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the-floral-perspective · 4 months

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My Dearest Brother in the Moon | Creepypasta

Jeff’s perspective from Liu’s rebirth and his sudden arrival.

Hurt/not much comfort, not really a happy ending either.

I sat next to Ben in the livingroom, I terrorized him with a pillow earlier so he sat far away from me staring.

“What? It’s not like I’m gonna hit you,” I started, gripping the couch pillow tighter.

“Yeah sure, Jeffery,” Ben muttered spitefully.

“Don’t call me that you blonde bimbo!” I held the pillow up and started running at Ben.

Ben swiped past me and started sprinting. I laughed manically as I chased after him around the livingroom.

Ben screeched as he teleported quickly into the TV. “Cheater!”

He stuck out his tongue and flipped me off, “don’t hate me cause you ain’t me!”

I rolled my eyes in response, sitting in front of the TV. Ben and I having a stare off.

The front door slammed open, scaring the shit out of me and Ben, so much so that he fell out of the TV. Nurse Ann and EJ coming through holding an unidentifiable person wearing all black.

I looked on curiously as they shouted for slender. Maybe something with the rake. Ultimately, I didn’t bother with the unknown person. It’s never that important anyways.

I turned over to Ben smirking, “son of a bitch!” He blurted and ran away.

For dinner that night, Slender made chicken noodle soup. Which all of us devoured. Though it was unusual because everyone was quiet. I caught a couple glances at me from various pastas.

Slender sat at the end of the table. I looked around as everyone, even Ben avoided eye contact.

“What’s up with y’all?” I asked aloud, breaking the silence.

Everyone perked up, staring for a second before looking down. I raised an eyebrow.

“W-well it’s just the new patient we got today. He’s not feeling so well, you know. Maybe you should-“ Ann winced as if she got kicked, “shouldn’t check him out.”

Ann sat across from me, she sat inbetween Jane and Jill.

“Okay, I wasn’t going to anyways.” As I said that Jane let out a small sigh. I squinted at her, they’re all definitely hiding something.

“What’s your problem, Jane?” I confronted her after everyone left the dinner table.

“Nothings my problem, idiot,” Jane muttered back. She seemed nervous, which was not how she normally was around me.

“If it’s not your problem then who’s problem is it?” I asked exasperated.

“Yours.” Jane deadpanned, finally meeting my eyes.

“The fuck you mean?”

“Check the new patient, you’ll get it,” Janes face scrunched in sympathy before she scowled again like she usually did.

I hate that she allows herself to feel sympathy, she was supposed to be like me but no. How ugly.

I scowled and pushed her away. Storming out of the room.

That night I decided to check out what Jane was talking about. Ann and Jack were asleep, so it wouldn’t be hard.

I walked into the recovery room which had three beds in it. Only one was filled this time.

Slowly, feeling my heart start beating a little faster with each step. I pulled back the blue curtain but the person was just sleeping.

They had multiple face and head bandages. I couldn’t really recognize him. Jane might’ve just been pranking me.

I studied the character more, they were in a blue hospital gown. Their hair was a dark brown, some peaks poking through his head bandages. Then I reached his neck. A black and grey striped scarf.

Loud buzzing filled my ears as I froze.

“Liu?” I stuttered, accidentally out loud.

His visible eye fluttered open, “you know me? You know who I am?”

He never woke up that fast. Why is he so awake now? This isn’t Liu.

“No. I don’t know you. Goodnight,” I couldn’t hear his response as I already walked out.

I walked to my room seemingly in a daze, I didn’t even notice the fact that I was crying. For a moment, I sat on my bed and all was calm.

A second later almost everything I could get my hands on in my bedroom was broken. Some blood was on the ground, my arm was aching. My dresser was pushed sideways and all my previously beloved trinkets were broken.

Standing in the middle of my mess, I sat back down on my bed. My tears were dry and I had no thoughts surrounding my mind. I stared at the ceiling for awhile until I was able to fall asleep— which only lasted about an hour.

When I woke up, I was in the nursery room. Or whatever it was called. My arm was bandaged. Suddenly Ann opened my curtain and I caught a glimpse of the impersonator before she closed the curtain.

“Sorry, didn’t think you were awake,” Ann started, smiling guiltily.

“It’s aight,” I responded, tired of her politeness.

“…who’s the other person in here?” I asked curiously, as if I didn’t already look here the other night.

“Uh, well, we’re pretty sure it’s Liu. You know, like your little brother?” Ann responded hesitantly.

“Nah, it’s not him,” I shrugged.

“He never wakes up that easily.”

Ann thought for a moment, “well maybe since the incident he wakes up easier? We have to wait for Slender to confirm his identity anyways though, so I’d just wait.”

“It’s not like I’d care that much if he was. I tried killing him for a reason,” I snarled at her.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jeff,” Ann sighed while checking my vitals.

“You should rest here for the day. Patient 01 got his face wraps removed, so don’t be… alarmed.”

I scoffed as she walked out.

There was a window in front of my bed that I remained staring at as the curtain didn’t go fully around my bed. I couldn’t of been more bored and no one visited me either.

There was a birds nest at my window, I watched as the parent bird fed it’s children as if it was the greatest entertainment in the world.

I sighed as I fell asleep. Calmly might I add.

I woke up to a completely dark room, with the only exception of the full moon outside my window. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever slept this long. On my bedside table was a glass of water and a note from EJ that I purposely threw to my left.

I drank the water greedily.

“Hey you dropped this,” the impersonator pulled my curtain back with the paper in my hand.

“Dude what the hell? I could’ve been naked!” I complained, staring at the person for a moment, my breath catching in my throat.

He really did look like Liu.

“Well you aren’t,” he tilted his head, smiling lightly.

“What’s your name?” He asked me, sitting back on his bed.

“It’s uh, Jeff,” I stared away from him. I really didn’t like how he looked like Liu.

“That’s a cool name, I don’t remember my name honestly. You’re the guy that came down here last night, aren’t you? Yeah the name you called me, Liu? Sounded familiar but I’m not sure why,” he looked up in questioning.

He even had the same rambling qualities as Liu.

“Yeah, why are you up anyways? It’s late,” I questioned, stupidly feeling concerned.

He only raised his brows, “fair point.” I muttered.

“I just couldn’t sleep that well. As far as I can remember I haven’t been able to sleep that good,” he muttered to himself.

“Yeah me neither,” I muttered back in response.

“Anyways, I’ll let you try and rest. Sorry for taking your time,” he laughed awkwardly.

“It’s alright,” I replied back as he closed my curtain.

I didn’t fall back asleep.

The next morning, both… him and I were allowed to exit the nursery. Which was spent in silence. I stormed back into my room. Where everything was replaced, Slender probably did that.

I sighed and sat on my bed. Though I had a lot of restless energy so I quickly got to productive pacing. Making food in the kitchen. In the livingroom, he sat socializing on the couch with Ben and Jane who smiled politely at him.

I rolled my eyes at the scene, missing his concerned glance. I decided on some toaster strudels and basically paced around the dining room until I heard the toaster pop. I grabbed the iced strudels bare handed, not caring about the pain.

“Your gonna burn yourself, are you sure you don’t want a plate? Jane showed me where they are, I can get you one?” He rambled.

I looked behind him at Jane, who seemed sympathetic. She became dead faced at me. I rolled my eyes and pushed past him. Not saying anything.

Not really sure how to feel I went to Slender’s office.

“Come in.”

I barged my way in, “is that actually Liu? Be honest. I know you know.”

Slender sighed, “yes. It is, but you already knew that didn’t you?”

Honestly, I did. But at this point there was no denying that Liu was here now. Liu was alive. Liu couldn’t remember anything.

“But why? Didn’t he die when I killed him?” I stressed, throwing away my toaster strudels.

“He never did. From what I was able to see, he survived the attack and went to a hospital. We just know that he randomly went insane on his long-term nurse and ran into our territory. There’s certain memories in his head not even I can access, Jeff.”

I thought for a moment, “but why were you guys so urgent to get him inside?”

“Rake.”

I sighed and stood up, going to walk out, “Jeff.”

I turned around.

“Don’t do anything irrational.”

I stared at him blankly for a moment, “when do I ever?”

I sat in the backyard, watching Smiley sit in the garden talking to the plants as they smiled and blushed at him. What a nut head.

Sighing, I went for a walk in the woods. Ignoring Smiley’s concerned glance.

What is up everyone’s ass today?

Though as I watched the scenery, I recognized I was getting into the part of the woods that wasn’t all that safe. Not that I’d care that much. I’m confident nothings going to happen.

I was thinking of the past. Like how for brief moments of the beginning of high school where Liu and Jane were good friends. Or how Liu and I would talk at night when we couldn’t sleep as kids.

I didn’t feel any yearning to go back though. I like that I’m here, Liu just had ruined my flow. Taking over as he usually did. I scoffed to myself and was immediately jumped on by one of the mytholoids in the forest.

A being of eighth eyes, a circle hooped shaped body. It had no arms or legs, but instead a sharp beak at the middle of its face. I cant remember the name of this one, but it’s the Angel mimic and that’s all I remember.

It’s beak opened slowly as it’s entire being vibrated with excitement. I stared blankly because I knew I’d just wake up injured.

Saliva dripped onto my neck as I grimaced, it’s beak grasping tightly onto my neck. I quickly became choking at the sharp pain, but that was not all it had to offer. Blood dripped from my neck as I stared at the sun lit sky. The being taking bites of other parts of my body until I slowly became nothing and passed out.

When I woke back up, the being was ripped in half, I watched as the rake ate it. Some of my wounds were healing as much as they could. Leaving me with gashes all over my legs, stomach and shoulders. The main one being my throat.

I don’t know why I didn’t fight back against it, I could’ve, easily. With the knife in my shoe, it could’ve been prevented, but I didn’t try to.

Slowly I sat up, immediately feeling all the pain hitting my abdomen.

I groaned, the rake looked up a moment but didn’t really care. I nodded at him and limped off.

My injuries were much worse than I had anticipated. As the time walking back, I spent on a daze of passing out.

Once I got to the garden, it was sundown and Smiley was getting his gardening tools packed up when he heard my breathing.

His eyes widened lightly before he called others names. I couldn’t hear him though because my ears started ringing and I suddenly felt weaker.

“Liu,” I reached forward towards an illusion who would catch me, but I ultimately fell and passed out.

The next time I awoke, Liu was next to my bed, startling me. I couldn’t speak as the gash on my neck was still unhealed. I still felt loopy.

“Shh it’s okay! I just came to see how you’re doing!” Liu exclaimed worryingly.

I nodded unsurely. Still not knowing how to feel, but just feeling.

“EJ and Ann brought you in here, they said that you should be out in a week or so. I haven’t heard much from the other pasta’s. Jane doesn’t seem to like you, you know that right?” He rambled.

I nodded my head yes.

“Oh and I figured my name is Liu, so that’s exciting. Slender told me I was just yesterday. It’s weird how you were right about my name. Maybe we know each other,” he shrugged and didn’t seem to think much about what he said.

I attempted to swallow but the pain refrained me. I felt an ache in my throat that wasn’t just from my injury. My chin wobbled for some reason.

I nodded somberly, as that’s all that I could do in my position.

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well, I just wanted to check in on you. The only others that came in here were Ann and Jack, you’re probably close with them, huh? Anyways, I should go to bed. Sleep well, Jeff.”

I watched as he walked out of the room. I didn’t have the guts to write down that Ann and Jack were required to check on me. That’s depressing that no one visited. I felt an unknown feeling wash over me.

A knock sounded on the door. I perked up, but it was Slender who teleported on the chair next to me. I mentally got ready for a mind-reading conversation.

“I told you not to do anything rash.” He clasped his hands together.

I didn’t mean to.

“As always, Jeff. Liu is moving in with us, I just wanted to give you a warning.”

“What do you feel when you do the things that you do, I’ve been wondering for awhile.”

I’m not sure. I just feel nothing and than I feel everything. It’s weird.

“Well what were you feeling this time around?”

Lonely, I think. Seeing Jane and Liu hanging out was… weird. It was different. Like I know they were friends back then, but it just felt weird this time ‘round. Like misplaced.

“Do you think it was easier for you to believe that Liu was dead, than to think he would become like you?”

What makes you think he’s like me?

“I found some… traces in his brain, similar to what you have but, well, different. He has DID, Jeff. The other alter that we know of, is almost exactly like you.”

“His name is Sully. Looking through his brain he has two other alters that haven’t shown much yet. Regardless, would you rather him be dead than be like you?”

I don’t know…How come no one visited me?

“Maybe they thought that you’d only take it angrily if they showed.”

I wouldn’t of, I’d appreciate it. I’d probably enjoy it, actually.

“I know that, Jeff. However, people cannot comprehend what they don’t see. Majority doesn’t see actions, they see words. Words of which you speak.”

I wish I could stop being so angry.

“We all do, Jeff.”

“Get some rest.”

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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inventory, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You’re missing a piece of inventory from your erotica shop. Surprisingly, you find it in the same day. It’s around your boyfriend’s neck, who also happens to be your sub. Hm, well, you have to act accordingly, don’t you?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; non-idol!AU; dom/sub dynamic; feels and there’s a decent bit of buildup; smut (mirror kink, spitting, cock ring usage, cock-slapping, scratching, spanking, vibrator use, overstimulation, edging, m-masturbation, cum eating, f-receiving oral); fluff; noona dom!reader x sub!Jungkook

technically part iv of ‘customer service’ series, but can be read alone

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customer service part i | part ii | part iii

Jeon Jungkook was a problem.

Technically, your problem.

You tapped your pen against your recordkeeping book. No one was in the store. It was the middle of the week. Not usually the time to get freaky. People got freaky on the weekends. You usually spent these times doing the boring stuff. Setting up the deliveries for the rich customers that purchased clothing from you. Cleaning the store from top to bottom and finding some interesting fluids in interesting places. Typical. Answering emails, accounting, taking inventory. You were missing one piece of inventory, but those things always turned up eventually. You weren’t worried.

Eh, wasn’t a big problem.

Your big problem was Jeon Jungkook.

He wanted to be exclusive. Okay. He wanted it to be a relationship. Slightly less in your comfort zone, but you were willing to give it a shot. Unfortunately, Jungkook also wanted one more thing.

He wanted you to lose you temper at him.

Now, there were several things you, personally, did not do anymore. And number one on the list was losing your temper. You did not want to be in power and actively angry at the person you were fucking at the same time. It was dangerous. It was irresponsible. You’ve gone too far before and hurt your sub. You weren’t going to repeat it.

Not with Jungkook, no matter how much he tried to rile you up.

And he tried. Disobeyed you outright. Talked back. Taunted you. It took a lot of your skill and redirection to focus his attention elsewhere and not at his ultimate goal of pissing you off so much that you used sex as a weapon, because quite frankly, that was a fucked-up thing to do and you were not going to do it. You would rather leave than become that.

You told him this. You told him that he should not try to provoke you, especially not this early in the relationship. His body couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t handle it mentally, and you didn’t want to end up emotionally and sexually abusing him, even if it was an accident. Because it was your responsibility to not do that and you took that shit very seriously.

Jungkook had agreed reluctantly and he still tried.

Sigh.

You rubbed your forehead. If he was an experienced sub, then maybe you could be less strict. But he wasn’t. And yeah, maybe you were a little scared. Because your last relationship had ended very, very badly, because you had gone too far and your sub had been too scared to use the safe word even when it was too much and that really, really fucked you up. You regretted it, even after all this time, even after all the apologizing, even after your sub had forgiven you, multiple times.

You had never forgiven yourself for it.

The whole relationship had fallen apart because of that one time.

After that, you didn’t really date. All you did was have one-night stands with subs you already knew. It was easy having sex with no strings attached. Now you were dating Jungkook. Yeah, that. The dating bit. It was messing you up. It was making you overly cautious. You didn’t want to repeat your mistakes.

You let out a tense exhale.

You didn’t tell Jungkook about this, mostly because you didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to admit your sub had been too scared of you to use their safe word. You were ashamed. Scared of yourself and what you were capable of.

Sometimes, when you thought about it, you wondered if you should stop. Give up on the dom/sub thing and have vanilla sex instead with some nice guy who had a normal job and raise some babies and fucking chill out. Seemed nice. Life wasn’t about needing a power complex when being intimate after all. You could have a perfectly satisfying sex life with two people in equal power. Could even still be kinky without the whole ‘I’m the authority and you have to listen to me’ thing.

Yeah, well. Before you could commit to that, Jeon Jungkook decided to fucking seduce you in your own damn sex shop.

You placed your hands on your head and let out a big sigh.

Damn you, Jungkook.

You found your missing piece of inventory.

It was around Jeon Jungkook’s neck when he opened his apartment door for you.

Your face was completely neutral, one hand in the pocket of your black trench coat. The other holding your black leather briefcase. Underneath the coat, you wore a simple floor-length black skirt. Black heels. Nothing but your face and hands uncovered. In one second, you took in every detail upon seeing Jungkook.

One, his long black hair was tied back, his bangs framing his large brown eyes. Two, he was wearing a little bit of makeup. Slight amount of eyeshadow and liner, lip balm to make his lips pinker. Three, he was wearing a very low V-necked black t-shirt that was quite obviously meant to show off his shapely collarbones and sculpted pecs. The ink-black tattoos in his right arm stood out against his tan skin. Fourth, he was wearing leather pants – not the ones you made him, that would be indecent exposure showing up to the door like that – but, still, black tight faux leather trousers that he half-tucked his shirt in so his crotch was visible.

And.

Fifth.

He was wearing a black leather collar around his neck, one with a large silver ring hanging down at the center. It had silver studs with in the shape of a diamond pattern punched into the leather. It closed in the back with a silver buckle.

How did you know this?

It was your missing piece of inventory, of course.

You clicked your tongue.

“Oh! Noona,” Jungkook said nervously, biting his lip.

You little shit, don’t you ‘oh, noona’ me. You almost turned around and left. Almost. Irritation was putting it mildly. You were pissed. He had stolen from your shop. Became an actual fucking thief to get a rise out of you. You two weren’t going out on a date. It was already late, so both of you had intended on having a nice night in. He’d dressed up for it, as one does. Made himself pretty for you to ruin. Jungkook knew what he wanted. And he wasn’t being subtle about it, wearing the stolen inventory right in front of your face the second he opened the door.

He wanted you mad and he wanted you mad from the start.

You did not look at the collar. Instead, you stared into his eyes, furious internally, but completely placid on the outside. His brown orbs were observing you in anticipation. He wanted it. Bad. You had refused to let him cum last time because he had talked back to you. That was a week ago. You wondered if he had jacked off or not. You put no such restrictions on him even though he asked you to. You were curious on how far Jungkook was willing to go, so you let him choose.

And, clearly, Jungkook choose death.

Just kidding. But he was really testing you here. And so, you made up your mind.

You waited, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook flushed and backed up, holding the door with two hands.

“C-Come in.”

You stepped inside, heels clicking on the hardwood. Jungkook closed the door behind you. The large, floor-length mirror was in the living room again. The incident in the fitting room must have really had an impact on him. Maybe he was developing a mirror kink because of it.

You felt Jungkook slide up next to you, his breath against your ear. Shallow, needy, already horny. You weren’t surprised. Nobody dresses like that and doesn’t want to be fucked.

“N-noona…” He was making his voice desperate and breathy, already submissive for you. “I really missed you.”

“That’s lovely to hear.”

You kept your tone light, no pet names, stepping out of your heels and walking towards the couch. Jungkook followed you like a shadow, still chewing on his lip, messing up his own hard work of making himself pretty for you. You placed your briefcase on the coffee table. He hovered as you undid your trench coat slowly, pulling open the tie and unbuttoning it deftly, fingers dancing on the placket.

“I can help you?” Jungkook offered, holding his hands out.

Your eyes gradually lifted, locking your gaze with his. You saw him visibly shiver in excitement.

“No need.”

You saw Jungkook pout as you slipped out of the coat, one arm, then the other, revealing the white dress shirt that was neatly tucked into your black skirt. It had pleated detailing down the front and silver collar pins, completed by the silver cuff links you used to close the sleeves. You folded the coat elegantly and laid it over the back of his couch.

“Are you mad, noona?”

You want me to be mad. Thankfully, at this point you had calmed a little. Yes, Jungkook was an idiot for doing such a thing, but he wasn’t doing it because he was trying to hurt you or actually steal from you. Maybe it was something he’d seen or read in porn. Maybe it was something his brain devised because he felt some weird need to prove to you that he was a good and obedient sub, because he knew you had previous partners and he wanted to outdo them or something. Maybe he wanted to see how much of a dom you really were.

And, most likely, it was all of those things.

“Jungkook.”

This time, you said his name with a sharper tone.

“Y… yes?”

You turned your right hand upwards, entirely aware of the placement of your fingers. Pinky, ring, middle curled inwards. Index up, thumb out. Poised, elegant, almost haughty. You flicked your cuff link, straightening the backing to slip it out. It was a diamond-shaped accessory, completely unnecessary for everyday life and completely necessary to force Jungkook to wait on you one more second. One more heart-stopping moment.

You glanced at his crotch. Hm. Interesting. Then you blinked and your eyes were on his. Hair hanging around his cheekbones, pupils dilating, swollen lips parted as he let out light pants of desire. He was slowly but surely losing it.

Maybe it was because his erection was suffocating in his leather pants.

You twirled your cuff link in your fingers. Jungkook watched the action, entranced by the dexterity of your digits. You knew what he wanted. He’d been texting you all day, trying to work you up. You had made him wait. Just like how you were making him wait now.

“What is your safe word?”

That was the question you used to start off the scene.

Instantly, you saw the relief, the hunger, the absolute need to serve flood his dark brown eyes. Now you were the dom. Now he was the sub.

“Euphoria,” Jungkook nearly moaned.

You nodded slowly, placing the cuff link on his coffee table. You upturned your other wrist, removing the other with a swift flick. You heard him whimper at the quick action. You almost smiled. He really wanted it. Ah, but you are a bad, bad boy, Jungkook. The metal clinked as it touched the walnut wood of the tabletop.

And there are consequences for being a bad, bad boy.

Your gaze connected with his once again. His eyes were practically begging for instruction.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” you drawled. His teeth sunk into his lower lip once more, the tiny mole underneath winking at you. “Go ahead.”

His eyes flitted about, trying to search for the trap. He swallowed, straining against the collar.

“Do… do you notice anything different about me?” Jungkook asked hesitantly, taking a step towards you.

You didn’t move from your position, observing him closely. His hands by his sides were antsy, itching to touch you or be caged with rope. You hooked your thumb at the base of your cuff and rolled it down. Once. Twice. Three times.

“You’re wearing makeup for me,” you replied, letting a small smile drift to your lips.

“A-ah…” He blushed. “Is it… is it too unmanly?”

Who the fuck put these ideas in Jeon Jungkook’s head? You just wanted to talk to them. And by talk, you meant flog the living daylights out of them. You had a big one at home. It could be arranged.

“No, of course not. You look very handsome.” Pause. “And fuckable.”

No reason not to tell the truth.

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a dark pink. “T-Thank you, noona.”

During the entire conversation, you had folded the sleeves of your dress shirt up to your elbows. The stiff, crisp fabric held, and suddenly you were imposing, sleeves rolled up, black skirt skimming the hardwood floor. The neutral façade you had upheld for so long dropped away. Jungkook noticed the change instantly, even though you hadn’t actually said anything yet. His eyes widened a little, shoulders tensing.

Your eyes flashed, chin lifting.

“Or is that not what you meant, pretty boy?”

You did not hide the irritation in your voice this time. His breathing hitched, the muscles his arms ripped and Jungkook very, very much wanted to be punished.

“Um…” He fiddled with his hands guiltily, eyes skirting about. “It’s not what I was referring to, no…”

“Look at me.”

He snapped his head up, gulping. So obvious. His neck strained against the leather. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What were you referring to?” you questioned icily.

Jungkook was shaking all over. He lifted his hand slowly, reaching up to his neck, hooking two fingers around the metal ring of the collar. He tightened them, tugging down a little, eyelashes fluttering, a tiny moan rumbling in his throat. You were going insane on the inside. Fuck, did he know how submissive he was? Did he know how his small, cute little actions made him look so fucking appetizing?

“T-This.”

“Ah, yes,” you finally acknowledged. You waved a hand and he removed his, biting his lip again. “I did notice that. A nice touch. Is it for me?”

He nodded quickly. He seemed to forget for a second that he stole it from you. “Yes, noona, it’s for you.”

You sighed. Jungkook’s expression changed, becoming slightly confused.

“Pause.”

The indication that there was an intermission in the scene. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You are testing me, Jungkook, and I do not like it.”

Jungkook’s brows knitted together, looking down. “I’m sorry, noona.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t try to make me angry on purpose.”

He closed the distance between you two, placing his hands on your elbows. His brown orbs anxiously found yours. “I… I just… please…” His fingers pressed into your skin, his breathing deepening. “I want to see how far I can go. How far you can take me. You won’t…” Jungkook shook his head, hair flying everywhere, ponytail bouncing. “You’re holding back, but I can take it, noona, I promise. I promise I can.” His fingertips caressed you, determination in his eyes.

Hm. Jungkook could tell. You breathed in deeply, inhaling his clean scent.

You are aware of your mistakes. You have learned.

You pursed your lips.

I really, really do not want to hurt you, Jungkook.

“You must promise me.” You looked deep into his eyes. “You must promise me, that if it is too much, if you cannot handle it, if it is not something you want, you must use your safe word.”

He nodded quickly. “I promise.”

And then you crumpled a little bit, your strict demeanor falling, the fears rising, the vulnerability making your voice quiver as you unfurled your arms and grabbed his t-shirt, shaking him roughly.

“No, Jungkook,” you pleaded. “You must promise me.” And you couldn’t explain, couldn’t bring yourself to say why, but he could tell how serious you were because you were suddenly weak, suddenly the parts of yourself that you kept under wraps revealed themselves, the parts you were ashamed of appearing, and you were letting him witness it. Because he said he wanted you. Not just dom you, but you.

And this, well, this was you too.

Jungkook’s eyes softened and he smiled. He leaned in and kissed you, long, sweet, delicate. It was like time stopped. As if the world froze and there was nothing but Jungkook’s lips on yours, reassuring and comforting. He drew back and opened his eyes slowly, warmth in his chocolate orbs.

“I promise.”

You looked up at him, stunned. He grinned at you, showing off his teeth, a little cheeky and embarrassed all at once. You removed your hands from his shirt, lowering them gradually.

“Sorry, I…”

Jungkook’s hands dropped and held yours tightly. He shook his head.

“No, noona. I understand. I know you are looking out for me,” he said brightly. “Because I’m always trying to get into trouble.”

A muscle in your eye twitched. At least he admitted it.

His teeth caught his lip, still smiling. Less nervous now, more playful.

You removed your hands from his. Okay. Okay, fine. Jungkook wanted you to be the dom. Not a dom, the dom. You let out a breath, controlled, clean. Step back into your role. You are in control. You can do this.

“What is your safe word?”

You cracked your neck, a sharp pop that made Jungkook jump.

“Euphoria,” he replied automatically.

“Very good.”

A beat passed. Jungkook remained close to you, unsure what was going to happen. His eyes wide and flighty, chin trembling, hands in front of his chest. You lowered yours, placing them behind your back. Piercing gaze on him, taking a step. His eyes followed you as you slowly circled him, speaking carefully and deliberately.

“So, Jungkook, tell me,” you began, skirt grazing the floor as your glided around him. “What makes you think you’re wearing the collar for me?”

Jungkook’s head whipped around quickly, following your movement with darting eyes. Damn, his ass looked great in these leather pants. He looked unconfident, brows furrowing, trying to conjure the right answer to get what he wanted.

“Um… I thought… maybe you might like it…” He stumbled through his words. “B-Because you like controlling me…”

You smiled at him. Jungkook brightened.

“I do.”

The eagerness beamed off his face as you stopped in front of him, still smiling pleasantly.

“I love controlling you.”

Then the smile dropped. The air around you became ten degrees colder with your shift in demeanor. Jungkook barely had a half-second to realize the change before your hand shot out and gripped the silver ring, yanking down harshly. He yelped, arms flying out, falling to his knees hard, gripping your skirt for balance. Your other arm was still behind you, folded into the small of your back. You narrowed your eyes, holding the collar ring so tightly that your knuckles were white.

His eyes flew up, pain and surprise.

You ticked your head. “But clearly, I’ve done a poor job, because you’ve gone and stole from me, you bad boy.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, scooting himself forward, clutching your skirt tightly. “N-No, please, noona, I only–”

You yanked the ring up and Jungkook gasped, words cut off from the sudden jerk of his head snapping back. “You only what? Pickpocketed? Broke the law? Took my hard-earned money from right under my nose, to hurt me?”

“No, no, never,” Jungkook whimpered, looking up at you, blinking rapidly. “I don’t want to hurt you, noona. Never.”

“Then explain yourself,” you barked severely.

His eyes were turning teary, pleading. “I only… I only wanted to borrow it. So you could punish me and so I could show you I could be a good boy and take what I deserve.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your other punishments weren’t enough?”

Jungkook’s lower lip quivered. The shame of his true intent was creeping in his eyes now.

“I… I wanted to see you angry, noona.”

“Even after I told you that you shouldn’t?”

He nodded, scurrying himself even closer on his now, most likely, bruised knees. Eyes on you, holding onto your skirt, whole body trembling. He angled his hips forward, showing you how hard he was in his pants, straining it even more by pressing his erection into the zipper of the leather. His lips open, black curls hanging around his face, almost pathetic but not quite, because you knew Jungkook was acutely aware of exactly what he looked like. Doing it to entice you, doing it to assure you that he wanted it.

“Y-Yes,” he admitted.

You forcefully let go of the ring, flinging him away from you. Jungkook squeaked, releasing your clothes as his body twisted to the side from your sharp movement. You swept your skirts away and took a step back.

“Noona, w-wait!”

Jungkook tried to scramble to his feet, but you snarled deep in your chest, making him freeze.

“Crawl.”

He looked startled, looking at you with wide puppy eyes. You took another step back. Jungkook followed you, on hands and knees, his bangs flared out, the low neckline of his shirt hanging down, revealing his chest. You could see his back muscles rippling under the fabric. Fuck, he was so handsome. You weren’t heading for the front door. You watched his mind calculate the angle of your body, mood lightening as he realized that was the direction of the bedroom. You, however, stopped at the floor-length mirror in the living room. Pointed to the patch of floor at your feet.

“Here. Now.”

Jungkook immediately complied, getting on his knees in front of you, hands between his legs, keen to please, facing you.

“Other way,” you clarified, sounding disappointed.

He lowered his head at his mistake and spun around, now facing his reflection. You glared through the mirror, making eye contact. He looked very sorry and very dejected. You almost forgave him just like that. Maybe Jungkook didn’t like this. Maybe you were being too harsh.

“Do you want to use your safe word?”

His eyes on yours. He shook his head lightly, not breaking your gaze.

“No, noona.” Your heart thudded in your chest at his tone of voice. “I’ve been a very bad boy.”

Jungkook licked his lips slowly, not looking away, the tip of his pink tongue lingering before sliding back into his mouth. He kept the same look in his eyes, but his actions were giving you the go ahead.

Shit.

You raised an eyebrow and lowered your hands. They floated above his shoulders and you were reminded of the first time, in the fitting room of your erotica shop, the moment he seduced you and pulled you into his pace. Jungkook tipped his head back, long hair sliding to his ears, the reflection of the stolen collar taunting you.

This brat.

Slowly, finger by finger, you placed your hands on his face. Fingertips pressing into his jaw, cheek, temple, into his soft skin, nails slightly digging in. Scratching up his pretty face a little, claiming it as yours. Jungkook had perfect bone structure, high cheekbones, sharp jaw, pretty forehead. He was panting, mouth open, hot breath drifting down. Hands on his thighs, clutching them tight.

You bent down, chin above his head so he could feel your hot breath on his scalp.

“My pretty boy,” you murmured softly. “Why must you be so bad? Do I not treat you well enough? Do I not give you what you love?”

“You do,” Jungkook whined in your hands, the guilt creeping into his voice. “You do, noona. Your pretty boy is… g-greedy.” He rolled his hips a little, spreading his thighs more, staring at his own reflection of his low-necked shirt and his thighs open, cock bulging in his leather pants.

Your fingers slipped down, down, tracing the leather collar. You let your index finger circle around the metal, not yet touching his chest, so close but so far. Jungkook kept trying to raise it into your touch. Your other hand reached back and grabbed his ponytail, yanking his head back. He moaned right into your chin, too turned on to pretend he was hurt.

“I am going to my briefcase,” you stated, not looking at him under you and instead staring at his reflection, torso straining from how sharply you were forcing him to arch his back. “You are to remove your clothes. Whatever is left on you will remain for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, noona.”

You abruptly let him go, striding to your briefcase swiftly, hearing a flurry of noise as Jungkook flung all of his clothes off. Snap, open, grab. You had already packed a black velvet bag holding the things you intended to use on him tonight. You spun around to see him practically ripping his leather pants off, the panic and regret evident on his face as he tried to shove them down his muscular calves. Smart boy had removed his underwear with his pants, smearing trails of pre-cum down his legs and onto the floor. You waited half a second for Jungkook to pop them over his ankles and he threw the pants to the far wall, so hard they made a loud slapping noise. Jungkook was on his hands and knees, panting, beads of sweat on his forehead.

It was actually hilarious to watch, but now was not the time to laugh.

Jungkook snapped his head towards you, eyes wide, his hard cock smacking his thigh. You raised an eyebrow at him. He gulped. Wearing nothing but the collar. Oh, he looked so good. You could tell him to get into position.

Or.

Tease him.

“Want to put my mouth on you, handsome boy.”

His cock twitched as his jaw dropped.

Your tongue slid out and stayed at the side of your lips as you spoke. “You look so tasty for me. When was the last time you came, Jungkook?”

His hands curled into fists on the hardwood floor, legs falling open, cock throbbing. The veins stood out against the hardness, head swollen and red.

“F-Fifteen days ago…” he whimpered.

He had denied himself. So cute. What a good boy. You smiled at him, still holding the velvet bag. “Really? You didn’t cum, not even once, without me?”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, hair flying everywhere. “Wa… wanted to be tasty for you.”

You pouted a little. “Hm, that’s half a month. You waited so long.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing on his lip. You gestured for him to adjust his position and he turned his body to fully face you.

“Eyes on the mirror.”

He turned his head to face his reflection. Hands on the floor next to his ass, slightly leaning back, legs open.

“Look away and I’ll walk away,” you warned.

“Y-yes, noona.”

You floated down to the floor. He couldn’t exactly see you, but you slid into the frame of the mirror, right between his legs. The velvet bag was out of his sight, next to his leg, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at his stiff cock and your proximity to it, holding his breath. You collected your saliva on your tongue and opened your mouth. It dripped down in a thin, slim line, hitting the angry red head of his cock and causing it to jerk at the sudden impact, coating it.

“A-ah, s-so good…”

“What do we say?” you purred, collecting more.

“T-thank you, noona,” Jungkook moaned, watching as you dropped more onto his aching cock, splattering onto his crotch. You lowered your head, closer. Closer. Jungkook sucked in a breath, waiting, needing, trying not to move. You made eye contact with him in the mirror.

“You’re a bad boy, Jungkook.”

And then you spat on his balls.

His head tipped back as he groaned, eyes barely open as he watched himself, chest shuddering as he felt it trickle down and onto the floor below. You spat on his genitals again, more force this time, spraying it across his cock and stomach. He cried out, slamming one of his fists onto the hardwood.

“Y-yes, noona, I’m a bad boy.”

And then you produced a cock ring seemingly out of nowhere, eyebrow raised as he wailed loudly.

“N-no, please, please don’t,” Jungkook panicked as you brought the black silicone ring closer and closer to his now saliva-drenched cock. “Please, I promise to be a good boy, please don’t do it…”

You said nothing, simply placing it on the engorged head and using three fingers to hold it, pushing down slowly.

“Noona, a-ah… no…” His eyelids fluttered, eyes on the reflection of his thick cock being viciously squeezed into the silicone ring. He let out a choked sob as it popped over the bottom of the head, sliding down, down, all the way to the base. You barely touched him, removing your hand as Jungkook shuddered, his pulsating length now bound by the black band.

You raised your head. He was still, very obediently, staring at the mirror.

You smacked his cock with your palm.

Not hard, but enough to make it bounce and for Jungkook to squeal, hips rising as his dick shook from side to side, unable to move much from the tight cock ring. He was making it move more by rocking his hips, heightening the feeling of being bound.

You waited until it stopped swaying.

“Your neighbors will hear you, Jungkook,” you said calmly. You turned your head and looked into the mirror. His eyes locked on yours, pupils dilated, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty face. “Should I gag you?”

“N-no, noona,” he whispered hotly, breathing shallow and tight. “They have to know I’m being punished. B-Because I’ve been b-bad.”

Good gracious, Jungkook.

Your panties instantly soaked. Who was losing it here? Was it him or was it you? Fuck.

You slowly smacked his cock back and forth, back and forth, staring at his face in the mirror. His head tipped back, not closing his eyes, moaning wantonly as his stiff length was roughly shoved around, barely any pressure and too much at once because of how hard he was. You stopped, watching his cock bob, almost purple-red now. Pre-cum beaded at the tip.

You couldn’t help it.

You leaned down, tucking your hair behind your ear so he could see, and gave the slit a tiny kitten lick.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Jungkook lost control, eyes rolling back into his head, and you almost moaned, his strong, intense taste all over your tongue. He tasted so good. So fucking delicious. You pulled back, pretending not to notice that Jungkook had looked away from the mirror as he quickly collected himself, back to staring at his reflection. You grabbed his hips and dug your nails into his skin, dragging him so his body was tilted.

“Flip over,” you growled.

You backed up, taking the velvet pouch with you as Jungkook obeyed, on his hands and knees now.

“On your face.”

Jungkook whimpered, lowering his cheek to the cool floor, leaning against it. Now his ass was up in the air, vulnerable and exposed.

“Both hands on the ring.”

His teeth sank into his lower lip, scooting his hands so he held the silver collar ring with fingers on both hands, arms against the floor to hold him up. His cock stuck straight down, stiff and swollen, trapped in the silicone circle. You waited to let Jungkook readjust his knees to be more comfortable and so he could see everything. The muscles on his back tensed with anticipation.

“I didn’t cover your mouth for a reason.”

“Yes, noona,” Jungkook breathed.

You raised your hands and raked your nails over his back, all the way to his ass. Hard, deep, leaving lines of pink and red, almost breaking the skin. Jungkook moaned, tongue sliding out, body shaking, eyelids fluttering. You did it again, and again, creating your pattern of lust on his back.

“Mine,” you growled possessively. Your eyes locked with his.

Thump.

Had anyone ever looked at you with so much adoration before?

Jungkook nodded.

“All yours, noona.”

You slapped his ass with your open palm.

He yelped, shoulders hitting the floor, face sliding a little against the wood. Pupils dilating, whimpering for more. You smacked him again, and again, and again, never the same spot, always with the full palm, all over, causing large red handprints patterned all over his ass. Jungkook was a groaning mess, legs slipping, the head of his cock touching the hardwood.

You stopped.

His ass was bright red, covered in your slaps and scratches.

Jungkook opened his eyes. He seemed to realize he wasn’t looking at his reflection anymore. He panicked, seeing your glare in the mirror, and tried to raise his hips, but your hand stopped him. The tip of his cock was in contact the floor, dripping pre-cum.

You pressed his hips down a little and shifted them from side to side.

Even the little stimulation of the head against the hardwood made Jungkook moan, pleading with you as he desperately clutched the collar.

“Noona, p-please… Please let me c-cum…”

You removed your hand. Jungkook continued rubbing himself in his own puddle of pre-cum on his living room floor, as you predicted. You didn’t stop him. You reached into the velvet pouch again. Jungkook’s eyes had fluttered closed as he continued stimulating himself, probably not enough, but he didn’t seem to care. You pressed the thing in your hand onto his scrotum and turned it on.

“A-ah!”

Jungkook’s hips flew up, balls suddenly shaking violently from the bullet vibrator in your hand. He shut his legs, sticking his ass out into your hand as he gasped, pressing back into the vibrator as you lazily drifted it around his balls.

“Oh, fuck, noona, oh, fuck!”

He was still holding onto the collar somehow as he tried to get more, wiggling his hips, but you were faster, grabbing his ass with one hand and digging your nails into it.

“Stop.”

Jungkook froze, whimpering and panting on the hardwood, cheeks hollowed out, eyes glazed over.

You traced his asshole with the tip of the vibrator.

His eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out.

“Oh, please, noona, put it in me, p-please…”

You drew figure-eights around his asshole and his balls, calmly.

“I bet you would love that, but you’ve been a bad boy, so I don’t think so.”

Jungkook whined, shaking his head, dark curls fluttering, soaked with sweat.

“P-please, I’ll be good, I need it, I need you to do it, fuck, please.”

“No.”

You pressed the vibrator into the cock ring and Jungkook nearly screamed, cutting himself off by snapping his jaw shut and yelling into the floor, hips jerking in your hands. You kept it there for a good five seconds before you removed it and backed up, reaching into the velvet bag again. Jungkook had maybe one shaking inhale before you gripped him under his armpits, hoisting him up.

“Let go of the ring,” you commanded, and his hands dropped, helping you get him to his knees. His bruised knees. Still, he leaned against you, soaking your clothes with his sweat, spreading his legs out more so his body lowered and your head could be seen past his shoulder.

You reached down and removed the cock ring, Jungkook gasping in relief. It rolled away, now forgotten.

“Get yourself off.”

“B-but, noona…”

Your hands appeared and pressed against his nipples, turning on both bullet vibrators at once.

“Get. Yourself. Off.”

“F-fuck!”

His hand immediately flew to his cock, viciously pumping himself as you rubbed his nipples with the toys, his groans rumbling in his chest with the vibrations, so strong, so intense, his tan skin glistening with sweat, arm tattoos dancing as he stroked himself fast, his cock so hard it was purple now, veins popping out.

And, like the masochist he was…

Jungkook grabbed the head and squeezed firmly, cutting off his own orgasm with a wail.

You responded just as fast, dropping your hands and shoving the vibrators against his balls, twice as much stimulation as before. His head fell back against your shoulder, half-moans, half-screams of your name as he bucked into them, working himself up once again, your breath against his neck, your eyes watching Jungkook’s reflection – his shaking legs, his balls cupped in your hands, his abused and overstimulated cock popping in and out of his tattooed hand, his now inflamed nipples, sweat dripping down his neck, long black hair flared out against your cheek, the mole under his lower lip trembling with his cries.

Fuck, he was everything. Everything you ever wanted.

“Ah, noona, yes, yes, you’re so good to me, so good…”

“Cum on the mirror,” you demanded. “Cum all over yourself, pretty boy.”

Jungkook whined, snapping his head back down, feeling you increase the vibration setting on his balls and that was it, the tipping point as he sobbed out your name, shooting all over the mirror in large splatters of white, jerking his hips so it traveled higher, sticking onto the reflective glass, all over his reflection.

And he watched it, moaning, so entranced by his likeness covered in his own cum, dripping down in slow smears, messy and dirty.

You turned off the vibrators, withdrew your hands from him.

“Lick it off.”

Jungkook was exhausted, wheezing, hoarse, and yet he still removed his hand from his cock, crawling to the mess he made, pink tongue flopping out, licking his own cum off the mirror, eating it up with groans of satisfaction. You watched him, fascinated, surprised he even listened to you, surprised he was still going, because honestly at this point, you really thought you had gone too far, but Jungkook was enthusiastically making out with his own face with his orgasm at your command, and loving every second of it.

“Jungkook.”

He pushed himself away from the mirror, immediately coming to you, his dark brown eyes hazy with pleasure. He dumped himself in your lap. You still wearing all your clothes. He looked up at you, lips curving into a naughty grin.

“I love it when you turn me into your plaything.”

This guy.

“What do you want?” Jungkook panted. “I’ll do anything. Anything for you.”

Oh, that’s right. You had spent so much focus and energy on Jungkook that you completely forgot about yourself. How did that happen? Ah, but you were so tired now. You let out a puff of disbelief and slid down to the floor.

“I want a nap. Get back to me tomorrow morning.”

You woke up slowly to something wet and hot between your legs.

Can I wake you up by eating you out tomorrow morning?

If you brush your teeth.

Really?!

If you brush your teeth, yes.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, breathing in Jungkook’s scent. His bed. His tongue against your opening, softly lapping, burying his nose into your core. You pursed your lips, sighing softly. The tip of the wet muscle slid up, licking at your clit. You pressed your hips into his face and the large hands around your thighs tightened, holding you closer.

He moaned, so hot, right into your pussy.

Your hands released the sheets, sliding across the fabric, up your hip, tracing his fingers. Eyes still closed, feeling for his long hair, clean, fluffy, wild from sleep. Burying your fingers in the strands, pressing him down into you.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

He licked faster, lips closing around your clit, pushing his head into you as he pressed your thighs into the sides of his face. You could feel his cheekbones, his jaw rubbing against your skin. Felt his wet warmth, rapidly rubbing your sensitive nub.

“That’s a good boy,” you purred and he whined, vibrating your pussy with the sound.

Your fingers tightened in his hair and you hissed, gliding into your orgasm, dripping into his mouth as your clit throbbed against his tongue, pleasure flooding you like a warm blanket.

You finally opened your eyes, breathing out as you saw Jungkook’s handsome face between your legs, cleaning you up. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nuzzling your skin. He seemed to feel you watching him and his eyes looked up, bright, doe-like, chocolatey. His pink lips glistened with your release.

“Noona?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I keep the collar?”

You raised an eyebrow. He smiled at you, playful, naughty.

“If you pay for it,” you replied, half-joking.

His tongue flashed out.

“I can pay in cash and in orgasms.”

You laughed as Jungkook dove down between your legs once again.

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jk x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jk smut

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bring-it-all-down · 3 years

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Much has been said about the Black Sails finale and its statement of the show’s themes, so I’d like to focus instead on the penultimate episode, specifically the following speech Jack gives as he’s headed back to Nassau with the goal of killing Flint:

The result ahead of us promises to be a victory of a different sort. A true victory. Freedom...in every sense of the word. How many men in the history of the world have ever known it? How remarkable a moment is this? How fortunate are we to be standing on the threshold of it?

I think this speech really gets to the heart of the show: it’s ultimately about what it means to be truly free. While this notion of freedom is discussed in Flint’s unparalleled final speech about dragons, it’s perhaps in 4.09 that we get the fullest exploration of freedom.

There has obviously been a lot written on the subject of freedom throughout human history, and rather than foolishly attempt to summarize thousands of years of philosophy, I’m going to refer to one of my favorite understandings, written by W.E.B. DuBois:

I dream of a world of infinitive and valuable variety; not in the laws of gravity or atomic weights, but in human variety in height and weight, color and skin, hair and nose and lip. But more especially and far above and beyond this, is a realm of true freedom: in thought and dream, fantasy and imagination; in gift, aptitude, and genius—all possible manner of difference, topped with freedom of soul to do and be, and freedom of thought to give to a world and build into it, all wealth of inborn individuality. Each effort to stop this freedom of being is a blow at democracy—that real democracy which is reservoir and opportunity” (The World and Africa: An Inquiry into the Part Which Africa Has Played in World History, pg. 165.)

DuBois here notes three central elements of freedom: the physical (“to do and be”), the mental (“thought and dream, fantasy and imagination”), and the generational (“give to a world and build into it”). The first two components of freedom are understood by much of Western political philosophy through the terms “negative liberty” and “positive liberty” (coined by Isaiah Berlin), freedom from external threats and freedom to engage in philosophic activity. To these conceptions, DuBois adds a third that all the white dudes who conceived of the other two wouldn’t be concerned with: central to achieving them is the recognition that every individual owes prior and future generations their efforts to maintain liberty, that liberty is not just a theoretical principle but an action.

Turning now to episode 4.09, I think we can begin to understand how each of these three types of freedom overlap.

To start, the conflict of the episode deals with negative liberty. Silver and Flint to some degree know that if one catches the other with the chest, there is a chance they will be killed, and Silver wants the chest to ensure that Woodes Rogers does not kill Madi. In short, they are fighting for their survival, their physical freedom.

Moving on to the flashbacks between Flint and Silver, we begin to see the connection between negative liberty and positive liberty. First, because Silver and Flint are equals without the same political obligations to each other as they have to the crew, the people who serve them and who they serve in turn, they can be honest with each other. Silver recognizes this in telling Flint: “The men...I have to manage how they see me...But for pride to be an issue between you and I, well, I think we’re playing past that by now.” Because they, at that point, have physical/negative liberty with each other, they are then allowed to pursue mental/positive liberty, that being the revelation of their true selves.

However, Flint becomes aware that this physical liberty is an illusion because Silver is unwilling to meet him equally in their pursuit of positive liberty:

You know my story. Thomas, Miranda, all of it. Know the role it played in motivating me to do the things that I've done, the things I will do. It has made me transparent to you. Not only that, but when I told you this story, you insinuated yourself into it. The latest in a line of ill-fated partners, situating yourself such that...were you and I ever to come to blows, I'd be forced to hesitate before doing you any harm.

Thus Silver actually has a physical advantage over Flint, negating any semblance of Flint’s physical liberty in their relationship. Through Silver’s attempts to kill Flint in this episode and in the finale, we see that without both physical/mental (or negative/positive) liberty present in any relationship, neither will exist; you cannot have one without the other.

This brings us to what I’ve decided to call generational freedom, though I suppose it could also be called communal freedom. In this episode, the concept of generational freedom is brought up in relation to both Jack and Madi. First, we see it in Jack’s conversation with the man he chose to navigate him to Skeleton Island:

Jack: You sailed with Avery.

Old man: Long time ago.

Jack: 20 years? More, even, maybe?

Old man: More, aye.

Jack: Mm-hmm. You do know where you're going, yes? No, seriously, I've got quite a lot riding on this.

Old man: One day, you'll leave the account. Take a wife, father children. See less and less of the sea until she becomes like a painting hanging on the wall, static and irrelevant to your daily existence. But she'll keep on calling you. And when she does, you'll step into that painting and feel the swell beneath your feet. It'll all come back as if it were like yesterday.

Jack: Is that so?

Old man: I've watched you and yours handle the account since I and mine left it. Accomplish things that no one I ever sailed with could dream of. From what I've overheard, if you reach Skeleton Island, might mean the end of the governor. Maybe keep the account alive a little while longer. Is that so?

Jack: That and more.

Old man: Then I'll take you to it. Hold on to this for as long as you can, for all of us who once had it...and walked away.

In this conversation, we see the generational connections within piracy. The old man sailed with Henry Avery, the person most responsible for establishing the current status of piracy in Nassau, and he is conversing with the person who will usher Nassau into a new era. He is careful to remind Jack of this link and of how unseverable it is; no matter how far away Jack gets from piracy, he will never be able to leave it fully behind. There is some sense of owing his existence in this world to Avery and all those who came before him, a debt he must repay with his actions (namely, removing Woodes Rogers and continuing the life of piracy in Nassau).

Immediately after this conversation, we get Woodes Rogers’ bargaining with Madi. He offers her an ultimatum: accept his treaty or he will kill Silver and all of Silver’s crew, which includes many of Madi’s people. Madi rejects his ultimatum with one of the most poignant speeches in the show:

The voice you hear in your head, I imagine I know who it sounds like, as I know Eleanor wanted those things. But I hear other voices. A chorus of voices. Multitudes. They reach back centuries. Men and women and children who'd lost their lives to men like you. Men and women and children forced to wear your chains. I must answer to them and this war, their war, Flint's war, my war, it will not be bargained away to avoid a fight, to save John Silver's life or his men's or mine. And you believe what you will, but it was neither I nor Flint, nor the Spanish raider who killed your wife. That, you did.

Because of her existence as a former slave who had lived in hiding for most of her life, Madi most fully understands generational freedom. She knows that the supposed freedom Rogers’ treaty offers her and her people is not actual freedom because it fails to address the unfreedom of her ancestors, of the rest of the enslaved people in the Caribbean, because she knows that freedom will never be achieved on the terms of the oppressor. She knows that she owes this war to every victim of England’s empire and that it is the only way to achieve what DuBois calls the opportunity to “give to a world and build into it.”

This episode thus introduces the idea that “freedom every sense of the word” depends on one recognizing one’s duty to one’s community that consists of not just its current members, but its past and future members. Complete freedom is achieved when one begins to fight to protect the freedom of those who do not yet exist. Madi understands this about freedom, as does Flint, but despite Silver’s insistence that he and Flint are true friends and equals, he is incapable of grasping the generational component of freedom and he therefore ensures that physical and mental freedom, too, will fall outside of his grasp.

#black sails #James McGraw Thesis #james flint #john silver #Freedom is an ongoing collective project

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

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icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister��s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #bau #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #just to cover my bases #tw substances #tw drugs #tw gore

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1ddotdhq · 3 years

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🍌Wed 2 Dec ‘20💚

Harry Styles Reacts to Banana Innuendo Rumors by Making EVEN MORE Banana Innuendos part TWO

Good morning/evening/night to Harry’s post and Harry’s post ONLY! (Okay that’s not true but it was definitely a highlight of my day). In case people haven’t seen it yet, it’s Harry in a light blue custom made suit putting a penis banana in his mouth. The picture is captioned “Bring Back Manly Men” so take a suck on THAT Candace Owens! It was only one of many great pictures in his variety shoot (including another, um, fruity picture of him biting into a pomegranate okay Persephone we get it), but Harry did indeed choose That One to post on This, the day after banana necklace dickscourse, BLESS. Harry’s interview was a little more in depth than they have been in the past, touching upon his feelings on race (“Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music. There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change”), as well as his tattoos (the only time he regrets them is in the DWD makeup chair), his love of reading, fashion and art, his exercise routine (Kid Harpoon couldn’t keep up!), and his feelings on success and acclaim (“It’s never why I do anything...it's always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff...Fans are the best A&R”).

The problems arose - as they so often do - when One Direction was mentioned. The article said that “The proof [of the band’s benefits] is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members- Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles- each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond”. Leaving aside the bad math (that's 4 people!) one name, of course, is notably missing: Louis has in fact enjoyed quite a lot of success both with Walls (remember when his album went #1 on iTunes in the UK AND the US literally 2 months ago?) and his pre-Walls singles like “Back To You” and “Just Hold On”. It got worse because the author tried to back up her claim with Harry’s quote, “When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band...but we loved being in the band...I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it”. By linking her own words with Harry's quote she made it seem as though Harry said it to agree with her biased take, which we'd know he didn't even if we hadn't heard him say this exact quote without that slant multiple times before. Fans were quick to point out both to the author and to Variety that they were wrong (to describe the reaction mildly), and the author rather than fixing the mistake, doubled down and began blocking fans. Plenty of people were quick to say that of course HSHQ and Harry had approved this content, despite more knowledgeable fans trying to be heard protesting that that is not how it works. (Remember how just recently Vogue got Harry’s whole ass FAMILY situation wrong and it was not corrected until after print, for example?) In fact, even the magazine didn't really proofread this- the print version of the article is different and says, “The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members - Styles, Malik and Horan”, effectively erasing both Louis AND Liam. It's an annoying take either way, but it's one the author more than likely picked up by doing her research on harrie twitter, not on orders from Jeff.

And because we DO NOT STAND FOR LILO ERASURE ON THIS BLOG, let’s talk about Liam’s Web Summit panel! It was 25 minutes of Liam and Marian Dicus (VP of Spotify) being interviewed about the current and future state of the music industry. Both of them, of course, noted that things had changed very quickly in their careers back at the beginning of lockdown, and how it had seemed surreal, at first, but that Liam had found that the way he was operating now (with Veeps and Tik Tok and Instagram lives) had made his platform a two way interaction with his fans. “For a long time I've been living in a dream world where I thought I was speaking with my fans but really I was just talking at them whereas we as artists ask a lot of rhetorical questions... I wanted to start a conversation”. Marian discussed how engaging fans differently WAS one of the most difficult things to puzzle out at the beginning, but that as months have passed, it seems artists like Liam have found a viable virtual future in the music industry (Liam tells us that he's been doing “stadium size shows” on Veeps which is an exciting clue about the mystery of how many tickets they're selling). They also went into the way music trends change as a response to social and political occurrences, how comfort songs gave way to protest songs this summer. Liam said, “People want their artists to have an opinion nowadays it's not that we can stay out of the conversation anymore-- and nor do we feel that we should in many places-- but for me it's a fine line because I realize what I do for people is an escape, people don't want things rammed down their throats every day and news messages from me about things that they don't want to hear about if they've come to listen to music, so its a real fine line that we kind of teeter on”. And about his opening acts, he acknowledges that his fanbase are mostly young women (based on the data breakdowns he gets from his team), and so he feels a responsibility to mentor young female artists in the industry so that more people like his fans have a voice. In an interview full of really fascinating music and technical discussions, this remained my favorite moment from Liam. Just like we won’t erase HIM, he refuses to erase US! And let's not forget our Liam alarm of the day-- it starts out absolutely adorable (“good moooorning!”), is hilarious in that apparently he just rambled completely unscripted and then they awkwardly cut it into 25 parts, but today's installment is frankly not relaxing! “only 23 sleeps til christmas have you done your shopping are you prepared” excuse me Liam YOU ARE STRESSING ME OUT. The promised relaxing sleep story affirmations are still 'coming soon'-- hurry up please I need them to decompress after that alarm!

Now for a lightning round of epic proportions: DWD darling pictures and vids keep comin’ and Harry and Florence are both looking GORGEOUS as Jack and Alice, after the Variety shoot dropped ‘THE CAPTION’, ‘BRING BACK MANLY MEN’, and ‘LOUIS IS SUCCESSFUL’ trended worldwide on twitter, Tan France said “yes please” to Harry's banana post, Harry reiterated that London was home and he didn’t want to be in LA for longer than he needed to,Variety has its virtual show tomorrow at 5 pm PST so see you there! Veeps is sending out emails promoting Louis’ show to people who bought LP show tickets, fans have already started to receive their Louis Tomlinson Live From London merch, Trinity College in Dublin’s Law society presented Niall with an award for, uh, his Irishness, I guess? (Just kidding, it’s for “his incredible talent and work ethics which is famously underscored by a distinct humility despite unthinkable success”). It looks like he will be giving a talk when he’s presented with it, and I’m honestly really interested to see what it’s all about - is he...gonna be talking to law students? Idk but tune in on December 7th at 12 pm GMT to find out!

#harry styles #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #also i am seeing discourse about H's COOP and how he loves the Manchester music scene #but that this stadium will be changing it irrevocably #i mean it will be adding jobs (4000 of them!) but it will also be pushing out the small music scenes that benefits small independent artists #who are trying to break through into the indusrty #*industry #and i think thats a really interesting and important convo #of which i dont have any knowledge but i did want to shine some light on it #also!! tumblr has finally recced me something that i like! a store called 28cultures.com #and its NOT larry merch but it COULD BE its SO COOL!!!!#this isnt spon con i just thought it was so funny!#anyways!#song of the day~#savior complex by phoebe bridgers #(and rob moose!)

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Ducktales Treasure of the Golden Sun: Three Ducks of the Condor or Now with More Racism!

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my look at Ducktales: Treasure of the Golden Suns!, the pilot episodes that started it all. This look was one of my patreon stretch goals. To explain them in case some of you aren’t familiar with patreon it’s essentially like a kickstarter stretch goal: every milestone I reach in my monthly earnings means a crop of reviews for you guys, with this being 10 and my review of the movie, and the goofy movies in two weeks and September respectively, being the 15 dollar one. So if you want reviews of the OTHER Ducktales mini series Time Is Money and Super DuckTales, then hop on aboard and help me reach my 20 dollar goal so I can keep making these reviews for a living and give you all more. Said goal also includes a Darkwing Duck review eveyr month AND a review of teh Danny Phantom special The ULtimate Enemy so hop on board HERE AT MY PATREON. Patrons also get exclusive reviews, access to my discord server (Though if anyone would be more intrersted in me making that public let me know), and to pick a short each time I do a birthday special for a character from Looney Tunes, Disney and Beyond. And next month is my boy Donald’s so since you all already sat out goofy NOW is the time.

So now my very necessary plug is out of the way, i’m very poor, we can get to the review proper:

When last we left off Scrooge and the Boys went on their first proper adventure together, heading to Central America to follow the map from the first episode and running into Dr.Claw El Capitan and his new best buddy Glomgold. Mild racisim, moonsoons and much better pacing ensued.

So join me under the cut as my boy Donald returns, some iconic characters are introduced in Webby, Launchpad and Beakly, though this series only made one of them iconic to be fair, and we get some more mild racisim because fuck my life. Onward to the cut!

So yeah as I’ve mentioned a few times now this episode had a content warning.. which was fair as there is some pretty cringy stuff in here but it had the side effect of me holding my breath until the racisim came up and whapped me in the face. So i’m keeping that tension up for you guys so I don’t have to suffer alone.

We open at the Mansion. Scrooge is trying to find a governess for the boys, but they keep scaring off all the clients because they don’t like the idea. And for once.. i’m on Scrooge’s side here. Yes I know there’s a sterotype of rich people hiring a nanny to not have to parent. and it’s sadly often true and it’d SEEM like Scrooge is doing that.. but really he just wants the boys to be safe. He’s fully grown to care for them and just wants someone cheap and responsible to look after them while he’s busy and clearly still makes time for them. As someone who is a former nanny, albeit for someone working class, I get that as much as you WANT to spend every moment with your kid you often can’t. I say all this because SO MANY kids movies and shows villianize parents for not spending time with their kid when their clearly just working to support them. There are nuanced exceptions to this and refreshingly Craig of the Creek has outright avoided this: JP’s mom is gone almost all the time due to working as an airline pilot, but while he clearly misses her he never resents her or guilts her over it, he understands sh’es supporting him and goes out of his way to make sure his friends can meet her. It’s really swee.t And while again I get it, this guys a billionare, most examples aren’t, Scrooge still really CAN’T stop working: He has more money than god and like most bilionares REALLY should give most of it to charity or to help with programs instead of hoarding it in a massive bin.. but he’s also got tons of companies, factories, investments... people COUNTING on him to make sure these are working correctly and keep their jobs. So yeah i’ts nice that the show isn’t demonizing scrooge for this or dosen’t even consider it: he’s getting help beacuse he needs it, that’s what’s important.

So while the boys widdle down the nannies, Scrooge talks to a renowned coin collector. He does show off his collection to the guy, but his main goal is naturally to show him the coin from last time. Turns out that naturally for a five part episode the treasure they lost last time was just a fraction of the real thing and the real titular treasure is a mythical horde even Scrooge, who normally has proved something out of myth is very real 5 times before breakfast, didn’t think existed.

Something I do love about this five parter is how every treasure hunt has ended up being important each piece of the puzzle leading to the next like any good treasure hunt. As for where this one leads the collector HAS heard of only one other coin like it, up in the Andes Mountains in a mysterious fortress whose mountain habitat and being a fortress makes it hard to get to and the owner is apparently a real piece of work.. but Scrooge isn’t afraid of a little hard work and is ready to go after it.. he just has to find a Nanny first.

And he does as there’s only one left: Mrs. Beakley, who we FINALLY meet after two episodes. Yeah for some weird reasont his episode choose to cram the rest of the major main and supporting cast into one episode.. it still works, they all still get great introductions it’s just weird to me when you have five episodes to not say introduce Launchpad last time.

But regardless as I said it’s a good intro.. despite the boys wilding a lasso and a snake.

Beakly is unphased and even dosen’t remotely fall for them trying to say she got the wrong name. And while Scrooge is a little impressed, he’s even more when she states she’ll work for free... with one condition: Free room and board for her and her grandaughter, Webby, who has been there the whole time and looking cute as a button. Scrooge is unsure but one minute of Webby being adorable later and he’s agreed. She can’t eat much right? He also hopes she’ll help the boys not be douchebags, unaware that their inherent poorly written sexisim means that was never going to work. And why yes I will call it out eveyr time it happens because it happens every time they have an episode together and only gets worse.

He goes to Gyro for help and Classic Gyro.. is utterly delightful. While I clearly have issues with Classic Scrooge, whose a greedy poorly aged asshat and the boys, who are sterotypes of male children, Gyro? He’s nice, friendlya nd eccentric, using a delightfully wakcky pogo hat thing to think and takes only a mintue to figure out how to solve a seemingly unsolvable problem and only needs a few hours to build his cool looking bird ship, using bird legs to offset the hard to sort out landing conditions. But since it’s a fancy bitch, it needs a pilot and i’m sure we all know where this is going...but since Carol Danver sis busy he has to go with Launchpad.

Launchpad’s intro is great, cheerful as he does a job testing a plane and naturally crashes it, and when thought dead walks out seconds later unharmed and jolly as ever. Scrooge is naturally terrified of the prospect of flying with him but dosen’t really have another choice “I hope my insurance is paid up.” Scrooge it’s you.. of course it isn't.

So with that our hero bids a farewell to the boys and ends up unteitonally coming off MASSIVELY unlikeable. No really he leaves them behind for their saftey despite needing help... and then upon finding out Donald is going to be on leave soon in the andes, and just assumes that YOU KNOW, he’d LIKE to go on a dangerous exausting adventure instead of actually get some rest after working in the goddamn navy and STILL dosen’t take the kids along despite having a very tearjerking farewell IN FRONT OF HIM that happened at most a month ago. Granted i’m suprised Donald is getting leave this soon.. but since I genuinely like to look into this sort of thing and the last time I didn’t I was correctly reminded Gulliver’s Travels was a satire.. and found out someone HAD actually watched the Jack Black movie. I only vaugely remember a trailer.. I thinkn it was a trailer? Maybe it was the middle part of a juinor novelzation where htey have all the photos? I really don’t know. I know almost every pokemon on sight but not where I saw pictures of a forgetable jack black movie, what a shock.

So long story short I DID google it. Here’s what I got

So given clealry more time has passed than we’ve seen on screen, enough time COULD have passed for Donald’s three day pass to kick in. So credit to the crew for actually thinking that out. They still get all the blame though for not only not seeing how bad not taking the kids to see the uncle whose like a father to them a month after he left when he CLEARLY can is bad, but how worse it is that the first break donald gets ina month.. is spent helping scrooge against his will on a life or death treasure hunt.

And I get WHY they wanted to try out having Donald on an adventure: he was in most of the carl barks material.... but I also dont’ get it as Launchpad was deisgned entirely to fill in for Donald when needed, we’re only three episodes into the series and this gives the wrong impression Donald will guest star a lot more. In practice while he still did get a meaty 8 episodes on the show including this one, 2 of which were cameos and the pilot only dosne’t count because of the exnteded slapstick sequence, and dosen’t appear at all after season 1, likely because Fenton’s introduction made him reduntant as he was an even more blatant Donald stand-in. It just feels weird to shove him into the pilot movie when we should be focusing on our main cast, epsecially with so many getting intorduced this episode. It woudl’ve made more sense for Gyro to be the third man instead and it woud’ve elmaited Scrooge’s uttelry horrible actions here of depriving his nephews of their surrogate father.

So Uncle Dickstick leaves with Launchpad to go abduct donald.... and tha’ts not me being funny, that’s what actually happens. Donald is singing out on leave.. with his superior... weirdly doing paper work outside on the flight deck.

And is angry at Donald because of him taking pictures and stuff and threatens him if he’s not back exactly in time... because look he’s on a boat with a bunch of sweaty men but as the most superior officer he can’t enjoy that so he has to get off SOMEHOW and ruining donald’s life just happens ot be a thing for him.

So yeah Scrooge straight up naps Donald via claw and Donald is angry, wondering, as you’d expect “What’s the big idea”.. and once Scrooge clairfies he did it.. still asks that because what the fuck. And the episode treats this as comical, as it does Launchpad not understanding Donald.. and don’t get me wrong you CAN make a good “I can’t understand Donald Duck” joke, the 2017 series made PLENTY. But said series also spoiled me as they did it with far more effort, while also still showing just how much it would suck to have everyone around you struggle to hear what you say and never listen to you. They actually cared abotu Donald’s well being where as this one thinks “Gee you knwo what would go great iwth a hard month’s naval work? MORE WORK HELPING YOUR UNCLE GET RICHER FOR NO PERSONAL BENIFIT AFTER HE KIDNAPS YOU”.

So our heroes.. and scrooge, head to Andes and find the temple and it’s here “Sigh” we met our antagonist. A Conquestador Douche who DOES have a name and it is on the wiki.. but is so generic and unlikeble I’m just going to keep calling him conquestador douche, whose introduced waving his sun coin around while the natives all bow to him because of the coin.

Welcome to the racisim! Admitely it’s not as bad as Treasure of the Lost Lamp, that’s a high bar to clear, but ti’s still not great to have the racist cliche of “character conquers a civilization because of they belivie he’s a messenger for their “silly” god”. And the saddest part is not that I didn’t notice this trope and how bad it was as a kid watching shows like this... but that as an ADULT about 4 years ago when I watched this episode how racist it and this trope in general was didn’t register to me at all. That.. really bothers me that it took me this long to pick up on things like this and i’m sorry for it.

That’s honestly WHY we need these warnings and WHY i’m so hard on this racisim: it wasn’t necessary, it could’ve been removed and you clearly just didn’t care or didn’t realize it was racist. And even acceptable for the time dosen’t work for anymore: I learned recently that the creators of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, both white, hired black writers..and actually LISTENED, looking to them for personal stories and to check them if one of the white staff wrote something that wasn’t true to the black experience. I know that sounds like the bare minimum but this was the early 90′s, that kind of thinking wasn’t hte norm like it is in most writer’s rooms now.. and sadly not ALL writer’s rooms. Not only that but just today I ran into a MST3K skit that lampooned this kind of bullshit from not long after this episode. People clearly knew better, the writers of this episode just didn’t’t care

So yeah, I get this was a kids show in the 80′s, I get the writing staff being almost all white.. but they still coudl’ve avoided cliche sterotypes and done something diffrent. It was was still wiithin white people like myselves power to actually think about something other htan themselves and we did not. So i’m never going to stop holding my own people accountable for just how BADLY we’ve fucked up in ways great and small because it still hasn’t stopped , likely never will so I won’t.

But yeah.... the tribe here are portrayed as ignorant, mindless dumbasses who blindly follow tradition and a clearly corrupt leader. It’s patronizingly stupid to assume just because a belief system is diffrent than yours a person will belieive anything. Religion CAN make people act stupid, the fact many people are homophobic simply because the bible, a centuries old document written and distrbuted by humans that could of been altered by people with a clear homophobic agenda, says they should be. But there’s the very clear very gross implication here that any god but the christian god is invalid and simplifies wonderful and well thought out myths and beliviefs from various cultures into “well they belivie in da sun god because of the shiny coin”. It’s gross, i’m glad it’s stopped and it’s VERY telling that the closest Ducktales 2017 came to this was the most dangerous game night which while a tad cringe inducing at least showed the tribe it used was clever, disposed the person they mistook for a god after it was clear he wasn’t one , and were wholly sympathetic.

Naturally Conquistadouche orders the tribe to attack Scrooge and it works briefly , though Scrogoe prepares to take on the ENTIRE villiage.. and given this is Scrooge and on this blog we’ve seen him take on an entire town before, and that was a more inexpericed less bastardly scrooge yeah their fucked, and only escape death because the coin falls out of scrooge’s coat when he tries to help donald who naturally injures himself trying to help.

And since as per white dumbass racist logic, the villiagers thought Conquistadipshit was a messenger of the gods because of his coin, they think the same of Scrooge, this causes them to stop and bow instead and protect scrooge when Conquistadumbass tries to attack our heroes. Their given a room for the night naturally.

Conquistadick demands they give him the coin and leave, but Scrooge has none of that: he has no reason to leave and has all the leverage so he instead demands to know wha’ts going on.

Turns out Conquisineart is the decdendant of one of the crew from the ship Scrooge found: their captain rain off with it, leaving two of his men behind, though both had the map to the rest of the treasure and split it: one left for the Arctic, the other stayed and did the whole racist god bit. And somehow despite all the time passing Conquistadoodoohead still has his half and Scrooge aranges a trade for the coin. And why yes their is the obvious problem of “what if Conquistascoobydoo say tells them he’s the true god and attacks scrooge like he ends up doing in the climax”. And Scrooge’s plan.. is to have the plane ready and to run to it, despite Launchpad not being a mechanic and saying as much. Instead of you know... stealing the guy’s coin while he’s asleep or something or just having launchpad, whose bigger and stronger and donald whose not bigger but is also stronger hold the guy while Scrooge steals his sun coin, then simply walks to the plane with the map, the coins and all the leverage. at worst the guy tries to do the same scheme without any coins and as the end of the episode shows, that wouldn’t have worked. He was stupid. Oh and the cherry on top of this shit sundae is scrooge objects to the guys tyranical rule.. but is okay with letting it keep going if he gets his coin and DOnlad, whose there for the deal, never call shim on it.

We then get a bit of Launchpad being forced off a cliff to ride a giant Condor...

Look this episode is filled with racisit sterotypes, a generic villian and Scrogoe being awful. I’ll take a fun sequence of Launchpad riding a condor, with Donald providing an assit with his camera by blinding the beast so Launchpad can ride him properly giving them more leverage now Launchpad is popular. And a deadline to fix things by tommorow.

The next day Launchapd and Donald have defied logic and their own tendency to screw up and fixed the bird, while Scrooge makes the deal.. and naturally it goes EXACTLY how you’d expect and Scrooge runs, though our real heroes get thigns running.

That’s when the people arrive on condors to persue, a fight insues yoru standard hero stuff.. not bad but given the racist context I can’t really enjoy it like Launchpad flying a condor.. which had some mild racisim in them making him do that as a ritual clearly deisgned to kill him but i’llt ake mild over pretty damn obvious. Eventually douchebag looses his coins, his ctizens abndon him. Happy end.

So with the map Scrooge decides to do the logical thing.... have launchpad drop him in the middle of the ocean in a raft and steer there

Launchpad takes Donald home in time and his superior is mad he dosen’t give him a proper salute.. even though he CLEARLY just got home and is diisorented from a crash. Launchpad makes a quip and this episode mercifully ends.

Final Thoughts:

This episode starts out okay.. but quickly goes downhill fast and steep. There are massive bits of racisim, massive leaps in logic, and massive amoutns of scrooge being a dick.. not his WORST in this series but it’s still bad. It’s just not very good. It’s the second worst episode of Ducktales i’ve seen, only held up by my boys Donald and Launchpad. This was miserable.

Next Time on Treasure of the Golden Suns: Our heroes head to the arctic for another offensive episode to rescue scrooge from his own stupidity. Next Time on this Blog: We return to Green Eggs and Ham and hop on a train as our raging bitchcanoe mother and daughter duo meat our ambigiouslyg ay duo at last.

See you at the next rainbow.

#ducktales #donald duck #scrooge mcduck #launchpad mcquack #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #bentina beakley #webby vanderquack #gyro gearloose #treasure of the golden suns

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what-do-1000-swords-look-like · 3 years

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Sam is more than a legal guardian - Papa Moose rights

Not to blast this on main but Jack has three dads, okay? And you cannot change my mind.

I know this was most likely a joke (& I don’t think we have video or a transcript of it) but I see people actually treating the legal guardian thing as if it’s real, that not only is Sam not one of Jack’s dads but Jack isn’t a Winchester or even family (let me assure you: he is). Anyhoo, I feel like Sam keeps getting pushed to the back and I feel bad for Papa Moose. Jack is his boy, he is a dad for him, alongside Cas and Dean.

Plus, I love Jack (he will forever be a cinnamon roll) & I’m in a holding pattern currently thanks to 2020 being 2020 so off I go:

Three Relationships/Three Dads:

Cas - chosen before Jack was born by Jack; died before he was born in 12x23; eventually was resurrected in 13x05 - meant to encompass and guide the angel side of Jack

Sam - first to approach Jack in 12x23; took responsibility for him in 13x01 & from there, they work out the kinks - meant to encompass and guide the human side of Jack

Dean - shot at Jack in 13x01 but thankfully missed; horrible to Jack until the end of 13x04; once Cas returns to the bunker in 13x06, Dean starts to come around even more; Jack and Dean’s relationship is the one with the toughest start (overshadowed by Cas’ death in 12x23, the fact that Dean feels Jack manipulated Cas which ended up getting him killed & it’s unknown which way Jack will swing being Lucifer’s son); I think Jensen’s description of being a stepdad to Jack is pretty on the mark (stepparents/parental figures can be just as valid in parental roles, for example I consider Bobby to be more the boys’ father than that asshat John if I’m being honest), plus this also confirms the framing/editing/portrayal of Destiel that has been happening all along (I see you Jackles) - meant to encompass and guide the human (hunter?) side of Jack as well

Let us not forget these moments:

2:08 in video below - Sam knew when Jack’s birthday was & Dean looks at him like “really? you knew that? how did you know that? oh right, I was grieving my dead husband but still...that’s a hell of a memory you’ve got there, Sam”

in 13x21, Rowena gets back at Lucifer by taunting him with “That’s right, your wee boy’s over there. And he’ll be so glad to see his three fathers. Because as far as he is concerned, they are his father and you...you’re nothing to him.”

Jack asking Sam what comes after death in 14x08 (a typically shown parental/child conversation)

Sam was devastated when Jack died in 14x08, & Dean held Cas back from going to comfort him, telling him that Sam needed space

Sam went to chop down wood himself for Jack’s funeral pyre in 14x08

in 14x19 - Sam & Dean both convince Jack to get into the Ma’lak box but it’s ultimately Sam who has to sell it (this is also something Dean told Sam he would have to do before Jack arrives)

Sam tells Jack to kill him in 14x20 when Lucifer is forcing them to murder one another & Jack confirms how important Sam is to him (& also confirming Jensen’s assertion that Dean sees more Cas in Jack than Lucifer as the season progressed) Jack tells him “I love you. I love all of you” before attempting to kill himself so Sam could live

in 15x11 - Sam’s reaction and expression to finding out Jack is alive

in 15x14 -even though this more symmetry than anything, we celebrate Sam’s birthday and then Jack’s

in 15x14, Jack asks Sam if he thinks Jack can do it (finish the plan to kill Chuck) - this is twofold, this proves not only does Jack care just as much about Sam’s opinion as he does Cas’ or Dean’s but it also reads as a child asking the parent “do you think I can really do it, Dad?”

in 15x15, Jack says “I have more dads than most”

in 15x16 - Dean tells Sam the truth about Jack’s plan & his inevitable sacrifice - Sam yells at Dean in a way we haven’t seen in a while after he finds out that Dean knew - this was going to be a very important part of this episode & story arc - we see Cas text Dean, asking him if Dean has told him yet & we see Dean avoid it until he no longer can

in 15x17 - not only has Sam been trying to find a way to keep Jack from being sacrificed, he literally faces down his brother (& a gun) to keep Dean from making sure that Jack is sacrificed in order to kill Chuck

in 15x18 - we see Sam’s devastated expression alongside Cas’ and Dean’s when Billie confirms Jack’s sacrifice in the Empty

in 15x18 - Sam gives up Chuck’s death book to Billie in order to save Jack from the Empty

in 15x20 - Sam is the one to mention Jack (& also Cas), showcasing that he still thinks about him & is still saddened that he’s not there with them

The framing:

all 3 dads in his room when he’s dying in 14x08, Dean has his back to him at first (showing Dean is having trouble dealing with it), Sam is in the chair right next to his bed, facing & engaged and Cas is standing right behind Sam, facing Jack also

in the below gif, this is after Jack is brought back by Lily’s magic, all three dads are watching him closely which Jack notices. Not only is he wearing a dead man’s robe (is that Dean’s maybe?) but notice the framing of the seating. He’s next to Cas, Dad #1, and across from Sam, Dad #2, and Dean, Dad #3, is in the corner adjacent. Dean and Sam are brothers next to each other, Dean is across from Cas, Sam is adjacent to Cas... Before I go down that rabbit hole, Sam is up front and center as one of Jack’s dads here.

3:06 below (it makes more sense for Dean to be in the middle of this moment, because Sam & Cas are equally as important in Jack’s dads’ roles but Dean couldn’t be behind them because at this point, he is just as important), not to mention the whole front desk scene, one parent is with Jack (Cas) & one parent is checking him in (Sam) while the other parent is starting to lose his crap but trying to keep it together to get the kid seen by a doctor yesterday (Dean)

youtube

I’m sure I forgot some other moments up there but the deal is this: Sam is Jack’s dad. Cas and Sam are Jack’s main dads and Dean is bringing up the rear (hold your jokes please, at least until the end of this post, then I’ll join you lol) as the stepdad.

So basically this is what we have: Cas is married to Dean and they are raising their pure boy but Jack is also Sam’s pure boy. Sam has rights.

They’re still a nuclear family, y’all.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Carry on.

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darks-ink · 4 years

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Rewind - Ectoberweek 2020

Acknowledging canon episodes? In my fanfic? It’s more likely than you think. Also I’m experimenting by adding the links onto this post so lemme know whether this shows up in the tag or not.

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Hurt/Comfort Words: 2,834 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Masters of All Time, Families of choice/Found family

[AO3] [FFN]

---

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Danny darted around Clockwork, refusing to let him turn away. “Clockwork!”

The ghost sighed, heavily and wearily, and looked down at Danny. “I cannot. It is that simple.”

“But that’s— that’s nonsense,” Danny insisted, gesturing wildly. “You’re the ghost of time! How can you not rewind this and fix it?!”

“I warned you, Daniel, that this would be a permanent change.” Clockwork blinked slowly, as if trying to convey some sort of emotion with his empty red eyes. “You did not heed my warning, or considered yourself above it. Now, you must live with the consequences.”

“But you’re—”

“Not all-powerful, no matter what you might think,” Clockwork cut in, narrowing his eyes. “You have altered the past, despite my warning not to. To travel back again would risk the stability of the timeline entirely. Would you rather see all of reality destroyed?”

Clockwork hummed before Danny could answer. “I would not, therefore I will not allow it to be so. The past has been set in stone, but the future is still malleable. Make it into something you can live with.”

“But…” Danny bit back his automatic response. There was no point. He’d tried fighting Clockwork before, and gotten his ass handed to him as a result. He sighed instead. “Can you at least take me back to Mom and Dad, then? The Portal looked like it blew up after I flew through it, and I don’t know where to find another.”

At that, Clockwork smiled. Or, Danny though it was a smile, at least. A small twitch of the ghost’s lips. “That, I can do.”

“Thanks, Clockwork.” Danny watched as the ghost swung his staff, a portal opening in its wake. “And… sorry, I guess.”

“Apology accepted.” Clockwork floated aside, waving a hand towards the portal. “Goodbye, Daniel.”

Danny nodded back, before flying through the portal. Welp. Time to face the music.

The portal spat him out in Amity Park, near his house. For a moment, Danny paused, considering the possibility that it brought him here because he consider Amity to be his home, no matter what. But then he realized that there was a car parked in front of the garage, one far too fancy for the neighborhood. His parents must’ve come this way, taking one of Vlad’s cars.

Thus satisfied, he flew down, phasing through the front door. No need to be secretive—both Jack and Maddie knew his secret already.

Still, he was surprised to find them both in the living room, apparently trying to clean up the place. Maddie saw him first, her body stilling. And how strange was it, that he found it comforting to see her here, in her cyan jumpsuit, with red goggles over her eyes? (That was weird, right? Danny felt like it should be weird.)

“Danny,” she said, quiet with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

At her words, Jack also looked up from where he was standing. He, too, looked almost exactly like his counterpart from Danny’s own timeline. Except with ecto-acne, of course.

“I, uh.” Danny shrugged, unsure. He felt thrown off by seeing his parents like this. It was almost right, but just slightly off. “Clockwork couldn’t undo it. Apparently the timeline is too unstable, or something. So I have to… stay in this world, I guess.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She straightened up from her crouch, walking closer to him. “I— It probably won’t be easy, but you can stay with us for as long as you need to. Right, Jack?”

“Of course!” his dad immediately responded, nodding vigorously. “We’re… figuring stuff out, of course. But it’s thanks to you that we reunited in the first place. And you’re our kid!” He grinned, wide and loving, in that typical Jack Fenton way. “Even if the way you got here is a little weird, you’re still our family!”

“I…” He landed, noiselessly. Hesitated for a moment. Then closed the space between him and Maddie, wrapping his arms around her. “Thanks. Both of you. I’m sorry.”

The enormous warm arms of Jack Fenton came up around them. “Don’t be, kiddo. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he rumbled, underlined with an almost audible buzz of his core. It emitted a palpable feeling of family.

“No, but, I…” Danny sighed, crushing his head against Maddie’s shoulder. “It’s my fault. All of this is! I tried going back in time to change the past, to make it so Vlad wouldn’t get ecto-acne so he couldn’t infect my friends with it, but instead you became half-ghost.”

Danny drew a shaky breath, trying to fight past the emotions welling in his throat. They needed to understand. “It’s all my fault! Without my meddling, none of this would’ve happened!”

“Sounds to me,” his mom began, her thin fingers gently combing through his hair, “like you tried to help your friends, Danny.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe not in the best way possible, but the intention was good.”

“I can’t imagine that Vlad would’ve dealt with being half-ghost much better than I,” Jack added, faint laughter in his voice. “Never mind the ecto-acne. But, of course! That’s how you recognized it!”

“Yeah, um.” Danny drew back from the hug a little. “I can… tell you guys, I guess? About my timeline. The differences, at least.”

“That’d be nice,” Maddie agreed, as Jack’s arms released them. She looked around, and Danny could read the reluctance in her body language, even despite the goggles. “We might have to clear some more stuff before we have the space to sit.”

“We could always sit on the floor?” Jack suggested, shrugging at her look. “Or Danny and I can float as ghosts.”

“Right.” Maddie shook her head, wandering over to the single chair not covered in debris and trash and reaching up to her hood. “If that works for you two, that might be the most convenient.” She paused, frowning at Danny, hood pulled off but still in hand. “But… if Vlad was the one who became half-ghost in your timeline, why are you half-ghost as well, Danny?”

“I, uh.” He shrugged, lifting his feet off of the ground to sit in mid-air. “Became half-ghost in an accident of my own.”

The frown he received from both parents very clearly asked for him to elaborate, so he did. “Okay, so. The point of divergence is the accident in college, obviously. In my timeline, Vlad got hit by the explosion, not Jack, so he becomes half-ghost and stuff. You two, Jack and Maddie, get together, especially since Vlad was cutting contact. You decide to become ghost researchers together and move to Amity Park.”

He paused to gesture to the house around them. “Specifically, you move here, to this specific house. You make it your place of business as well, called FentonWorks. Big neon sign on the front of the building, the basement downstairs becomes a lab, and at some point you two built the Ops Center at the top, which can also be used for inventing stuff. I’m… obviously not very informed of the details, since I was the second kid and you two talked very little about the past. Only,” here he made a face, “ghosts. Everything was always about ghosts.

“Anyway,” he continued, after a short pause to take a breath. “You two have Jazz first, and then me two years later. At some point after that, you start working on a new Portal, full scale, down in the lab. It takes forever to build, because you’re trying to be careful about it, I guess? But you finish it, eventually, when Jazz is sixteen and I fourteen.”

Maddie narrowed her eyes, darting them over his body. The question is clear as day: isn’t he basically fourteen?

“So,” Danny trumped on, ignoring the silent question, “After years of work, their Portal was finally finished! The ultimate proof that ghosts were real! And then it didn’t turn on.”

“It didn’t?” Jack gasped, clearly startled. Danny realized that, somehow, he’d missed the man shifting into his ghost form. “But—”

“It didn’t,” Danny interrupted, holding up a hand. “Because apparently, someone had built a secondary power switch inside the Portal, and they had forgotten to turn it on. So when they plugged in the power, the Portal didn’t turn on.”

There was clear calculation in the eyes of both of his parents, now. Danny continued his explanation before they could figure it out. Needed to tell his story to his parents, for once. He didn’t think he would ever get a chance to tell his actual parents, after all.

“Later that day, after Jazz convinced you two to take a break, my friends talked me into checking out the Portal. Just the three of us, since Tucker was interested in technology and Sam was interested in all things goth and occult.” He shrugged, almost fatalistically. “Sam suggested I take a closer look, and I did. Only, I didn’t realize that the power was still plugged in, so when I accidentally hit the power switch inside…”

“Oh!” Maddie gasped. “Oh, how terrible!”

“That must’ve hurt like hell,” Jack agreed, a painful grimace on his face. It looked strange, the genuine emotional expression with the blue skin, the pointed fangs poking out of his mouth. “Your parents must’ve felt awful, to know that they put their kid in such danger!”

“Well…” Danny made a face. “They kinda… didn’t know? They were both avid ghost hunters, both full of hate towards ghosts. I considered telling them, at first, but then they saw their first ghosts and…” Danny sighed. “I guess I was just scared that I’d be just a ghost to them. That they wouldn’t believe me.”

“That’s… That’s awful.” Jack floated over to nudge Danny. “Kiddo, if your dad was anything like me, I promise you, he would’ve cared.”

“I know.” Danny shook his head dismissively. “I know. That wasn’t why I was worried. I was afraid that they wouldn’t believe that I was me, that I was their son. That they would think that I had hurt or replaced their own kid.”

Maddie touched his shoulder, and Danny jerked, surprised. When had she stood up? Walked over? “Well… At least it is of no concern anymore, right? You’re here now, with us, and we believe you.”

It felt like something had crawled into his gut and died. “Yeah,” he said, with terribly faked enthusiasm. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s not much of a comfort, is it?” Maddie made a face. “I’m sorry. I guess I have very little parenting experience, compared to your actual mother.”

“Honestly?” He snorted. “It makes very little difference. Like I said, she and Dad spent most of the time in the lab, or otherwise occupied with ghost research.”

Maddie clicked her tongue, distaste clear on her face. “Well, isn’t that a waste. They have such a lovely son, and they don’t even enjoy his presence?”

“Well, y’know.” Danny shrugged, trying to ignore the pleased whirring of his core. “They try, now, but with all the ghosts we’re all kinda distracted. Them with trying to catch some for their research, and I with trying to protect the townspeople from the ghosts.”

Jack’s expression visibly brightened—as did the glow around his body. “You’re a ghost hunter! A ghost-fighting superhero! Just like I tried to be!”

“Uh.” Danny felt his brain skip over, then remembered. Somewhere in the blathering when he first arrived, Jack had mentioned that he’d tried using his powers for good. “Yeah, I guess so. But I had a little more success with it.” He grinned sheepishly.

“We should team up!” Jack exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “The two of us, and Maddie, if she wants to! We’d be a fantastic team!”

Danny laughed, a little uncertain. “Well, maybe. But we’ll need a Thermos to catch the ghosts, and a Portal to dump them back into the Ghost Zone, first. Those were kind of my major tools in managing. And Sam and Tucker, of course.”

“Oh?” Maddie asked, perking up. “Sam and Tucker? You mentioned them before, I think. Are those your friends?”

“Yeah, they… I guess they don’t know me, here.” He sighed, feeling himself drift down closer to the floor, away from his dad’s arm. “They… We were best friends, to the absolute end. Even after the stuff in the lab, the half-ghost stuff, the constant attacking ghosts and hunting them down, they stuck by my side.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Jack landed as well, although unlike Danny, he landed on his feet. “But they’ll be around, right? It might not be the same, but they’re not gone.”

“Might as well be,�� Danny huffed. He shook his head. “It won’t be the same. Without the years of shared experiences…”

Maddie and Jack shared a look—not quite as conversational as the ones his parents shared, but a good enough substitute—before apparently deciding to change the topic altogether.

“Why don’t we see if we can clear some rooms upstairs?” Maddie asked, clapping her hands together. “We’ll need at least two rooms clear enough for use, preferably three.”

“Three?” Danny echoed, frowning at them. “You’re not sharing?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years, Danny,” she pointed out, getting up from the chair. “We’re still reconnecting, never mind actually getting together.”

“Right,” he agreed, following her to the stairs. “But you are moving in?”

“Friends can share a house,” Jack pointed out, shifting back to his human form in a flash of white light, and reminding Danny to do the same. “And this way she won’t have to worry about getting kicked out of Vlad’s mansion while all the paperwork and stuff is happening.”

“And I never liked the mansion much,” Maddie admitted with a wry smile. “I liked the Vlad I knew, way back when, but over time it became clear that that wasn’t the real Vlad. I’d been thinking about divorcing him for longer, but… I don’t know. There was no one else I knew, nowhere I could go.”

“Not even to Aunt Alicia? I mean, she’s divorced as well, isn’t she?”

“I… didn’t realize she had married in the first place.” Maddie’s steps faltered for a moment before she continued up the stairs. “I guess I was afraid that she would judge me for marrying Vlad in the first place. I don’t know… It seems rather illogical, now, but I figured I could put up with Vlad well enough. And with his money I could afford my research, even if I had to do it behind his back.”

They stopped in the hallway upstairs, looking around. Danny resisted the urge to grimace. Somehow upstairs was even more of a mess than downstairs had been.

“Which room was yours, in your timeline?” Jack asked, sidling up to Danny.

“Uh.” He carefully stepped past the mess, stopping in front of his door. Or the door that belonged to the room that was his, in his own timeline. “This one. And Jazz had that one,” he pointed over to the room that his sister used. “The one next to mine was a guest room.”

Jack nodded. “Right, that makes sense! You can take that room if you want, Danny. Mads, you can take the other room if you want. The one next to here I used as a lab for a while, so cleaning…”

“Won’t be easy, got it.” She nodded as well. “I’ll take the other one. Let’s start with clearing out this one, shall we?”

“Let’s.” Danny pushed open the door, bracing himself mentally for the whiplash of seeing his room without it being his room.

As a result, he was almost toppled over by the cat that rushed past his legs.

“Jasmine!” Jack cheered, crouching down to pick up the fluffy white thing. “Is this where you’ve been hiding, honey?”

“Well,” Danny said, then stopped. He had no clue what to say. He didn’t even know what he thought of this.

“Well,” he tried again. “At least now I know who picked the name for Jazz, and who picked mine.”

Maddie snorted, gently pushing him into the room. “Personally, I think Danny is a great name, honey.”

“Thanks,” he retorted, eyes darting over the room. It was dark—the curtains were closed despite the time of day—but his night vision was pretty solid. “It’s short for Daniel.”

“And Jazz for Jasmine, then? That’s cute.” She ruffled his hair as she stepped past him, drawing open the curtains. “Hm. we certainly have our work cut out for us.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed, looking at the piles of he-didn’t-know-what lying around. There was a bed buried in one of the piles, which suggested it might’ve been a guest room at some point. Or used by someone else, before Jack moved in. “And we still need to clear yours, too.”

“Better get working then,” Maddie decided, shaking her head as she crouched down. “Things won’t get better on their own, after all.”

#danny phantom #ectoberweek2020 #ectoberweek 2020 #dp fanfic #phanfic #phic #danny fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #dark writes

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norrrington · 4 years

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so this is a somewhat half-baked thought and i could be completely concocting this in my mind or projecting my tragic norribeth feelings onto nothing, but we all know and agree that will and elizabeth’s misunderstanding in AWE about her kissing jack was narratively uninteresting and was drawn out for no other reason than to sow tension (in a movie that’s already the cinematic equivalent of a pressure cooker).

however, though james and elizabeth only interact briefly in AWE, their misunderstanding over her father’s death and james’ perceived involvement in / knowledge of it is considerably more compelling because it places their increasingly divergent character arcs at a crossroads: elizabeth—fiercely independent and now fully allied with pirates—is relentlessly loyal, headstrong and righteous as ever, and will do whatever it takes to protect her crew, even when it comes at the expense of sacrificing the one to protect the many (hint hint end of DMC). alternatively, james—who has always been defined by his loyalty, most often to the crown / his men—surrendered his integrity the moment he gave the heart to beckett, and though he’s not directly responsible for the atrocities the latter carries out, he is complicit, and what was once an allegiance to service and protection is now a largely unquestioning loyalty to a ruthlessly selfish man who will stop at nothing to further his agenda.

what’s important to me in the grand scheme of this ramble is how the conflicts between will & elizabeth and james & elizabeth differ in their execution and resolution: will confronts elizabeth about this below decks; they hash it out in esoteric terms; skirting around what each really wants to say, only to end in elizabeth storming off and will left to stew in the muddiness of it all. it’s never spoken about explicitly, and their subsequent interactions are stiff and hostile until their somewhat abrupt (but iconic) wedding scene.

on the other hand, james joyously embraces elizabeth, proclaiming his relief that she’s alive; elizabeth rebuffs him, furious and hurt that the man she probably least expected to ever hurt or betray her has now done so in the most unfathomable way; james swears he did not have any knowledge of it; elizabeth sneers her disbelief and rejects his offering of his quarters to her; james ultimately frees her and her crew and eventually dies protecting her, etc.

the key distinction to me is how quickly elizabeth seems to... maybe not forgive, but at the very least understand james, even if part of her inviting him to come with her was to rehash this issue at a later time (i’m kidding... kind of). with elizabeth and will, as @theflamehallow has so expertly pointed out in this post, “we have to drag this through another movie until she eventually is like ‘okay, WHAT DIID I DO?’ And even after Will finds out the reasoning he’s not any less angry”. yet with elizabeth and james, the conflict is stated outright and immediately, no holds barred. sure, it could be argued that the efficiency of this arc is due to the writers wanting to expedite it, but i see it as more important than that, particularly as it speaks to the dynamic of james and elizabeth’s relationship. elizabeth has no qualms letting james know what she thinks or how she feels because they know each other (perhaps james more elizabeth than vice versa): elizabeth has known james and will for roughly the same length of time, yet she and james communicate far more lightly and easily, which we see glimpses of in DMC (and would’ve seen more of had they not cut those crucial scenes), and i would even go so far as to venture that this comfortability is partly due to the fact that elizabeth knows that james’ response to conflict isn’t to be reactionary, thus forcing her on the offense, but rather to attempt to hear her, which we don’t see much of with will and elizabeth.

i don’t know. it’s not my intention to disparage will, elizabeth, or their relationship—i love them both dearly—and there’s a much bigger conversation that could be had about how and why will and elizabeth handle conflicts the way they do, but i think there’s certainly something to be said for the strength of james and elizabeth’s dynamic through the lens of how they confront and resolve disagreements or misunderstandings (and i would’ve taken a three and a half hour movie just to keep the deleted scenes that further showed this).

#james norrington #elizabeth swann #will turner #it's bea-sim thoughts hour apparently!#this is SO long i'm sorry

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Acutely (coda to 15x13 ‘Destiny’s Child’, Dean/Cas, 2.5k)

ao3 link

Jack said he's sorry, after getting his soul back.

Jack said he's sorry, and he's looking at Dean. They're all looking at Dean.

Jack said he's sorry, and Dean can't take it. It's too much. Like a frog thrown into a boiling pot he hops out, jumping out from the room towards safety. Doing his best not to succumb to the pain.

He can't hide forever, let the wounds fester. It's too much to deal with on his own, though. Can someone help him through it?

It’s no secret, where he hides. Where he ran away to after Jack broke down in an apology. Overwhelmed by the sorrow in the younger boy’s voice; his remorse for actions Dean hadn’t mentioned in so long. Dean barely made it before his knees buckled, collapsing on his bed instead of the floor. Face pressed against the pillow Dean counted his breaths while ignoring the heavy lump sitting in his throat.

He loses track after seventy-five, mumbling ‘one… two… three… four… five…’ over and over until he felt like his feet were farther from the edge than they had been. As he lifts his head, Dean takes stock of himself. Grimaces at how sweat dampens both his shirts, dark fabric clinging annoyingly underneath oppressive denim. And as the knot unwound in his stomach, Dean realizes he hadn’t eaten yet. Hunger gnaws at his awareness, begging for attention. Thinking about food, though, guides his paths towards the kitchen and – ultimately – Jack, again.

There’s not much of an appetite left after that.

Instead he blindly throws off his outer layer, then his undershirt. Bends, clawing at his laces and when they unravel, he yanks them and his socks off, too. Discards his jeans by flinging them into some far corner. Red boxer-briefs are all that remain, for the moment. In the next second Dean reaches for a set of pajamas. Picks the set at the top of the pile. Cowboys riding bucking broncos on the pants while lasso script spells out ‘Save a Horse’ on the shirt. As he pulls it overhead, he hears something shift nearby. Turning, Dean finds Cas watching him from the hallway.

“Crap,” he hisses, tugging the shirt down. Cheeks burning under Cas’s intense gaze, “Ever hear of knocking?” Instincts say he should cover himself, but midway through wrapping arms around his midsection Dean realizes what a ridiculous notion that is. Actions aborted Dean’s fingers twitch before they retake his shirt’s hem. Twisting it as the awkward silence continues. “Cas?”

This breaks Cas from whatever trance he fell under. Cas steps into his room, “Sorry, Dean, you left your door open.”

“Right…” If his hands weren’t busy strangling fabric one would be rubbing a hole into the back of his neck. “I – uh, must’ve forgotten.” Dean finally fights back the static drowning his mind, releasing his shirt hem. “What uh… what’re you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

Sweet, but totally despicable. Cas’s earnest tone easily overpowers his crumbling defenses, making the flush across his skin deepen. Lips pursed, Dean dips his eyes so he won’t fall prey to the deadliest of his angel’s weapons. Angel blades have nothing on those baby blues. “Thanks,” he coughs, shrugging, “but I wasn’t the one having a full breakdown five feet from the cookie cereal…” He sits down once more, at the foot of his bed, squeezing his knees. “How is Jack, by the way?”

“He’s calmed, somewhat,” Cas tells him, slowly pacing Dean’s room. Picks up Dean’s stray button-down, loosely folding it while he talks. “Sam had a brilliant idea of taking him for a drive.”

“A drive? Is that allowed?”

“Well, Billie didn’t appear and tell us no….” He sets the shirt on Dean’s dresser, claiming the nearby chair for his own. “They left awhile ago. Not sure when they’ll be back.”

“Awhile, huh?” Dean snorts, arching a stern brow. “And you’re only visiting me now?”

Cas stiffens, “Yes. You see – um…” Stuttering, Cas stalls for time as he thinks up an answer.

Tension leaks out of Dean’s shoulders watching him, seeing his angel go through human motions. Dragging a hand through his hair and pulling at his tie, both alight a familiar warmth in his heart. He snuffs that flame a second later, knowing how dangerous it would be if he let it keep. “Kidding,” Dean sighs, smiling, “I’m glad you waited. Probably wouldn’t have been this… chatty?”

“Of course…” Cas says, nodding, “I figured you’d need some time alone… to – to sort through things.”

He’s being generous. Dean used all his strength to not remember the pain stricken across Jack’s face. The wound is still so fresh, Jack ripping off the scabs with a frenzy caused by his soul’s return. Mary’s death hurting like it happened yesterday. “Maybe you should’ve given me five or ten more minutes, then,” he chuckles, tapping at his temple, “still a mess up here.”

“Hmm…”

“Hmm what?”

“Oh, nothing –“

“Bullshit, Cas,” Dean leans forward, a more devilish expression on his face, “C’mon. Tell me what’s going on in your mind.”

“Nothing you probably don’t already know,” Cas says, “I’m… trying to wrap my head around this whole day. Jack getting his soul back… it’s remarkable. But also, troubling. How could that even be possible and – and will it last?”

“Don’t think about it too much, man,” he says, “what happened with Jack it’s… it’s a gift. Probably one of the few we’ve ever gotten that’s come with no strings attached. A win.”

“Have we ever gotten a win like that?”

It’d be so simple. Unfortunately, Dean chomps off the head of his one-word confession. Swallows the three-letters alongside all his other feelings. By the time the corpse of it decomposes in his stomach, Dean realizes it’s been too long since he last spoke. Cas waiting, staring at him. An awkward chuckle bubbles forth, his breath reeking of ashen sincerity. “Bout time we got one, then, don’t you think?”

He concedes, mouth thinning in a cunning smile. “I suppose we are… but enough about what I think.” Dean’s lips pinch tight. “I think we’ve delayed the inevitable conversation. Don’t you?”

“No,” he says, “we can delay it some more. Like… what was up with those bootleg versions of us?” Dean scoffs, “I bet that other me doesn’t even know what pie tastes like… too busy cramming caviar down his throat.”

“You might enjoy caviar. I hear it’s very popular?”

“Caviar’s only popular because it’s expensive,” Dean tells him, “and all those rich dudes spent too much money on it to hate it, so they lie and convince others it’s good and it’s an awful, self-servicing cycle.”

“I didn’t know you had such strong opinions on caviar?”

“I’ve got strong opinions on just about everything…” Dean makes the mistake of glancing up, catching sight of Cas’s judgmental bend of his brow. “But you don’t wanna hear any of those…”

“Not right now, no…” Cas stands, drifting towards his door. “I guess you were right, you do need more time by yourself. Perhaps in the morning –“

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry,” he says, rising, grabbing his elbow. The touch sears even through the jackets and shirt; Dean’s grasp on it firms, savoring it. “Y’know how… how tough this has got to be for me, right?” His throat cracks on the last word, eyes glistening. He feels the tears brimming behind them, pooling, waiting for release.

Cas sighs, dropping any pretense of exiting. “I do,” he says, hand hovering over Dean’s briefly. Considering if he should. A short argument, as it gently embraces his hand; the one chaining Cas to him. “That’s why I want you to speak. Free yourself of the burden… let me help carry it with you.”

“You don’t have to, Cas,” Dean says, “You’ve got your own things, worries t’deal with –“

“That won’t stop me.”

Stubborn. A double-edged sword that makes up the arsenal of Cas’s traits, all weapons Dean would gladly throw himself on.

Cas quiets, then, waiting for Dean and his response. Words were unneeded. Dean can decipher all he thinks by looking into his angel’s eyes. Captivating, whether in the harsh fluorescents of his bedroom or the soft moonlight of an abandoned church. They always make his head dizzy, thoughts unspooling like Dean drank half a bottle of whiskey or smoked three joints. The more he stays the course, the worse it gets. He nearly forgot hellhounds were baring down on them, Sam their last defense against the creatures, because Cas’s eyes hold a magic that quells any fear or worry gnawing at Dean’s senses.

“Dean?”

“It hurt being around him,” Dean whispers his admittance, inching closer. Chests almost pressed together. Noses dangerously close. His toes practically climbing atop Cas’s dress shoe. “I hate that that’s true but… it is. Because as glad as I was to see the kid still kicking it… I’m just reminded of her.” Cas’s thumb rubs a comforting circle into his knuckles, Dean dropping his gaze there. “Reminded of what he did. How he just didn’t… didn’t get it, y’know. Couldn’t tell that it was bad. He – there was still this… this disconnect. And after he came back I could tell he’d look at me and try to find the words t’apologize but they were never there. And without them, we’d never move past it. He’d still be hurting, and so would I… Which sucks because – because I know you think of him as your son, but y’know… I think of him as mine, too –“

“I like to think of him as ours, Dean.”

“Yes, well…” he clears his throat, tongue wetting his lips as he recovers. Dean chooses tactical evasion, ignoring Cas’s comment and moving on. “He’s like… my second chance. He is a second chance. A second coming, really – sorta like Jesus –“ He pauses, gaze darting towards Cas’s face. “That doesn’t matter. I just… I wanted to make things right with Jack, but he didn’t know how – and I sure didn’t know how. So we were circling each other, doing nothing. I could feel things festering. The happiness that came after Jack’s return began fading; instead of relief there’d be dread whenever he walked into a room. Got it into my head that things’d never get any better, and there was no way of fixing this rift between us.”

“But with his soul, he finally understands,” Cas says, “he’s apologized. That’s what you wanted?”

“It is. I… yeah,” Dean shudders, neck suddenly weak. It bends, Dean’s chin saved from touching his neck by Cas’s forehead supporting his. There noses are beside one another, lips a breath apart. “I know it’s for the best but… seeing him cry, all I wanted to do was hug him. Let him know it’d be all right. Except I ran I… I couldn’t say anything. He was hurting and that – that made me hurt even worse. And then I felt glad he could feel hurt… it sorta spiraled from there.”

Cas hums, Dean’s mouth vibrating with the note. “You were overwhelmed,” Cas says, “there’s no reason for you to be ashamed.”

“Yes, there is.” Dean scowls, “I’m middle-aged, can gank a monster twice my size without blinking, but the second a situation gets too touchy-feely I stomp on the gas and speed through all the red lights.” While Dean talked about Jack, a highlight reel of all his shortcomings playing on a giant screen in his mind. Times where Dean’s emotions short-circuited. Fried his circuits, caused him more pain than necessary. Many of those scenes feature a recurring character, shaped like a man in a trench coat. It flickers out, leaving Dean with a blank slate. That fades, too, and Cas’s face is there.

“It’s not fear, Dean. Not at all,” he says. Protest swells, but with a sharp look from Cas it wanes. “Trust me, as someone who knows you… knows your soul, you – you are not afraid of feelings. Not at all.” He smiles, Dean leaning back for the full effect. Blessed by heavenly light. “On the contrary,” Cas continues, “You embrace your emotions. Unfortunately… sometimes you feel too much and that – that can be particularly difficult to manage. I remember when I was human, sometimes the smallest of ripples in my heart caused me great pains. Something modest like being cold or hungry… or in pain, were too much for me to express. Your capacity for feelings, your intelligence and understanding it’s… fantastic. But there are limits. We all have them. You feel too much sometimes that you cannot express yourself or even deal with them.”

Dean’s tears prick at the corners of his eyes, dangling. Still unshed. “It does feel like that,” he says, “Sometimes it’s… like there’s a highway, and it’s rush hour. Traffic on – on all sides. No one’s moving, and I’m behind the wheel and I want to go but I can’t and I… I get so angry that I can’t.” He lets go of Cas, slipping from his loose grip. “S’what I’m feeling right now.”

Cas accepts Dean’s need for distance, hands retreating into his pockets. “And what I’m here, to tell you, is this. You might be behind the wheel, but you’re hardly alone in that car. Sam’s there. Jack’s there. And I am most certainly there.”

Dean nods, wiping a hand down his face. “Thank you, Cas. I… needed this.”

“I’m glad to be of service, then.” Cas’s tone fell, a discordant pluck of the harp that triggered Dean’s worry. Before he could ask about it, his angel floats away. “I should let you get your rest. Today was exhausting…”

Halfway out the door, Dean stops him. “Cas, wait!”

“Yes?”

Standing there, framed by his doorway, waiting for Dean to continue with shining eyes, Dean thinks his angel never looked more gorgeous. And he wants to tell him. Despite how the words stick in his throat, the sweat dripping from his forehead, and how his feelings might be received, he wants to tell him. He wants to tell him everything. Finally.

That flame from earlier, snuffed out, relights. Burns hotter than Baby’s engine gunning down the highway. Ballooning, spreading through his veins and disorienting him. The room spins, his vision blurs, but Cas stays clear and firm. It’s right there, on the tip of his tongue –

“Yes, Dean?”

He’s cold. Doused by an untimely thought that quells any of his passionate desires, leaving him charred, ashen, and helpless.

Dean notices the frown lines around his mouth. The way his eyes drooped in a way they’ve never done. Shadows stretch across his body, slithering, hiding most of his expression from Dean. But he senses a tiredness there that, on Cas, seems foreign.

The moment passes. It wouldn’t feel right, anyway.

“Just…” his face hurts from the tight grin he forces, “I go both ways.” Blushing, he amends his statement. “I mean, I don’t have to give you all my baggage – I can… I can also help you carry some of yours, if you’d like?”

Cas tilts his head, light revealing a gentle smile. “I’d like that. Night, Dean.”

“Night Cas…”

A closing door never felt more ominous.

Dean stares at it, chewing on his lip. Chest aching, heart beating against it with the force of a storm wreaking havoc. He walks towards the switch, flipping it off. Bathing the room in shadows. Making it easier. “Cas,” he says aloud, looking ahead into the endless darkness. “I love you. After this is all over, and we don’t have any more fights heading our way… I’d like for you to stay. With me. And we can have the life we both deserve. I just… I want you to know what I’m fighting for. It’s not the world. It’s you. It’s us.”

He slips under the covers. Talking to empty air didn’t make the feelings disappear, or easier in dealing with. But it’s a start.

Maybe he’ll do better in the morning.

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel coda #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x13 destiny's child #better late than never lol

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kosmikowboj · 3 years

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here’s my contribution to dean’s 42nd birthday party :,) I love him so much and I’m so glad that he got cas back from the empty and they’re celebrating his birthday together good for him honestly

Birthday Bee

[read on AO3]

Dean was not used to a huge to-do on his birthday.

The most shocking thing that happened to him on the twenty-fourth day of January in the past forty-two years of his life—Jesus, he was getting too old for this hunting shit—was one morning two or so years ago when he had come into the bunker kitchen to find that Sam had made him french toast, topped with whipped cream and strawberries because Heaven forbid his brother dropped the healthy shtick for even one day (the strawberries had actually been delicious, but Sam “all the Whole Foods employees know me by name” Winchester did not need to know that). More common was his brother just got him a birthday card, and even more typical still—and what happened the vast majority of the time—was he just went “happy birthday, Dean” and then they would return to their hunt, or their research to find a hunt. Dean had all thirteen of the cards Sam had given him in a shoebox under his bed, the more recent of them being stock Hallmark cards but a couple being from when they were younger and Sam had stolen restaurant crayons to make his own. There was also one that Cas had made him, done in his messy cursive scrawl the one year he had had the time between killing things and doing weird angel business to make him one.

Cas.

That’s another thing he wasn’t used to.

Cas’s return from the Empty had been messy, ultimately ending with his grace in a bottle and the rest of him decidedly human, but for the most part he remained his weird little self. He wore his grace around on a cord like a dog tag, and so long as he had coffee, bagels, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he seemed largely fine with his new mortality, which was something Dean was still struggling to wrap his head around. Technically, they had only needed to remove his grace to get him out of the Empty, and now that he was back on Earth he could probably absorb it again without any consequences if he wanted to. Instead, Cas had just pointed out that he needed to sleep now but had nowhere to do it, which had led to Dean offering up his bed, and that had been that on that.

That was how Dean had found himself routinely waking up to a snoring not-angel pressed into his shoulder, his arm occasionally looped around his waist as he radiated warmth like some kind of once-divine heater. They never started out that way; Dean would very pointedly start the night out on the left, and Cas on the right, but they always woke up entangled somewhere in the middle. It wasn’t helped by the fact that human-Cas slept like a—well, to say “corpse” would be morbid, but it was the truth. It was pointless trying to hold a conversation with him in the morning unless he had had at least two cups of coffee, and dragging him out of bed to get the coffee was a feat in and of itself.

This was why there was a new contender for the most shocking thing to happen to Dean on the twenty-fourth day of January: Cas was already out of bed.

If he had been anyone else, his emotions probably would’ve stopped at “shock” and he would’ve just gotten up to go find him like a normal person. But, he was not anyone else, so instead “shock” progressed into “panic” and he grabbed the pistol from his nightstand drawer as he shot to his feet. He had enough clothes on not to offend anyone who might be lurking the halls, so he crept out of his room, following the sound of quiet chatter all the way to the kitchen with the pistol held flush against his hip.

“Cas, if you want it to be legible, don’t use syrup. It’s not going t—oh. Hi, Dean.”

Sam gave him an awkward smile from where he was standing over Cas and Jack, who appeared to be militantly arranging a plate of pancakes. Or rather, Cas seemed to be militantly arranging a plate of pancakes, carefully adorning them with syrup—Jack was standing next to him holding a can of whipped cream in eager anticipation.

“We’re not done yet. Shoo,” Cas said without looking up, but Dean could see a grin crinkling his features, so he shoved the pistol into his waistband and leaned against the wall of the entryway.

“Happy birthday Dean!” Jack yelled, taking a fistful of confetti out of his pocket and throwing it up into the air. The confetti that already littered the floor suggested he had been practicing for this moment all morning, and Dean let out a laugh.

“Pancakes, huh?”

Cas finally stood up and faced him, grinning. He looked...different, but Dean chalked it up to the pancake mix smeared on his nose and dusting his hair. “Yes, though I wouldn’t recommend eating the top one now. Jack got confetti on it.”

Jack stuck his tongue out at him, turning to the fridge to pull out a carton of orange juice. Dean crossed over to where the three were standing by the kitchen island, positioning himself across from them and eyeing the syrupy pancakes as he rested his elbows on the counter. He could vaguely make out what was maybe a “y” near the bottom of the top pancake, but it was even harder to read now that it was flecked with colorful paper bits.

“What were you trying to write?” he asked, and he started to reach for the pancake underneath the top one before Sam smacked his hand away.

“Get a fork, man,” he chided, “and let Jack put the whipped cream on first.” Dean rolled his eyes but drew his hand back obediently, fixing his gaze on Cas as he waited for an answer.

Cas’s face grew red with embarrassment. “I, uh, it’s supposed to say ‘happy birthday.’”

Dean laughed again, trying to hide how fond he was made by the fact that Cas, former Angel of the Lord and self-proclaimed raiser of Dean Winchester from “perdition,” didn’t understand that syrup, by nature, would soak everywhere after it was poured.

“I’m surprised Sam didn’t make you write it out in blueberries or somethin’, the fruit freak.”

Sam, who was mid-process of removing the tarnished top pancake, glowered at him.

“If you hate fruit so much, I’ll just throw out the apple pie I made then, too.”

“Hey now, that’s different,” Dean argued, watching as Sam set aside the confettied pancake for when one of them would inevitably scrape off the paper bits and feed it to Miracle, who was sitting patiently at Cas’s feet. Jack took the opportunity to lean forward and eagerly spray the remaining stack with whipped cream, and Sam stuck a candle in the middle.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” he said, faux-scowl replaced by a genuine smile as he lit the candle. “Here’s to another forty-two years of you being insufferable.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

With his chest feeling lighter than it had in years, Dean went to blow out the candle, but Jack stopped him with a very serious expression on his face.

“You have to make a wish,” he instructed.

Dean made an exaggerated display of thinking, and then blew out the candle.

“Well?” Jack prompted eagerly, and Dean chuckled.

“If I tell you, it isn’t gonna come true,” he pointed out, and Jack pouted at him before deciding that finding the secret box of Lucky Charms Dean had bought for him against Sam’s wishes was a better use of his time.

As the day progressed beyond breakfast, Dean was finding it harder and harder to hide his disbelief at just how much they had actually done for his birthday. Jack had forced them all into kitschy plastic cowboy hats the moment Dean had finished his pancakes, and then promptly dragged them all down to the Dean Cave where he proceeded to eagerly push presents with paw print wrapping paper into Dean’s hands. The first two had been from Sam, who had gotten him a cookbook—a normal one, thankfully, none of his weird “paleo” nonsense—and a beginner’s guide to guitar, so he could finally “learn to play the one hanging on the wall instead of leaving it untouched forever like some elitist rock and roll asshole.” Cas had gone next, much to Jack’s chagrin, and had gotten him an espresso machine to replace the dingy coffee maker in the kitchen. Dean had pointed out that it seemed more like a gift for himself rather than for him, and Cas had given him a non-committal shrug in response that had earned him a gentle shove. Jack, excited to have finally gotten his turn, had given him a handmade card (technically, they all had, but Jack’s was the only one that had brought him to tears because it said “Happy Birthday, Dad <3” in crayon along the top) and a John Wayne Monopoly set, which had led to hours of intense real estate wars broken only by dinner and pie before Cas was finally declared the winner.

Apparently, there had been plans for a movie and popcorn, too, but after their long and tedious game of Monopoly they had all agreed to just go to bed, so Dean now found himself heading back to his bedroom, tailed by Cas. He was chattering on about how Cas had definitely cheated, and even if he hadn’t how dare he not let him win on his birthday, when he entered the room and stopped. A small box, wrapped neatly in the same paw print wrapping paper and topped by a small blue bow, sat innocently in the middle of the bed. Dean raised an eyebrow and looked back at Cas.

“You know I hate surprises,” he warned jokingly. Cas rolled his eyes and brushed past him wordlessly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and patting the spot next to him. Dean took it, a small, bemused smile playing at his lips as Cas gingerly set the gift in his hands.

“What could be so outlandish that it had to wait until after the other two went to bed?” he asked, pulling on the ribbon.

“If you would stop jabbering and open it, you might find out,” Cas teased, bumping his shoulder. It was Dean’s turn for an eye roll, and he pulled back the wrapping to reveal a nondescript cardboard box. It felt warm in his hands, familiar, and he suddenly realized what had been bugging him about Cas earlier.

“Cas,” he exhaled quietly, fingers hovering on the box flap as he met Cas’s eyes. The warm blues were peering back at him with the same intensity as always, rocking seas focused on him and him alone. “I can’t accept this.”

“You haven’t even opened it yet,” Cas argued, still holding his gaze. Dean looked down at the box in his hands, speechless. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the faintest outline of blue peeking through the opening he had made by anxiously thumbing at the lid. He folded the top of the box back, swallowing thickly. Settled atop the neatly-coiled cord it was tied to, and pulsing softly with otherworldly blue flame, was the small glass vial that had hung around Cas’s neck ever since he had come back from the Empty.

“I don’t—Cas I can’t.”

With one hand, Cas reached over and pulled the bottle of his grace from the box by the cord. With the other, he took Dean’s hand and unfolded his fingers, revealing his palm. He placed the vial there, tenderly pressing Dean’s fingers back over so that they were holding the glass capsule.

“It’s a gift. I’ve been told you’re supposed to keep those.”

Dean looked up again and found Cas watching him with that same irrevocable fondness he had worn like a badge pretty much every day since he had returned. It made Dean’s breath catch, and he attempted a small laugh to offset how small he felt.

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?”

He dipped his head down, guiding the cord over and onto his neck. The vial fell against his chest with a quiet thud, and a small jolt ran through him at the contact. He cupped it with his palm, feeling the warmth emanating from it like a comforting hug.

“I’m still allowed to ask why,” he said then, voice hoarse and more than slightly choked as he watched vibrant indigos and cornflower blues swirl lazily against the glass.

“Because I love you,” Cas answered, tone matter-of-fact like it was the most natural and obvious thing in the entire world, “and I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”

And that.

That was the kicker.

Dean’s head fell forward into Cas’s shoulder, and he took in a shuddering breath as he repeated the sentence in his head over and over.

I’m not going anywhere.

In the months since Cas’s return, Dean had yet to return the three words that had saved his life, and he knew it was unfair of him but he had been terrified that if he admitted his feelings aloud everything would slip between his fingers again, the final cruel joke by a malevolent god that had realized the only way to break him was to give him hope that it might really all be over before crushing it beneath his boot.

I’m not going anywhere.

Cas’s hand was in his hair, carding his fingers through it like he so often did now, and Dean felt him kiss the top of his head. Seeing opportunity, Dean pulled back, and before nerves could get the better of him he frowned and said, “You missed.”

“What?” Cas was giving him a funny look, but Dean knew Cas wasn’t stupid. He could see the blatant recognition in the wide ocean eyes looking back at him, almost daring him to finish the thought.

“I said,” Dean repeated, and he leaned forward to press a very quick, very “first teenage romance” kiss to Cas’s lips. “You missed.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Dean was starting to panic that he had just fucked the whole thing up when Cas gave him a cheeky grin.

“Apologies,” Cas said. “You’ll have to let me try again.”

He grabbed Dean’s jaw with delicate hands and pulled him back towards him, kissing him with a loving tenderness that almost made him cry. He cupped Cas’s face in return, hands sliding back into his hair as he kissed him fervently, and almost broke away as laughter bubbled to his lips at the fact that kissing Cas was giving him genuine fuckin’ butterflies.

“I love you,” Dean said suddenly, opening his eyes so he could watch Cas as he said it. “I love you so much, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas replied, giving him that dumb grin again. Smartass, Dean thought fondly, and he shifted so his arms were wrapped around Cas’s waist in a loose hug as he pressed into his angel’s shoulder again. “Happy birthday, honeybee.”

Dean blushed furiously into Cas’s jacket, about to tell him off for being so sappy when Cas suddenly asked, “Did you actually wish for anything, or were you just entertaining Jack?”

“I did,” Dean answered. “It just came true.”

#supernatural #spn #destiel #dean winchester #dean's 42nd birthday party #he's literally the best birthday boy i love him #so much #castiel #cas #my writing #destiel fanfic

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ask-scp-aisling · 3 years

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Fine, though I will warn you that it may not be pleasant to face.

I think the whole reason you care so much about other people is because you are terrified that people will not find your friendship enough.—I’m guessing like your ex did not find your partnership enough. Therefore, you try to overextend yourself to compensate for what you believe you lack—regardless of whether you’re actually lacking anything. Adding the whole trauma surrounding your parents forgetting you, you’re ultimately scared of one thing; being left behind and forgotten.

You find your current crush to be appealing because they always either refuse your help or physically cannot accept it due to the ‘distance’. They’re independent. They care for others. In a way, you like them because you have a little breathing room. Sure, you still worry about them, but there will always be that relaxing thought in the back of your head that you already know how their story ends. They end up fine. A little traumatized and rough around the edges—but fine.

You however—your story is still playing out. You’re out of the Foundation. You have the chance to put that all behind you—and yet you cannot bring yourself to cut out the very same doctors and individuals that only weeks ago were the ones caging you in that hellhole. I suppose that is what I am trying to get you to understand—your reasoning behind maintaining this contact.

I’m not telling you to cut anyone out—it’d be silly to do so over a little bit of fun hair dye experimentation, but I believe it would be helpful for you to analyze precisely what your actions are and the emotions that you are associating with them.

- 💖

Uh. Wow. The only thing you got right there was the part about my parents. Everything else there is wild over-speculation. I'm almost impressed. So let's take this one step at a time.

I'm over the whole ex thing; that doesn't affect me anymore. It was three years ago.

I find my current crush "appealing" because I like him. It's that simple.

I worry about my friends because they're my friends and it's normal to worry and care about them.

I'm not cutting out Cimm and Clef and Jack and all them because they're not directly responsible for locking me up there; I'm not going to hold it against them. As for One, I'm getting back at him by harassing his blog.

Do I need to keep going?

#ash.txt

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday, ldyglfr62!

Happy Birthday, @ldyglfr62! We hope you’re having a wonderful day so far, complete with lots of presents and delicious cake! To keep your party going, the lovely @endlessnightlock has written a story just for you!

“Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot…”

“I can’t do it,” she laughed, wobbling on her feet a little as she tried to stand up. Johanna took one arm and Finnick the other and between the two of them, they managed to get her upright.

“Come on! No better way to get over a broken heart,” Johanna told her, placing the shot glass in her hand. Katniss was already so far gone, her friend had to curl her fingers around the glass to get her to hold on. That in and of itself meant that she probably should have stopped drinking.

But if she stopped drinking she’d have to start thinking about him again, and that wasn’t how she wanted to spend her evening. “My heart isn’t broken, We already broke up three years ago!” she told them, giggling under her breath in the way you could only do when you were both very drunk and very sad. The ultimate paradox.

Katniss cracked first one eye open and then the other, but quickly shut them again. The hotel room curtains were open only a minuscule amount, but it was more than enough to realize that daylight wasn’t her friend right now.

“What the hell?” she grumbled, slumping back down to the bed.

Katniss grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it over her head, aiming to block out the offense to her poor hung-over eyes. Everything hurt, even her sinuses seemed to be pulsing from the monster headache. Her stomach was queasy and her mouth tasted like she’d been eating a Brillo pad. And while she was in the middle of laying back down, she realized the feel of the sheets sliding across her skin meant she was naked.

“Oh no,” she whispered, peering down at herself from the safety of her place under the covers where that god-awful morning sun couldn’t get to her. She wasn’t someone who typically enjoyed sleeping in the nude- she wasn’t free-spirited, or whatever in the heck people called it when they were comfortable enough to hang out in the buff.

Katniss was kind of a prude and perfectly fine with that moniker. Peeta though, he’d been that way. It hadn’t been an overtly sexual thing with him either.

At the thought of him, a dull ache began in her chest. It wasn’t particularly absurd to be thinking about him this morning either. Katniss had run into him last night, in Nashville of all places, a hundred miles from home.

And seeing Peeta again had been the deciding factor in her decision to get blackout drunk- a terrible idea by the way. After that, she must’ve hooked up with some guy- one whose face she couldn’t remember at all.

But Peeta? God, she remembered Peeta from last night.

Katniss was out at one of the downtown bars with her colleagues after Friday evening’s last session- she and her co-workers stopped in after a late dinner due to Finnick’s prompting.

The moment she spotted Peeta in a corner having a drink with a small group of guys had been a shock.

She had no idea he was living in this part of Tennessee now. After working up the nerve to approach him, they stood next to the bar and made small talk for a few minutes.

Things were awkward, to say the least. Peeta seemed uncomfortable, while Katniss’s heart galloped in her chest the way she imagined those horse’s feet in the large mural on the back wall of the bar would if they were real animals and not just a painted image on brickwork.

A million things sat right there on the tip of her tongue while she tried not to gape at him- things she’d wanted to say since they’d broken up three years ago. Things she regretted and the way she missed him.

The only thing Katniss managed to force out was a banal conversation about their jobs, and after the short, stilted conversation where she at least found out Peeta had opened a branch of Mellark’s Bakery there in Nashville, he finished his drink, told her it’d been nice to see her again, and left the bar like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

And after that horrible encounter with him, the one that made her feel like both a fool and like she wanted to die inside, Katniss started drinking. Heavily. A stupidly large amount of alcohol, actually, for such a small woman.

And what had it gotten her? Here, alone in an empty hotel room, naked and hungover as hell.

Katniss sighed.

She thought about things for a moment, and realized that she and the mystery man must’ve used a condom at least, because while she didn’t feel like she’d had unprotected sex… she felt like she’d had sex. The boneless feeling in her legs, the tired muscles of her inner thighs, and higher. Her breasts felt tender like someone’s mouth had been on them and even her arms felt weak.

Before last night it’d certainly been a while. Katniss had been pretty sure her vagina was on the verge of closing in on itself from disuse, but still, she recognized the feeling. The more she laid under the cocoon of covers she’d made for herself, the more things came back to her. Little bits of things. Vague memories of flirting with a faceless man, being comfortable enough to kiss him, a blur of things in between. Later, being underneath him in this bed. Strong arms, and digging her fingers into his back, his ass. It must have been pretty good.

Now if she could only remember who he was.

Katniss screwed her eyes shut tighter against the pain in the back of her head. Trying to remember more details only made her headache worse. The things she needed were a gallon of water and some pain pills, but the only thing she thought she could handle was passing out again.

And she was almost asleep again when the bathroom door opened.

Katniss wasn’t alone. Whoever he was- he was still here. The guy probably wasn’t a serial killer or anything, because other than being extremely hungover she seemed fine (as hard as it was to tell), but still, it was unnerving not to know who was on the other side of the blanket.

She could hear the man getting closer to her, moving quietly through the room. She held her breath, assuming he was gathering up his things to sneak out.

What surprised her was the moment he pulled the covers back from his side of the bed and climbed in again.

Laying perfectly still, Katniss felt the blankets resettle around her.

Well if this wasn’t fucking awkward, she didn’t know what was.

Katniss wanted to roll over and look at him but couldn’t make herself.

This was why she didn’t have one-night stands.

“Are you awake yet?” the man asked.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the familiar voice. Hungover or not, she’d recognize him anywhere.

“Peeta?” she managed, lifting her head off the pillow slightly before letting it drop again. Katniss felt the bed move behind her. The motion must’ve been him rolling onto his side because he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his body.

“How are you?” he asked softly.

At his first touch, Katniss relaxed in his arms. Surprised is how I feel, she wanted to say. “Kind of like hell, but not,” she answered instead, still an honest response because while she’d never been more physically ill she’d also never been so… oddly happy.

How was it she had spent the night with Peeta? The last time she remembered seeing him was at the bar, very early in the evening.

“Same,” he muttered, tilting his head enough to reach the sensitive spot behind her ear. He kissed her there before settling down again.

“Are you hungover too?” Katniss asked, her hand snaking around his that was resting flush at her waist. His fingers were making soothing little circles there and she closed her eyes so she could enjoy the sensation even more. “Because I feel like I left the bar with more alcohol in my bloodstream than that Jack Daniels distillery we visited on Wednesday.”

“So, so much alcohol,” Peeta agreed with a huff. “But probably not as much as you. You got an earlier start on it than I did.”

His warm breath tickled the back of her neck. “I think I drank the city dry,” she groaned as she felt her stomach clench, and not pleasantly.

Katniss hoped she wasn’t going to be sick.

“Do you want some water?” he asked, drawing his hand away from her waist. He moved like he was going to get back up. “I should have brought you some before I laid back down.”

“In a minute,” Katniss said, using her hand to pull him tighter against her. “Don’t go anywhere yet,” she finished, quietly. She was afraid he’d disappear again. She was afraid to break whatever spell it was they were under this morning.

“Hey,” Peeta said, pulling his hand out from under her grip. The bed shifted as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and she missed the feel of him behind her already. “I’m not going anywhere- I’m just getting you something to drink. Maybe some aspirin.”

“You don’t have to go into work today?” she asked, inching the covers off her head so she could watch him, her eyes blurry and squinting. The sun seemed to have moved high enough that it wasn’t burning her retinas anymore, at least.

Peeta sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boxer briefs before reaching down and picking his shirt up off the floor. “No- it’s my Saturday off. Do you want this?” he asked, tossing the shirt to her.

Of course, he still remembered the way she used to steal them.

When he got up to go back to the bathroom, Katniss dropped the covers far enough to slip the white tee over her head. She gave the soft cotton a deep sniff once the hem was down around her hips. The pure bliss, the endorphin rush of his smell- cologne and clean sweat, she could smell him on her body as well, and if she wasn’t rocking a skull-pounding headache she’d have sworn it was one of the best moments of her life.

She still had no idea what Peeta was doing here, although she supposed she’d find out soon enough.

Katniss watched him walk out of the bathroom with two white tablets in hand and a cup of water just a few seconds later. “Thank you,” she said gratefully as he sat down next to her on the bed.

“Welcome,” he replied easily, handing everything to her. “I hope this helps.”

Katniss smiled at him. “It will,” she said, popping the tablets in her mouth with a grimace and taking a long drink of the water. She practically drained the cup in one go.

“Do you want more?” he asked, taking the paper cup from her and setting it on the floor.

Katniss shook her head and flopped back on the bed, wincing when her head hit the pillow.

“Since you said you don’t have to leave, will you lay down with me again?” she asked.

“Of course,” he told her.

Peeta got up and moved to the other side of the bed. He settled in next to Katniss and rubbed her back with the palm of his hand, the way he remembered she’d always liked until she fell asleep again.

Once he was sure that she was completely out, he reached over to the nightstand and pulled out the plain gold bands he’d slipped off their fingers after they made love the second time early this morning. Katniss had fallen asleep, but he’d just started to sober up at that point.

The rings hadn’t been a spur of the moment purchase.

Peeta had bought them three and a half years ago, just a few short months before their breakup, and he’d never been able to talk himself into getting rid of the matched set.

No matter how badly Katniss had broken his heart, he’d left those rings in the back of his dresser drawer where they remained undisturbed, gathering dust until last night when for some reason he shoved them into his pocket before leaving his house again to find her after taking the time to pull his head out of his ass.

And thank God, he found Katniss still there, drunk out of her mind but so happy to see him.

They both had a few more drinks, they cried a little, they kissed, and.. well, the evening (early morning if he was going to be technical about it) ended with Peeta using those rings with the girl he’d always wanted to use them with. Yeah, a quickie wedding at a cheesy wedding chapel hadn’t been the way he’d imagined it happening, but still.

Still. She was back in his life and he wasn’t going to let anything come between them again.

Peeta knew he was going to have to talk to Katniss about their impromptu trip to the 24-hour Chapel ‘O Love last night which she didn’t seem to remember, but for now, he decided to let her sleep. There’d be plenty of time to figure things out later.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by endlessnightlock

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