as soon as I convince myself to spend money and do work)

I'm still waffling between trad publishing and DIY. I really like all my hats and it would be a shame to have to share them but oh my god I don't want to do all the marketing but trad pub seems hit or miss on how well they market you so I might get half of my hats taken away and still have to do the marketing bullshit UGH

anyway

OH YEAH and the OG draft I wrote for Blue? I'm going to spin it back to its OG OG roots [parkner, naturally--Return of The childhood friends to estranged almost lovers to super-powered rivals to reluctant allies to friends to lovers finally wip!!! AKA: We Were Gods (we were kids)] and that will fix all the things that went wrong and I didn't like 😌 so it's basically like double Christmas I think

#i have been #a tad reluctant to use the tag list #since because I scrapped the whole plot and genre and started over #feels like a teensie bit of a betrayal?#so idk i think i need to make a post (way fucking shorter than this one) and tag everyone and see who still wants to be tagged in stuff?#or maybe im close enough to the finish line i shouldn't do tag list stuff anymore? I'm kind of wary of oversharing bc #i totally did before #and the word count is smaller now #and there aren't like Plot Twists #it's a romance we all know how this is gonna end #so idk that's mostly why i've been quiet like haha what should i say and to who?#But anyway this weekend I'm going to get my shit together and put up some posts and get the ball rolling again #share some excerpts #get people excited #put out a call for beta and sensitivity readers #you know. work lol #also i missed you and i'm glad you're back <3333 #my notes were sooooo quiet lol #and i don't just mean on my writing stuff i love seeing all of your tags in my activity like Yay that's my friend!! And they're yellin!!!#we love to see it <3 #anyway #:)

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insertsickusername13 · 1 year

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Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around.

Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him.

Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house.

He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later.

“The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

“Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands.

“God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room.

He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

“You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

“This is what you want?”

“I dunno.”

Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg.

“Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close.

“Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself.

Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant.

Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos.

Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while.

Tonight, Jake chose balloons.

“You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

“This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color.

Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably.

“Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

“Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out.

“I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering.

He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest.

“Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds.

Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan.

“Do you need—”

“No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child.

He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich.

He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale.

Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm.

Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red.

“Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered.

“Hi,” Jake whispered back.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just…

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze.

“What?”

Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

“You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily.

Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest.

He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

“Rich.”

“Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again.

“Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

“Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty.

Until October 30th.

Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep.

“What the fuck?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding.

“Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain.

Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent.

“So… are we doing this here or…?”

“My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

“Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die.

He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack.

Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm.

“What the hell?! Slow down—”

Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now.

“I’m gay.”

Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands.

“Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

Rich broke out into a grin.

“Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again.

Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

“Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck.

“They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows.

“Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

Rich smiled and kissed him again.

“I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again.

“Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

“Is it—?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

November first. The day after tomorrow.

Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

“Promise?” he whispered.

Rich nodded.

“Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

#yes there is an extended metaphor but it's super super vague and barely there #if anyone can figure it out i'll... i don't know i'm not giving you money but i'll do something bc i'll be very impressed #richjake #rich goranski #jake dillinger #bmc #squipped rich #be more chill musical #sparkly star fanfic #FUN FACT I FUCKING HATE THIS #i actually wrote a whole other fic before this today (i did so much writing from 8-10 pm my fingers hurt)#and i hated it so much i deleted it and started over and wrote this #I WAS FOUR THOUSAND WORDS IN #i don't think people realize i'm not joking when i say i hate my writing idk #like i try to phrase it in an at least somewhat funny way but i hope you all realize i know its bad #like i am completely aware of how utterly shitty it is #the only reason i post it is bc. i don't know actually #it just happens #my brain goes quiet when i write and it goes even quieter when i share it with people #so. yeah. i. i am in a mood rn lmao #i tried to hide the ranting deep in the tags hopefully no one notices #if you're still here fuck off this is my therapy

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moregraceful · 9 months

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feeling uncooperative with the prompts in the meme. between cheech and old pat which one would survive a joint venture into a thrift store? and which of them would you convert into a minor league baseball player if you had a magic wand

God yeah I reblogged that list and then read the questions and was like...this list is wack lol. Anyway THANK YOU these questions are much more important and gets really into the Hearts and Minds of these men.

Who survives a joint venture to the thrift store: Old Pat. It's Old Pat. Man has looked 40 years old since he hit puberty and has just kept growing older. Old man is in his element with the real senior citizens. However it is very important to me to mention that they're going to a bespoke thrift store for like farm and cowboy shit. Cheech could handle normal thrifting. Cheech would be great at normal thrifting. But take him to a store where it's JUST vintage farming equipment and cowboy leather shit and that city boy is going to panic. Old Pat is having a blast looking at pieces of metal that clearly spark joy in his construction worker heart but make NO sense to Cheech, son of academics, WHL overager. Cheech agreed to come to the store to push the cart but now he is manfully deep breathing while Old Pat examines a metal thing with rings. Is it for horses? Is it for wearing? Is it a BDSM thing? Do you put it on a tractor? Cheech is scared. (It is literally just a beval bit.) These stores don't exist in the Bay Area but maybe they do in idk Manitoba or Michigan or whatever. Or Gilroy, where all our dreams come true.

Minor league baseball player: the thing is, we're on Sieloff Watch (KING. ANNOUNCE YOUR RETIREMENT OR SIGN SOMEWHERE BEFORE I THROW UP) and Cheech is having his hot girl summer. So I'm inclined to say Cheech, just bc I think he has a shot in hell of making it OUT of minor league baseball. Also he is handsome like a baseball player. He has the looks for it. Not that you have to be handsome to be a baseball player but it helps. Can you imagine that man in the humid outfield of some nameless town in the San Joaquin Valley, fighting for his life in the game, the top three buttons of his jersey are undone, his curls are wilting, the uhhhh idk Fresno Nightcrawlers, AA for some cursed af West Coast team, are down 9-7 in the 8th, when the skies open up and it starts pouring...the stands, already two-thirds empty on a Tuesday night clear, while the teams run for cover under the downpour. Nick stands in the outfield and tilts his head toward the sky, feeling, for a moment, relief and peace.

#this was soooo fun thank you #i unpacked 21 boxes of books. i need to organize since the categorization is loose but at least there are no longer 24 boxes in that room #there is a box of comics i don't want and two boxes of cookbooks for the kitchen #idk what to do with the comics. the part of my life where i was an issue by issue reader of comics is over #tempted to loosely inventory and sell on ebay like here for $50 all these doa indies can be YOUR problem #i'm also missing a whole chunk of my tkams but my mom says she saw a box of them in another room #which is good bc i would literally go insane if i were truly missing any of my intl copies of tkam some of that shit was SO hard to aquire #anyway i just remembered what i was going to say which is that in the cuda frontier town au in my shower thoughts #siels is the washer woman. he runs a laundry. employs robbie (too small to ride horses) and weather (doesn't want to be a cowboy)#cheech comes from way out of town bc he's on the run from the LAW (shot a man in manitoba but the other guy had it coming)#he lives in old pat's house above the laundry. shares a bedroom with robbie. siels teaches him how to get the blood off of leather #siels falls in love but the LAW catches up with cheech and he has to run further west and old washerwoman pat and his boys stonewall the LA #siels thinks of him still on cold nights. when he can hear his boarders laughing through the walls as they play cards #what life must be like to be young and in love..... (he is literally 28)#also henry is the one room school teacher #cage replies #anon #i love this ask lol thank you so much 🙏😌

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