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latina4rmbx · 2 months

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I Can Buy Myself Flowers...

Sometimes I need to figure my shit out. Sometimes I take so long to figure my shit out that it loses it's luster. I've been pondering this post for a bit and it's learned me a few things:

I need to charge my laptop. As I lay in bed, stroke of insight comes to me, but if I pick up my phone, I'm going straight to social media and there goes my insight. At least with my laptop I don't have social media embedded in any of the apps, I think, and I can get what I need to get off my chest.

I sometimes over/underestimate myself and it's to my own detriment

I was in an extreme emotional state yesterday with no real outlet. I had no reason to cry but I felt that ache or that hollow in my chest. I even asked a friend for a sad movie suggestion so I can get it out. I still haven't seen the movie

I know I've said this before, and I guess I will repeat it until I understand, you really don't realize the impact you make/have made on a persons life sometimes. If you're lucky, people will give you your flowers while you're still here

This is a great segue into the whole reason we're here...

Yesterday I posted a Meme that reads: Her: I ordered us new phone cases. The fucking phone cases (if I can add the pic here I will) then I wrote: Me as a GF. Let me just try to post this thing because 1. it was the catalyst and 2. I think it truly sums me up as a GF and 3. It's cute AF. Take in the entire post lol

An ex-boyfriend reaches out to me to make a joke about the phone cases.

His joke: "This was us but I had more ass than you."

In case you were wondering what my response was...this is the lead up to the crux of this AM post. From here on out I'm going to refer to him as Guy. Another person comes into play and I'll call them Man.

Me: But that's a real message I sent to a real man who probably has more ass than I do too 😂 I haven't checked it out enough. We haven't done sexy time yet 😃

Guy: Whaaaaaat (I didn't count the A's but there were quite a few)

Me: Stop it

Guy: This is real?! Not a drill ?!?

A little more chatting about Man

Guy: Ok well he gets you. That's important

Here is where the mood changes. Up to this point we were laughing, well Guy was laughing at my antics (because I be antic-ing)

Me: Well we don't see each other much cuz life be lifin' the shit out of us but it's good lol. Thanks for inquiring about the drills.

Side Note: He speaks to me in voice note after a bit so I'll have to transcribe. I'll do it verbatim but I KNOW I will cry.

Guy: Good speaking to you again. Instead of us, just sending funny videos to each other... Though I like that too.

Me: Thank you for being everything.

Me: I'm really lucky I met you Guy. I hope you know that. Good or bad you always have a special place in my heart

Guy: Can I say: Ditto. One day I'll be able to put into words what our time together has meant and always meant to me

Me: It's not necessary. I appreciate it anyway

Guy: Well I think people need to get their flowers!!!!

See the correlation to the title now?

Me: I do too & life is shorter than we realize.

Here's where his voice notes start. There are only 2 but each is about a min long so it may take some time (& Coffee) to transcribe. I did not respond to him in VN form. As a matter of fact the conversation between him and I's portion will end with my first response, then I'll move on to something else. It'll make sense

VN1: No, I I I mean that in all truthfulness. Uhm, people deserve their flowers cause you never know when somebody's gonna go or somebody saying I'm never going to talk to you ever again. So, No I wanted to always tell you thank you because I wasn't always uhm I dunno. I guess life gives you perspective once you get some distance and time. I'm not trying to speak deep or like philosophical. It's just one of those things where you know. I remember being young. I remember, you know, being infatuated with you and not knowing how to handle that and also not knowing how to handle when I had unfinished business or you know uhm. There were so many things I was learning on the fly. It's like flying a plane and fixing the wing while you're flying it. I should've just landed the plane and learned my lesson.

VN2: But even when I was flying the plane, so to speak, or hanging out with you uhm, I always wanted to thank you. I mean, you know, there were times that, you know, I really made you feel like shit and I'm sorry. And there's times there, you know, where you and I were at odds for whatever reason, and you know. I wasn't always great, you know. I learned a lot from you. I learned about forgiveness, and I learned about, you know, about how to truly love somebody or what to have when you truly love somebody. Or that so much, that that that our multiple interactions have taught me. From the beginning all the way to the last one. And it was so fun in a weird way to have you in my apartment that day when we were saying good bye to T. And that was kinda like uh, if this was a sitcom, and that was the last episode, it'd be a good one.

Me: The one where we said good bye

If you didn't get it, my response is a nod to ye olde show "Friends."

Here's where it gets interesting/sad, I was crying typing that response to Guy. However, I went to the counsel, which is 2 people. 1 who knows him and one who doesn't. I'm going to only share the conversation with the one who doesn't know him because it was sweet, our back and forth. For the sake of consistency they will be dubbed, C1 (LOL - is that consistent?). Ok, ok, Lady. She'll be dubbed Lady. As in, I spoke to the Lady

Me: Listen to this. It's my ex boyfriend & THIS made me cry.

Lady: Awww O

Me: You know how you feel like you didn't mean anything to someone and then you find out you meant everything. This did it for me. Bad timing. But when the timing was right...It was too late. He broke up with his GF and I had broken up with *CENSORED*. We were ripe for the picking but it didn't feel...the same.

Lady: Yes I now the feeling

Lady: At least you now know you meant something big to him

Me: Yeah. It's comforting

Me: I always wondered if I was doing love wrong

That's it. Not the end of the conversation but the point that he was helping me with, without even being aware. I always wondered if I was doing love wrong. Craziness because some people never think of love in terms of something to consider or work on, it's just what they feel or do. But what does that mean? To feel love. What does it mean to DO love? You know.

Lady: I don't think you've ever done love wrong. Just was given to the wrong people at the wrong time because as a friend you are very loveable and you're giving, attentive

Me: Thank you

Me: I had to work on the friendship love too

Lady: No need to thank me for the truth

Me: I know I used to do friendship wrong

Lady: Well I'm glad I get the best of you ❤️❤️

That was literally the end of hers and I's conversation.

In the other conversation I mention feeling validated. I think this is the part that kept me up half the night. Why did I need him or anyone to validate me? Then it clicked, I value his opinion of me. He's one of the very few people who can tell me "O, it's not a good look." He does it with such a pure and true heart. It doesn't hurt when he's putting me in my place. Again, I'm speaking as a friend here, not as a lover. That ship has sailed a long time ago. Two years ago, when we reconnected through mutual heartbreak, solidified it.

We were GREAT as lovers and being in love but we're sooooo much better as champions for each other. We cheer each other one from the sidelines. I guess that's what happens when time and distance give us perspective.

Thank you readers for reading. I truly appreciate you taking any moment out of your day to read through my posts.

I can buy myself flowers...But why would I have to?

XOXO

Thanks for Reading

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colemacgrathtkz · 3 years

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Buying time

Previously. Next

Fair warning: This one is long.

A few days after her return, Noceda made her way into the Blight manor. She hadn't seen anyone else from the "good old days".

Today, Amity should be finished moving back into her old room. Now that the "empress" had returned, Luz needed a place to stay.

The Owl house didn't seem like it would be accepting new tenants. Amity said she could stay at the "New Coven" HQ. Belos's former castle might as well be put to good use.

Stepping through the front door, she expected to be greeted by either stuffy parents or mischievous siblings. Neither seemed to be home. Just a familiar face waiting to report her news.

Luz: "Good afternoon, my lovely gf! I'm ready for my homecoming party!"

Amity: "I've already updated Willow and Augustus. They should be ready to speak with you after some time."

Luz(folding her arms): "Why so formal, Blight? Is it the house? Maybe we should get our own-".

Amity: "Everyone's going to need time to take all this in, even me. But what about you? Any trouble moving back into your old castle?"

Luz (sarcastically): " You mean Belos's hand-me-downs? You know, after I killed him. Not so bad once you get passed the stares and constant reminders of who I was."

Amity: "Sorry."

Wait, why was she apologizing?

Luz nonchalantly shrugged.

Luz: "Meh, there was vacancy."

Speaking of vacancy, even for a big house, this was unusually quiet.

Luz( jokingly): "So, when's the party? I want to see everyone. Where are they?"

Amity: "That's going to have to wait. My family's already on their way to a conference. We'll be gone for four days."

Luz: "Sounds like high class stuff. Perfect for a romantic getaway, like in the movies. Ok, I'm in!"

Amity: "You can't come."

Luz( pouting): "Huh, why not? I was technically at the top of this food chain. What could possibly stop this empress from returning to high class society?"

Amity: "Me. Remember, everyone was afraid of you. You're supposed to be a secret. Everyone at HQ has orders not to mention you being back."

Sticking her hands in her pockets, the sulking latina turned to leave.

Luz: "Fine! I'll just hang out with Willow and Gus."

Amity: "Those two are busy. Willow has official coven business. Augustus works with his father. They can't drop everything just because you're back."

Stopping mid step, she glanced back to hear about the others.

Luz: "Eda? King?"

Amity dodged her gaze.

Amity: "We haven't been able to reach them. They left Bonesborough to cure the curse... with Lilth."

For a brief moment, red flickered in Luz's eyes. Unfortunately, Amity caught glimpse of that. She made her way to the staircase.

Amity: "Enjoy the alone time."

Being left alone wasn't a fun thought.

Luz: "Hold on, you sure there's no way I could tag along?"

Amity: "Not without some assurances."

Luz: "Like a certain glowing circle floating in midair?"

Got her...

Amity: "The everlasting oath will only work if we're both on board with this. If you're willing to promise give up your magic, it could work. Just for four days, ok? I want to breathe easy. "

Luz: "Ok, but on one condition. We don't tell anyone else about this. There's probably a line of witches who want to take a shot at me."

A purple halo was spawned before them. Amity held her hand out, ready to begin. But just as Luz held out hers, it crackled. A burst of red in its hue, it zapped both their wrists before dissolving. The slight scorch marks seemed to send a clear message.

Amity( disappointed): "I knew this wouldn't work."

Luz: "Hang on, one more time. Close your eyes."

If you looked up "suspicious" in the dictionary, you'd see this moment.

Amity's narrowed eyes tried to read Luz's intentions. The suspect raised her right hand and put the other one on her chest.

Luz: "No tricks, I swear."

Complying with her request, Amity didn't peek.

Luz's eyes darted for the closest reflective object. Settling on a mirror, she knew who else was staring back.

Luz( mouthing the words): "Come on, help me out here."

Trying once more, two hands joined together without fail.

Luz: "See? No sweat. Now, when do we leave?"

Amity: "Tonight, I'm almost done packing. But there's something else I've got to say. My family's arranged for all of us to have our own rooms, for privacy. So..."

Amity brought a hand to Luz's face, smiling.

Amity( patting Luz's cheek): "Good luck finding a last minute vacancy."

And with that, a slack jawed girl was left to wait at the door.

Luz: "Fine, I don't need magic. I've got a dangerous rep!"

[The morning after Luz's return, at New Coven HQ]

Gus: "We've got to drop everything and deal with this!"

Amity: "No, we need to focus. How did she even get here?"

Willow(sarcastically): "Maybe you can find the answer at your next book club meeting? Spoiler alert! Luz's pages ahead of us."

Gus has been working with his father. Though, keeping his finger on the town's pulse was definitely a useful thing. From hearing rumors to reading reports, Gus was the group's ears.

He'd barged into Amity's briefing. Reports of crystal balls disappearing overnight. That definitely seemed like New Coven business.

Of course, it seemed like a good time to inform them of last night's visitor.

Gus: "This can't a coincidence. First, she shows up. Then, robberies happen all over town, overnight! What next? The town gets knee deep in a potion flood?"

Willow: "That doesn't sound that bad, all things considered."

Gus(hysterical): "Oh, sure! Why don't we just ask our former dictator? Hey, Luz, how bad are things going to get?"

They took the news about as well as could be expected.

Gus: "We can't just ask her. She'd probably get scary and wipe out the town."

Willow( putting a hand on Gus's shoulder): " Come on, Gus, this is Luz we're talking about. She's got a big imagination. She'd probably come up with something way worse."

Ok, that's enough panicking.

Amity: "She's not going to wipe out Bonesborough... today. Look, right now we've got questions that need answers. And each of us still have jobs to do. Augustus, I want you to keep up to date on the investigations. Willow, I need you to go to the tree. The portal's gone, but there might be something left behind. Anything that could give us a hint.

Get to it!"

This was normally the part where everyone's dismissed. But Willow waited to shut the door behind Gus.

Willow: "Now that he's gone, we need to clear the air."

Amity just sat down, resting her head on her arms.

Willow: "Do you know why I became your personal assistant?"

Amity(sheepish): "Because you're that nice of a witch and couldn't let me fall apart?"

Willow: "Luz meant alot to us. But she meant a whole lot to you. If anyone was going to get her back, it was you. You were the key to seeing her again. And I wanted to be there to see my friend again.

...

Guess I dropped the ball on that one, huh?"

These two might not be friends, but they had each other's backs.

Willow: "So, do you trust her?"

Amity: "I don't know."

Smirking, Willow wrapped one arm around Amity's shoulder.

Willow: "Well, maybe we can do something about that? See, while you were obviously crushing on her from afar..."

Amity(slightly blushing): " Obviously?!"

Willow(smug): " I was learning up close about schemes, plots, and ruses from a master of shenanigans."

Willow's confidence had improved.

Willow: "I've got a plan. If everything goes well, you might get everything you hoped for.

Twoo wuv's kiss saves Luz and both of you get a happy ending."

She took jabs at her new boss when she could. Payback for the years of bullying.

While Amity became beet red, Willow continued.

Willow(whispering): "Here's what you need to do..."

[Bonus]

The afternoon after the conference, at the Blight manor.

The "undercover" duo knocked at the Blight manor entrance.

The family should be back, by now.

They were met by the twins, Emira and Edric.

Willow: "We need to talk to Amity."

Emira: "She's sleeping."

Gus: "It's four in the afternoon."

Edric: "She didn't get a wink, last night."

A smiles appeared on Amity's siblings.

Edric: "Want to see why?"

Not even waiting for an answer, he brought up a scroll. The footage was ready to go.

Edric: "We had a ball to cap off the night."

Emira: "But Luz wanted to do something special."

There, on the screen, Luz stood in the spotlight. Holding the mic and a spanish guitar, she broadcasted for the dance hall.

Luz: "This one goes out to a special someone here tonight. It's called, 'You're in my heart'."

Amity could be seen hiding her face, as she tried to excuse herself.

Emira: "We told her, Amity left during her performance."

Edric: "So, she asked for our help in finding mitten's window."

Pulling up another recording, this one seemed to take place outside.

Luz: "I saw this in a movie, once."

As the shot panned out, the eyes of these two detectives nearly popped out at the screen. What they saw could only be described as an army of Luz clones. The one up front, holding the guitar, began to play. The rest of them sang behind her.

Luz army(echoing): "Love of my life, you've hurt me.

You've broken my heart, and now you leave me."

The Blight twins collapsed from laughter.

The two guests looked at each other.

Gus(confused): "Are we... sure that's not the real Luz?"

Willow: "I thought Luz wasn't supposed to do magic?"

Edric(astounded): "That's why she asked for our help!"

Emira: "I just thought she was trying to get in good with her future in laws. Those powers glyphs weren't a bad start."

Before Willow could ask about that, Gus had his own question.

Gus: "When did you even learn this song?"

Blight twins(in unison): "Last night."

Willow: "No one tried to stop her during any of this?"

Emira: "People were too sacred they'd set her off. I mean, even we had trouble believing she wasn't going to start... you know."

Edric: "That is, until she wanted to pull something over on Amity. And really, who are we to try and stop her from redeeming herself?"

Emira: "Yeah, shame she made Luz walk home."

Slowly, Willow pieced together a realization.

Willow: "Time's not up yet and she's walking back alone.

Wait, did you post this on Penstagram?!"

Author's note:

Admittedly, the bonus was inspired by this moment in the show

and a song on the radio.

#Broken! Luz AU #Story I pieced together #lumity #the owl house #luz noceda #amity blight #toh #willow park #Gus Porter #Emira Blight #Edric Blight #luz x amity

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bijackkellys · 4 years

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thunderstruck ; part three

safe haven.

Fandom: Newsies (All Media Types) Relationships: Jack Kelly/David Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer Word Count: 4,352 Dedications: a huge huge shoutout to my beta and gf @mistyw273 without whom this fic would not exist! tag list (if you’d like to be added to this list just send me an ask or dm!): @dimenovelcowboy @santa-fe-maniac @pulitzers-world @yo-let-me-get-a-milkyway @verified-dumbass @jewishdavidjacobs @agentsnickers @thetruthabouttheboy @the-games-changing Author’s Note: yes i know what i said and i'm aware that it's been WEEKS since i posted and i have absolutely nothing to say for myself. except that i'm the worst. and also that i'm going to stop making promises and tell you guys straight out that i'm probably not going to be any better at updating from this point forward, especially considering i'm working on college apps and sat prep right now. but it's fine! i hope the fact that this chapter is only like 10 words less than all the other chapters so far put together sort of makes up for it? but i kind of hate this part; i have a ton of exposition to get through so i'm really really sorry if it sucks and you've waited this long for like 4.3k of bullshit. i'm also sorry that i still haven't introduced kath—she will get here in the next chapter and she will play no small role in this fic, i promise!! we've just got a lot to get through leading up to that. anyway, thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed so far, and if you're still here despite my questionable reliability (or lack thereof) i love you, personally. tws for this chapter includes a minor panic attack, mentions of vomiting but it's pretty brief, and that's about it.

read it on ao3

MEDDA IS SINGING when they get to her apartment.

Even through the closed door, Jack can hear her voice lilting down the corridor, a bittersweet melody that he can’t quite remember but loves all the same. It makes him falter, makes his throat close up as warmth and the ache of missing her spread through his chest in time with each other. He doesn’t know what she’ll say when she sees him, and the thought of her viewing him as a killer nearly makes his knees buckle. Distantly he thinks that it doesn’t matter what the world has been told as long as she believes him.

“Is this it?” the older boy says behind him, gesturing to the door that Jack is staring at. He’d mostly been quiet the whole walk here, but now he’s looking at Jack expectantly.

Jack nods and pushes back the tide of emotions swelling in his chest. If he waits any longer he might never be able to do this. He knocks twice on the door, and her singing cuts off abruptly; he hears her voice saying “Coming!” and then the lock clicking as the door swings open.

“Hi, Miss Medda,” Jack says hoarsely.

She stares at him. For this brief, terrible moment, he thinks she’s going to turn him away, and then she’s crying and oh, she pulls him into a hug. Something he’s been trying to hold back since he found himself running in the streets hours ago spills forth. In her arms he can’t stop the tears; he feels suddenly twelve years old again, scared and small but not alone, not anymore.

“You’re alive,” she’s saying, over and over, like a mantra. “Oh, baby, you’re really here.”

Jack clings to her tightly. “I didn’t do it,” he breathes, desperate for her to know as she runs a hand through his hair. “The fire—that wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t believe them for one second.” Medda pulls him back at arm’s length. “But where have you been?”

He winces, looks away. “The Refuge. I just escaped.” Her mouth opens again but he shakes his head slightly and she nods, understanding immediately.

“It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll talk later,” she says, and cups his cheek with a gentle hand. He leans into it, starved of positive contact like this for so long. “Jack Kelly,” she says warmly, her eyes shining—he’s gotten so used to hearing his name spit at him like a curse—“I thought I’d never see you again.” She huffs a laugh and smiles at him, wiping at his eyes with her thumb. “Don’t you ever disappear on me like that again, you understand?”

He gives a watery chuckle, maybe his first in months. “I’ll do my best, Miss Medda.”

She pulls him into another hug, squeezing his shoulders tightly, before her eyes come to rest on the two boys still standing awkwardly in the hallway. “And who are your new friends?” she asks.

“Oh, this is—” Jack breaks off, realizing abruptly that they had never gotten to introductions. The younger of the two steps forward and puffs his chest out.

“I’m Les, and this is my brother, David,” he says brightly. He’s been solemn since Jack met him, no doubt jarred by his experience with the Snatchers, but Medda’s warmth is notoriously infectious. Even the kid’s older brother—Davey—cracks a smile.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says politely, and Medda beams and waves a hand.

“None of that. It’s Miss Medda to you, darling. Come on in,” She steps out of the doorway and gestures inside, placing a gentle hand on the small of Jack’s back as she ushers him in. He’s grateful for it, a grounding presence that reminds him he’s really here in front of her. “Stay as long as you like, boys.”

In the last few hours alone, Jack has felt like he’s been thrust into an entirely different world. Entering Medda’s apartment is a burst of shining familiarity; there’s the elegant wooden piano in the corner, the blooming plants lining the windowsills, the photos of the theater and the paintings Jack has done over the years hanging on the walls. The faint smell of cinnamon in the air. He may never have lived here, but it feels like coming home all the same.

“I’ve still got the clothes you’ve left here, if you want to change,” Medda tells him. “I’ll get something going for us to eat—how does Sancocho sound? I don’t have any plantains, and now I know it’s not quite the same without them—”

“That sounds incredible, Miss Medda,” Jack says, his mouth already watering. For as long as he’s known her, Medda has always made it a point to give him and the other boys a taste of home however she can manage. She’d tested recipes for Sancocho for months until she’d perfected the warm, rich stew that always drew up distant memories of Jack’s mother.

Medda smiles at him and bustles into the kitchen, pulling vegetables from the fridge. “David, Les, is there anything you two don’t eat?” she calls to them.

“Oh, we keep Kosher, so no pork, shellfish, or meat and dairy together? And Les can’t have peanuts. Sorry,” Davey responds quickly.

“No worries, darling, this recipe doesn’t call for any of that anyway. Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours—Jack, why don’t you go clean up and get some rest? You look exhausted, baby.”

It’s one of those things he doesn’t fully realize until she points out, and then it hits him full-force; he thinks his legs will give with the impact of it. He’s tired and starved and wants absolutely nothing more than to take a hot shower and eat and sleep through the next day—and in truth the only thing holding him back is the still-stinging bite of the cuffs around his wrists.

“Uh, Miss Medda—you got a screwdriver somewhere around here?” he asks tentatively, rubbing at the skin underneath them.

Her gaze drifts to his hands and she winces in sympathy. “In the office down the hall. There’s a toolkit on the shelf—you need some help, Jack?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve got it,” he says as he heads into the room.

It turns out to be harder than he expected. He spends a good ten minutes hacking at the cuffs with a screwdriver, but all he really succeeds in doing is scraping his wrists raw. He’s getting desperate, though—the longer he’s stripped of his powers, the less he feels like himself, and the silver steel is nothing but a jolting reminder of everything that’s happened. He needs to find a way to get these stupid things off.

“It doesn’t look like you’ve got it.”

Jack’s head snaps up to see Davey standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. His expression is hard to read, half-concerned but laced with something else, and he’s sort of tentative as he steps into the room and kneels down beside Jack. “Here, let me.” He holds his hand out for the screwdriver.

Jack gives it to him and splays his hands out in between them. Davey switches out the head of the tool for a tiny flathead and gets to work on the right cuff, astonishingly careful. His slender, practiced fingers pry open a tiny panel on the side of the cuff, exposing the circuit board underneath.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Jack notes.

Davey pauses his movement for a split second and then continues without looking up. “I was captain of my high school robotics team for two years,” he responds. “And I’m an engineering major.”

Jack clings to this small piece of information; it’s the first thing he’s learned about Davey since they met, and he’s already desperate for more. “Where do you go?” he asks. At this, Davey tenses up, and Jack bites back a wince. “I’m not trying to interrogate you,” he says flatly, after a moment. “Guess I just...thought you’d changed your mind about me.”

Davey’s dark eyes latch on to Jack’s for just a moment before darting away. “I don’t know yet,” he answers finally. He prods at the wires of the cuff; there’s this crinkle in his brow that Jack can’t help but think is sort of endearing. “Miss Medda seems like a really good person,” he continues, still barely looking at Jack. “And she clearly loves you a lot. It’s possible you could be lying to her, too, but the way you were when you saw her—no one’s that good of an actor.”

“So what’s your holdup?”

“I’m not sure what to believe.” Davey twists the screwdriver and bites his lip, then meets Jack’s gaze at last. “After you—after the hospital burned down, the whole city was in chaos. No one knew what to think or who to blame—the police revealed that the sprinkler line had been damaged, and that some of the exits had been sealed, and that the fire started because the power box had been tampered with.”

Jack’s stomach twists. “I don’t understand...you—you’re saying it wasn’t an accident?”

“I think if it had been, it would’ve been contained a lot faster,” Davey says darkly. “It hadn’t even been a week before The World published a full story about how it was Strike’s doing. Jack, there were witness statements, sources explaining how your powers could’ve caused this—”

“I was trying to save people,”

“A lot of people thought you had done it by accident. Or that you’d...snapped, or something.”

“I nearly died in that fire.” He isn’t entirely sure he hadn’t, to be honest. Everything since then is blurry and out of place, and he feels like he’s been set right back to grappling desperately for a handhold, like he’s in the center of an inferno all over again—

There’s a click of metal on metal and the cuff on his right hand clatters to the floor.

“Got it,” Davey says, and suddenly Jack can breathe again. Even with the cuff still circling his left hand, he feels electricity surge through him, that familiar hum of lightning beneath his skin. A part of him he hasn’t felt in so, so long.

Sparks dance over his fingertips, and the air fills with static. He can see the hairs on Davey’s arms standing on end and despite everything, fights the urge to laugh. Davey looks at him, eyes wide with amazement, and Jack wonders if he can taste the power in the air, too.

“Thanks,” Jack says, breathless as he runs his hand over the torn skin of his wrist.

Davey nods and gently takes his left hand, starting the process again and evidently more sure of what he’s doing now. “Jack,” he begins, but whatever he’s going to say next, Jack doesn’t let him finish.

“Someone set me up,” he says fiercely, trying hard not to sound as desperate for Davey to believe him as he really is. “Whatever evidence and witnesses they had—it was fake.”

“Okay, but why?” Davey presses. “Why go through all this trouble to frame a dead man? How did they get The World to publish a bunch of false information? And if someone really is trying to pin this on you,” there’s a click, and the cuff around Jack’s left hand pings against the ground, “who set the fire in the first place?”

Jack can’t remember the last time he’d had a hot shower. Even before the fire—and god, Jack is really about to start categorizing his life events as before and after his death, like that’s not absolutely insane—the lodging house never really had a surplus of hot water, especially with so many of them. Standing under it now, though, everything else melts into the background. There are scars and bruises along his skin that he hadn’t even noted before, but the water is like instant relief; he doesn’t have to think, just lets it wash him clean.

By the time he gets out, the effects of the drugs, which have been weaning away for hours now, seem completely gone. Everything is sharper, like he’s been thrusted into high-definition, his thoughts clearer and his memories—well, his memories becoming more painful by the second.

It’s not easy, trying to push it all back. As he pulls on fresh clothes, Jack stares at himself in the mirror, at the jagged scars raised against his chest and the tiny spots that pockmark his forearms where he remembers needles going in, and tries to reconcile this picture of himself—exhausted and hollowed out and afraid—with the identity he’d spent so long building up from the ground. He doesn’t look like Strike, New York City’s favorite vigilante. He looks like a scared kid.

He doesn’t know what to do. Something bigger than himself is brewing in the city, he knows it, he has to stop it. But he doesn’t know how. People are counting on him and Jack just wants to forget any of this ever happened.

There’s so much noise. Davey’s questions are ringing in his ears and behind them there are voices telling him he’s never, ever going to get out, and he thinks he might be on fire. Everything is too hot and too loud and hurts.

There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up, but he dry heaves over the toilet anyway.

Jack sits back on the cold tile floor and drags his knees up to his chest. He could just go—break out the money he’s been saving and skip town, hop on a bus all the way to Santa Fe. Crutchie could come with him, and he could change his name—again—and start fresh. Never see this place again.

Except there’s an arsonist on the loose in the city. There are Snatchers all over the streets, and maybe Jack wants nothing more than to leave it but New York is still his city, still his place to protect. He can’t just leave.

Jack tilts his head towards the ceiling, biting back the urge to scream. The unsteady silence is broken by a tentative knock at the door, and then Medda’s voice—“Jack, honey,” she says, “Dinner’s ready. You okay in there?”

Slowly, he picks himself off the floor, pulls the loose hoodie hanging on the door on over his clean t-shirt, takes a shuddering breath. “I’ll be right out,” he calls through the door, and glances at his reflection one more time. He can be Strike again. He can do this.

And even if he can’t, he has to.

The Sancocho is perfect, warm and spicy and brimming with the taste of home. By the time he’s inhaled maybe three servings and helped clear the dishes, Jack is so exhausted that he doesn’t even make it to the guest room. He just stumbles towards the couch and collapses there with the sunlight still spilling in through the windows, falling hard and fast into a heavy sleep.

It’s dark when he bolts awake. He feels hot and breathless, his heart racing against his ribcage, and whatever awful memory had invaded his dreams left the sharp taste of metal in his mouth. Sparks flicker across his fingers, blinding blue-white in the darkness, and Jack curls his hands into fists to quell the lightning brimming in his veins. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall; it’s just past one in the morning. He doesn’t think he’ll get back to sleep any time soon.

He maneuvers around the coffee table to stumble blindly towards the kitchen instead. A dim glow catches his eye, then; Davey is sitting at the bar stools, hunched over his laptop.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jack says, and Davey starts and then swears.

“Jeez, you gave me a heart attack,” he huffs as Jack chuckles lightly and fills a glass with water. “I thought you were still asleep. And...no. You?”

Jack shrugs. “I slept okay, got a few good hours. But I don’t think I can go back to bed. What are you doing?” he asks, nodding towards the open laptop.

Davey hesitates. “Miss Medda let me borrow her computer. I’m trying to contact the rest of my family,” he replies, his gaze flitting between the screen and Jack’s eyes. “When Les and I ran off there were already Snatchers at our house. None of them have powers, though. Just Les.” He works his lip between his teeth. “They said not to contact them in case the Snatchers found some way to trace it back to us, but I set up a separate email account and sent them a vague message, hoping they’ll know it’s me. I just need to know if they’re okay.”

Jack’s chest twists in sympathy. Davey’s family is just one more example of all the lives the Snatchers have torn apart—and Jack is the poster boy for their whole agenda. He has to fix this, for Davey, and for the rest of his city. “You’ll see them again soon, Davey,” he says—yet another promise he can’t afford to break—“I’m gonna make this right, okay?”

“How?” Davey scoffs. “You don’t even know where to start.”

Jack slips his hands into the pockets of his clean hoodie and feels the familiar weight of the flash drive he’d placed there. Actually, he might have some idea. “Can I use the computer?” Jack says, barely waiting for Davey’s nod before taking a seat on the barstool beside him and plugging the flash drive in.

“What is that?” Davey’s brow furrows.

“Honestly? I’m not sure. I took this from a computer in the Refuge’s control room, hoping I’d find something important. Maybe something here could give us a clue of what’s really going on.” There’s only a handful of files on the drive, and they’re labeled with numbers instead of actual names. Jack opens the first one and feels his heart sink. “Shit. It’s encrypted.”

“Let me try,” Davey says, pulling the laptop towards him and typing furiously. The computer makes a few error noises in protest as he works through the code, but Davey is laser-focused, seems to know exactly what he’s doing. He’s some kind of genius. “Got it,” he announces after a few minutes. Sure enough, the screen flickers, and rows of text begin to replace the numbers and symbols from before.

“That was incredible,” Jack tells him.

Davey shrugs and ducks his head, smiling just a little before turning back to the screen. “They look like email exchanges. Between some guy named Snyder—” Jack feels a cold trickle of shock run through him at that name, “—and...Joseph Pulitzer.”

“Wait, Pulitzer?” Jack leans forward to read over Davey’s shoulder. “As in the CEO of The World?”

“He’s running for mayor in next month’s election,” Davey explains. “It looks like he’s trying to get Snyder’s support? He’s promising money to fund the Refuge. But why would—shit.” There’s something dawning on his expression as he looks up at Jack, eyes blown wide. “Jack, a lot of his campaign has relied on anti-super propaganda. And...The World was the one who first published the story about you setting the fire.”

The realization crashes into him, hard and fast. “He’s the one who framed me.” Jack feels a hot rush of anger surge through him. “For what, a political platform? So that he could give the people a common enemy? Holy shit, did he set that fire for this...twisted agenda?”

“I can’t believe this,” Davey shakes his head, leaning back in his chair and tugging his hands through his dark hair, shell-shocked. “How could he do something like this?”

How could he?

“I’m going to kill him,” Jack says fiercely, and the lights above him flicker. He stands up, feeling wild, brimming with untamed fury—innocent people died for Pulitzer’s insane power grab, and he has to pay for that. He can’t get away with this, he won’t; Jack can’t find it in himself to mitigate his anger right now, he needs to find Pulitzer and fix this.

“Jack—Jack!” Davey’s hand latches around his wrist and a shock like static electricity bursts between them, making him pull back. “Wait. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“What, you just want me to let him walk? He killed people, Davey. Innocent people.”

“You don’t actually know that yet.”

“I know enough,” Jack snaps, pulling back. “This can’t all be a coincidence, it makes too much sense. He has to be behind this, behind everything.”

“I’m not arguing that.” Davey is astonishingly calm; Jack doesn’t know how he can keep his resolve right now, after finding out something this sick. “But what are you going to do, break into his house and murder him? What is that going to solve? Things are only gonna get worse for supers.”

Jack hesitates. Davey is right—a personal attack on one of the most influential people in New York would make him even more of a villain than he already is. And every super in the city would suffer from it. He can’t make this some sort of revenge plot; he has to be smart about it. He takes a shuddering breath. “Then I’ll expose him. These emails—”

“—aren’t enough. All you have from this is a theory. Pulitzer would just find a way to spin it, make you look like the bad guy here. Again.” He shakes his head. “He holds all the cards right now. We have to find hard, indisputable evidence. What we need is a way to get close to him.”

“We?” Out of everything, that’s the word Jack gets hung up on. Davey’s making it sound as though they’re partners.

Davey looks at him for a second. “I believe you, Jack,” he says finally. “I’m sorry I didn’t before. I don’t think you set that fire, and if we’re right, and Pulitzer did frame you, and we can find proof...we might be able to stop everything. Shut down the Refuge for good.”

“No, no—I’m not dragging you into this any further than I already have,” Jack stops him before he can go any further. His whole time as Strike, he’s been a solo act for a reason—not for lack of Race or Specs or Elmer trying to get him to let them join him—but because he can’t bring himself to pull someone else into this life. Especially not someone like Davey, who’s an engineering student, and a genius, and has a family. He’s got his whole life ahead of him. “I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me so far, I really do, but I can take it from here. You and your brother just lay low and stay out of trouble.”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” Davey argues. There’s something hardening behind his eyes, something bright and sharp and determined. “I’ve already shown you what I can do, so let me help you.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

He snorts, defensive. “I can handle it.”

“You think so?” Jack stares him down, skin buzzing. “I almost died because of this, and I may not remember everything about the Refuge, but I can tell you that it wasn’t pretty. If we try to take Pulitzer, there’s a good chance we don’t make it out alive.”

Davey doesn’t break his gaze. “But if we do it together, we double our odds,” he says quietly. When Jack snorts and turns away, Davey keeps going. “This is so much bigger than you or me, Jack. If we can pull this off, we could make New York safe for supers again. I promised that I would protect Les, but I can’t do that as long as there are Snatchers roaming the streets and as long as Pulitzer has power. And you can’t protect this city if you’re dead.”

Jack wishes he didn’t have a point. “You could get hurt,” he counters. “You don’t even have powers.”

“You’ll protect me,” Davey replies swiftly, and something in Jack’s stomach twists.

“You have an awful lot of faith for someone who didn’t trust me an hour ago,” he says grimly, eyes darting away from Davey’s fierce ones.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Davey presses, unrelenting, and god, the offer is tempting. Davey clearly knows his way around his computers and technology, a skill that could be really helpful here, and more than that, Jack stupidly, selfishly doesn’t want to do this by himself. He wants a partner. He’s tired of being alone, and he hates himself for it.

“We do this on my terms,” Jack says finally, and in the corner of his eye, he can see Davey smiling. “I say get out, you get out. You’ve got to be smart about this. Got it?”

“Understood,” Davey nods. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I promise. So where do we start?”

“It’s like you said, we have to get close to Pulitzer.” Jack sits back down, racks his brain for anything that could help. Pulitzer is a private person, watching the rest of the city from high off the ground; getting close to him would require someone who already knows him well. He can practically see the lightbulb over his head when it hits him—he knows the perfect candidate. He just hopes she’ll be willing to join them.

“I know someone who might be able to help,” Jack says, already drafting an email—coded words like the two of them used to use when he was just starting out as Strike. “She interned as Pulitzer’s personal assistant for a while when she was in high school, but the last time I saw her she was a journalism student, working for The Sun. She may not work for him anymore, but she knew Pulitzer as well as anyone.” Jack takes a deep breath and pleads silently that she’ll believe him, then sends the message.

“And you think she’ll know what to do?” Davey asks.

“I’m sure of it.” Jack has always had faith in her; he knows she’ll come through, will fight for what she believes in. “If cards are what we’re playing,” he tells Davey, suddenly brimming with a newfound sense of determination, “then Katherine Plumber is our ace.”

#THUNDERSTRUCK #newsies #writing #my writing #umanawrites #newsies fanfic #jack kelly #david jacobs #javid #jathvey #ot3: watch what happens #newsies the musical

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