#[I never said I was a good person~~hence I have no qualms over throwing hands for certain muses]

[blossomingbellflower]

In this day and age, I still see Kikyou hate in the tags and on social media platforms. It sometimes goes like this:

Me: It's fine [not the tags--they shouldn't put hate in her tags but make a different tag for that nonsense], everyone is entitled to their opinion.

Also me: Pettiness triggered and intensified. C'mere a second ...

[1kook]

netflix & chill

summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality. warnings grinding, 2 seconds of sub kook, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla but [ passionate ], unprotected sex, dirty talk tags use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc wc 10.2k !! wow!!

will I ever write a serious jk fic? NO. this entire thing was based off this pic of jungkook which i’ve said before that i would print out in sepia filter and crumple and stuff in a drawer n then tell my kids 35 years from now was a long lost lover i met on a cruise to the bahamas and never saw again ty to mia more @daechwlta​ for being there during my brief crisis over this fic 🥺

When Namjoon had first not so subtly mentioned the idea of setting you up on a date, it was with a faux air of disinterest that you had masterfully pried the details out of him. Namjoon has a friend, he said, a friend who was kinda sorta attached to his hip. And while Namjoon loved the kid, he also thought this friend could use some social interaction outside of Namjoon.

Now you and Namjoon weren’t exactly the most conventional of friends for him to be proposing blind dates to you at whim. He was your senior at school, your mentor in your scholarship program, an educated man studying for his masters. So when he’d first uttered the words you were immediately on the fence. Sure, the two of you knew each other well and probably got along better than most mentor-mentee pairings among your year, but you doubt Namjoon knew enough of your tastes to offer you up for a blind date.

According to Namjoon, his friend was a kid in the same year as you, making him not so much as a kid as he was your classmate. You brushed it off at first, spewing some bullshit excuse that you’d rather focus on your studies, and how dating was a distraction to your education, as if you hadn’t spent the weekend prior binge watching some Spanish novella while you dutifully ignored your essay.

The second time Namjoon mentions it you agree on the spot. Life on campus could only be interesting for so long, so you might as well make the best of it and go on as many stupid dates as possible.

Namjoon is over the moon.

He tells you he’ll pass your phone number on over to that friend of his—“Jeon Jungkook”—and promises you you won’t regret this because his friend was amazing, really. And for Namjoon to sing his praises for just any underclassmen was unheard of. In fact, besides you, you don’t think Namjoon knows many other students younger than him, and if he did, you hardly doubt he would regard them so highly.

So he gives his friend your number, and so ends your weekly meeting with your mentor. You only realize on the walk back to your dorm that you forgot to ask him about some club at school, the whole goal of this week’s meeting, but by then you don’t really care, the whole conversation fading into the background.

In fact, you forget about the whole ordeal until Friday night rolls around and you’re once again, binge watching another novella on your laptop, when your phone suddenly vibrates.

You were by no means a loser at school, a friendless nobody, but you were also not the outgoing, school-spirited student on the front page of your school’s website, and thus had nearly every app that could produce a notification on your phone muted, every text thread silenced. The only notifications and messages you allowed were from your email and from your roommate, and considering the fact Doyeon was face down in a puddle of her own mid-semester tears right across from you, it was probably your email.

Much to your surprises, it isn’t that “Monday’s Class is CANCELLED” email you were hoping for, but instead some unknown number in a text notification. You roll your eyes, click it open thinking it’s a reminder from some store or from some guy claiming to be from your bank, only to pause at the words written inside the little grey bubble.

hey its jungkook!!! joon gave me your number to I guess ask you on a date soo are you free tmrw night??

The excessive punctuation reminds you a little bit of your kid sister back home and the dorky emails she’ll send you from time to time. It’s with that memory and a smile on your face, that you’re suddenly reminded of what exactly this message is saying. “Oh shit,” you mumble, moving to sit up and reread the text. Doyeon complaining loudly in the background has you reading it twice more before you understand it, and by then there’s a fluttery feeling in your chest.

You were by no means easily swayed by people, but this guy had received praise from Kim Namjoon of all people, so he definitely had some prestige to his name. He doesn’t seem overbearing from this one text he’d sent, but he also didn’t seem completely disinterested.  

You try to match his nonchalant energy, letting him know you were in fact free and down to meet him, just to let you know more details.

You won’t lie, there’s a giddy feeling bubbling within you at the prospect of getting all dolled up, hitting the town, pawning a free meal off some unsuspecting college soul, and maybe even hitting it off. It’s been a while since you’ve dated, sue you.

Jeon Jungkook’s response crushes those dreams as well as hurdles you straight into a nightmare.

cool!! was thinking i could cook for us at my place, drink a little wine, maybe Netflix and chill a little bit??

You are blown away by the absolute gall of this man, to butter you up by painting a pretty picture only to reduce you to a mere booty call. The fact he had felt confident enough to say all that within the same sentence blows your mind.

Did this Jeon Jungkook, who you had no idea of what he looked like, who had no idea of what you looked like, seriously just invite you over for some quote unquote Netflix and chill?

Who, in the ever living hell, was this guy who so sleazily invited women over to fuck with no qualms about who they were?

You’re offended that Namjoon would set you up like this, pawn you off to such a greasy friend. But then again, you guess not everyone knows their friends thoroughly, because this Jeon Jungkook flirtatiously inviting your over for some sex sounds nothing like the golden boy Kim Namjoon had raved about earlier this week. You click your phone off, tapping the device against your lips as you ponder how to best rip this jerk to shreds via text.

It’s amidst Doyeon cursing out her statistics teacher that an idea hits you.

Tomorrow was Saturday night, and as far as you knew, you really didn’t have anything else going on for you anyway. You’d take Jeon Jungkook’s offer, let him cook you a free meal and drink some of his wine. He mentioned having his own place, and vaguely you remember Namjoon saying he lived alone, hence his introverted tendencies, so you could slip in and out without doing that walk of shame through a boy’s dorm hall.

Not that there would be anything to feel shameful about. In fact, if you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality.

Ha! That would certainly teach the asshole not to use his poor, unsuspecting friends to reel in nice girls like you into one night stands.

You could practically feel the devil horns begging to poke out of your skull, the forked tail wiggling behind you, as you click your phone back on and text Jeon Jungkook a great!! what’s your address :)

——

Saturday morning and afternoon are as boring as they usually are. You do a little homework, and spend thirty minutes filling Doyeon in on your master plan, which she eats up and even gives you some pointers—“and then you can be like, ‘you sick freak, as if I’d let you near this 5-star, Michelin reviewed, Gordon Ramsey approved coochie’ and throw the whole plate at his head!”—before getting ready for your little date at Jeon Jungkook’s.

You try hard to look good, harder than you would have if he hadn’t offended you by reducing you to a booty call, and Doyeon helps. She does your eyebrows all nice and natural, dusts the thinnest shin of liquid highlighter across the high points of your face, the whole shebang until you’re looking like a sexy, glowing goddess. You shimmy into a pretty dress, nothing too fancy nor too casual, and even pull on those strappy sandals you’d bought on sale last winter before blowing a kiss to Doyeon and meeting your Uber downstairs.

You don’t quite remember what the reason behind Jeon Jungkook living in such a swanky neighborhood a few minutes from campus was, if it was from a job you vaguely recall Namjoon mentioning, or if it was just purely hereditary, but his place is nice. It’s a connected townhouse, something you’d expect a newly wed couple to live in and not some douchebag third year.

Worse comes to worse, you get banned from this rich neighborhood after humiliating one of its residents in his own home, not that you’d ever make it big enough to live here anyway.

You’d texted Namjoon sometime that morning to let him know you were meeting his friend, an ominous text with an even more ominous smiley face attached to it. But it seems Namjoon is easily blinded by underclassmen he trusts, if Jeon Jungkook’s assholish feats and your own suspicious behavior is anything to go by, because he texts you back a polite have fun! he’s a little shy, so it might take a while for the ball to start rolling hahahaha.

Shy my ass, you think closing the door of your Uber behind you. You double check the address that had been texted to you, walking up to the neat townhouse and knocking against the polished door.

It’s a little chilly, and you hope finding an Uber is easier later tonight when you make your grand escape. It’s between these thoughts that the door swings open, revealing the most handsome man you’ve ever met.

He’s attractive, disgustingly so, with dark hair and light brown tips to contrast, tickling his cheekbones. His dark eyes are round and imploring as they meet yours, gaze almost innocent and doe like as he takes you in. He’s got this soft, blue turtleneck on, and it looks like it should be a seasonal sweater reserved for the holidays but he pulls it off nicely on this premature spring night. His pretty pink lips move, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking.

“___?” He says, and his voice is deep, yet soft in its own unique way. You nod, like a stupid bobble head, because your throat constricted the moment this beautiful angel opened the door. “It’s cold outside, come in!” He urges you, out stretching his palm to make sure you don’t trip over the slight step up the door as he brings you into his home.

“Hi,” he exhales when you’re finally inside, standing a little too close to you in his small entryway.

“Hi,” you finally choke out, a little dazed by how handsome he is, and the sudden realization that you’re supposed to throw your glass of wine at him tonight because he’s a douchebag dawns on you. You blink yourself out of your stupor, taking a step back and gesturing towards your sandal clad feet.

“Oh!” Jeon Jungkook exclaims at the sudden realization. “I forgot to set out a pair of slippers for you,” he sheepishly admits, before he excuses himself to go get some. There’s a tiny ottoman pushed against the wall, beneath a long mirror, that you take a seat on it, carefully unstrapping your sandals.

All the while, you’re deep in thought.

It makes sense that someone like Jeon Jungkook was so forward in inviting you over for sex during your first interaction. Realistically speaking, the guy had it all. He lived alone in a swanky townhouse in a wealthy neighborhood (you finally remember Namjoon saying he did some app developing for major companies—yeah, still in college but already making it big because he was that good), and looked like the blueprint for the perfect man, someone who’d impress your parents. On top of that, the man was was a 21st century Adonis. You hadn’t missed the flash of ink on his knuckles, or the way his jeans had hugged his legs.

He’s making his way back now, inspecting the slippers in his hands, and you don’t miss the way the jeans are pulled taut around his thighs in particular.

Yeah, he definitely knew his way around a woman’s body, there was no way he couldn’t have.

You slip your feet into the slippers he places before you, wiggling your toes around, before glancing back at Jungkook. He smiles warmly, a little beauty mark beneath his lip making itself known. He takes your hand, pulls you up onto your feet, and begins guiding you down the hall and to what you assume is the kitchen.

“I didn’t know what you liked, and I figured asking you three hours before you came over would be too awkward,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at you again, and upon seeing your inquisitive stare, quickly turns away with flushed cheeks.

Oh this man knew the game, and he knew it well.

Jeon Jungkook still thinks he can play that cute campus boy being set up by his senior card now, after he’d shown you his true colors last night via text. But he has a big storm coming. As much as you could admit he was good to look at, you would not be fooled by some pretty face and tasty food. No, you came here with one goal and one goal only, and that was to give Jeon Jungkook a piece of his own two-faced medicine before running off to tattle to Namjoon.

You reach the kitchen and the heavenly smell of Alfredo sauce swarms your nostrils. “I… I’m still new to cooking, so I hope you don’t mind some Alfredo pasta,” he admits, shy smile adorning his features as he avoids your gaze once again to toy with the dish towel by the sink.

You creep closer to the counter, where two meticulously presented ceramic plates sit beside a wine bottle, and the glands in your mouth suddenly go into overdrive in their rush to make you salivate, and you choke out an overly eager, “it looks amazing!” before you know it.

Okay, you came here with two goals.

——

Jungkook carries the two bowls in his big hands to the dining room beside the kitchen, and you follow behind with the bottle of wine and two glasses as you set the table together. The utensils are already there, but Jungkook runs back into the kitchen anyway to return with some fancy cloth napkins for the two of you.

Just as you're tugging a chair out to sit, Jungkook beats you to it. “Ah, let me,” he smiles, and your heart thunders nervously in your chest as you return the expression, brushing your hands beneath you before sitting down and letting him push you in. Jungkook takes his own seat in front of you, and before you can dig in he calls out to seemingly nobody, “Alexa, dim the dining room lights.”

The overhead lights dim, and with their overbearing glow gone, you can finally appreciate the battery powered candles snuggled neatly into a little bowl on the table between you two. You ooh appreciatively, and Jungkook looks proud of himself.

Then, he says, “Alexa, play…Date Night Playlist.”

You blink, and a soft piano tune begins filtering through a speaker he’s hidden somewhere in the room. Even with the fake candles being your main source of light, the flush on Jungkook’s cheeks is evident as he gestures towards you to eat.

You won’t lie. Jeon Jungkook was extremely endearing.

This much becomes evident the further you get into the meal. As small talk devolves into full fledged conversations and story telling, his shy demeanor slipping away but still sticking to the edges of his personality, you begin to have a more difficult time connecting this Jungkook to the one who had less than 24 hours ago asked you to come over and “Netflix and chill” with him.

But the more you speak, the more distant that image begins to feel. For one, Jungkook does put on a fairly reserved aura for you, telling you about his job but refusing to brag about it even when you egg him on. He has no qualms gassing up his friends, Namjoon in particular, who Jungkook claims is his role model for some unknown reason, given the fact they are neither in the same major nor in any of the same clubs. They’re friends, point blank period, but Namjoon is very obviously a star in Jungkook’s eyes.

Additionally, he’s quite embarrassed to admit why Namjoon had been so set on getting Jungkook to date, but eventually tells you it’s because Jungkook’s last girlfriend had been during your freshman year—two whole years ago! It makes you wonder what he’d been doing since then, if he’d used the time to fully invest in his work or if he’d been mingling around, unbeknownst to his friends, which would explain the flirtatious offer that landed you here.

Still, a part of you refuses to believe last night’s Jungkook and tonight’s Jungkook were one in the same, and if they were, what had made this shy man so unabashedly invite you over for some sex. Was this act all a ploy? Or maybe, was he purposefully trying to ward you away by coming off as a gentleman now that he’d seen your face and wasn’t interested in you anymore?

Apparently it’s neither of the two, and you don’t realize this until you finish your meal and make your way into his living room to finally get down to the long awaited Netflix and chilling. It’s only when you sit down on the couch, smack dab in the middle, because at this point, you’re not gonna throw your wine at Jeon Jungkook like you planned, he was too nice. And if this niceness was an act to get in your panties, you didn’t care at this point. He was hot, achingly so, and at least you’d get a good fuck out of it.

But as you said, apparently not. Because Jeon Jungkook sees you purposefully take up the entire middle of the couch, sultry eyes staring him down, and decides to sit flush against the armrest, somehow leaving a good foot between the two of you, despite the fact you’re sitting next to each other.

Your brain can’t work fast enough to comprehend the situation, before he’s asking you what you want to watch. “Um,” you say, pointedly staring at him and not the screen. “Tr-Transformers?”

The way Jungkook’s eyes light up is insane, already round eyes nearly popping out of their sockets as he eagerly rushes to select it from whatever streaming service he has, probably not even Netflix, all the while chattering on about how much he loves that series, and is so glad you do too.

The whole time, you’re struck by the oddness of his casual tone, the way he’s overly invested in the 20th Century Fox opening, and how he’s very carefully avoiding intruding in on your personal space.

The last point in particular has you wanting to pull your hair out, because you want Jeon Jungkook intruding in on your personal space. You want him pressed so tightly against you you can’t breathe, you can’t move, until you’re drowning in him as he finally lives up to his promise of some Netflix and chill, because you want him, and you want him so. very. bad.

“Oh, I forgot the popcorn!” Jungkook exclaims, and you jump at the sudden volume of his voice, because he’d been pretty silent as he avidly watched the first few minutes of the movie. “Sorry,” he chuckles, and his leg brushes against yours as he shuffles between you and the coffee table on his way out. You vaguely hear the popping of the popcorn in the kitchen, but you’re too distracted by your suddenly overwhelming thoughts.

Okay, one thing was for sure, and that was that Jeon Jungkook definitely had no fucking idea what the phrase Netflix and chill meant, because the way he’d zeroed in on the movie and the popcorn, and not you, was unheard of on such invitations. You deduce he probably heard it somewhere, and, now understanding the true nature of Jungkook’s sweet and shy personality, made no such perverted connection to the phrase.

Which meant he most definitely did not demean you to a mere booty call, like you’d deluded yourself into believing, someone he could hump and dump with no regrets, before calling Namjoon up to thank him. Which meant he’d had no ulterior motives in meeting you tonight, just planning to get to know you at the suggestion of his friend, and had—unbeknownst to him—successfully wooed you thus far.

Which was great! If you turned a blind eye to the evil, conniving plans you’d made without even meeting the guy, and the subsequent flood of self-inflicted disapproval when you realized Jeon Jungkook was a sweetheart who definitely did not deserve having a glass of wine thrown at his face after making you a home cooked meal and giving you the full Olive Garden experience, with his dimmed lights and candlelit dinner and piano music on the background.

Yeah. Perfectly fine.

The only problem now was that you had become so dangerously smitten with the man that you wanted to sleep with him. You wanted that Netflix and chill, needed it like it was the last slot in a daycare class and you were a soccer mom of five wanting to get at least one kid out of the house for the summer for the sake of her own sanity. You were desperate.

No, you scold yourself. This was fine, this was good, this was perfectly okay. If anything, this just further made you enamored with Jungkook, because it proved how gentlemanly he was by not trying to sleep with you on the first date.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, the devil on your shoulder crooned.

The microwave in the kitchen stops, and you hear the sound of cabinets opening as Jungkook pours the popcorn into a bowl. On screen, the main character is meeting a bunch of giant cars-turned-robots, you don’t fucking know.

But the devil was right.

Jungkook hadn’t offered to sleep with you, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Furthermore, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be seduced into wanting to, your evil brain suggested, and the hope that had slithered it’s way into your chest from the very moment Jungkook had opened the door, took that fact and ran with it.

“What’d I miss?” Jungkook says when he returns, popcorn bowl in hand.

“Oh, um, he was with the car,” you offer, trying to stop the nefarious smirk from slipping onto your features. Jungkook laughs, cute and airy as he shuffles past you.

He’s too absorbed in the screen, not looking as he sits down, closer than last time until his thigh brushes yours and he jerks back in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry,” he flounders, goes to move away but you act fast.

You grab onto his upper arm with both of yours like an octopus, keeping him flush to you as you gaze up at him with wide eyes. “No, it’s okay,” you rush to assure him, loosening your hold as he tentatively relaxes beside you. You glance down at the popcorn bowl in his hand, swiping a piece to pop between your lips. “It’s easier for us this way,” you say, and you’re pulling that straight out of your ass, because you hate popcorn and have literally zero desire for it and wouldn’t have reached for it anyway if you weren’t trying to convince him this was all for popcorn sharing purposes.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flicker down to where you’re munching on that popcorn, your lips, before he’s quickly averting his gaze. “Ah, y-yeah,” he agrees, and though he tries to relax back into the couch, you can still feel the tension of his muscles as he settles beside you.

With his eyes no longer trained on you, you snuggle closer into his side resting your cheek against the soft material covering his shoulder, finally letting that devious smirk slip onto your face. You keep yourself close to Jungkook, loving the way his warmth permeates the thick sweater he’s wearing, even if he’s still overly into the movie. You know he’s seen it before, because he keeps telling you random tidbits like, “they use this in the next movie!” Or “he ends up becoming really important in the sixth movie,” and you want to listen to this endearing nerd’s commentary, you really do, but once your brain is stuck on horny, it is stuck on horny.

He doesn’t even eat a lot of popcorn, setting it down not ten minutes later onto the coffee table. You release him as he moves forward, but quickly latch onto him again when he sits back down.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook is way more relaxed then, shrugging you off to rest his hand on the couch behind you, and you inwardly squeal at the prospect of getting to cuddle up to his body, and not just his arm. You cuddle in close to him, leaving your slippers on the ground as you tuck your legs up onto the couch cushions.

Jungkook is so warm and firm, and you know it’s your horny brain speaking, but you swear you feel a tight set of abs underneath the palm you rest on his stomach, and you give an experimental brush over the area. His heart picks up, you hear it by where your head is leaning against his chest, and you tilt your head up to give him a curious glance. His cheeks are red, and he doesn’t look at you even though you know he sees you, so you decide to kick things up a notch.

You sigh loudly, peeling yourself away from him to properly level him with a pout. “Jungkook, aren’t you hot in this?” You ask, pinching the wooly material between two fingers and pulling it from his skin. Jungkook finally looks away from the screen, nibbling his lower lip as he takes in your quizzical expression.

“Um, only a little… but it’s fine!” He rushes to say, and you recall from your conversations over dinner that Jungkook doesn’t much like people fussing over him, so you quickly change gears.

You press a hand against your cheek, the same one that had been resting against his shoulder earlier. “Oh, well… it’s really itchy,” you announce, and his eyes widen, one hand absentmindedly reaching to clutch the material at his chest. “It’s making me really itchy,” you emphasize, and part of you feels bad for taking advantage of his caring nature, but this is all for the greater good, you convince yourself. “Do you mind taking it off?”

“I, uh, yeah,” he agrees, reaching for the hem of his sweater before carefully peeling it off. When he pulls it over his head, you can’t help the triumphant grin that overtakes your face, though you quickly mask it when he finally frees himself from the material. “Better?” He says once he’s clad in only a plain black shirt.

“Mm, much,” you sigh, and nearly soak your panties then and there when a tattooed sleeve comes into view. “Woah!” You exclaim, snatching his wrists up to examine his skin. “What’s this?” You marvel, tracing every inch of delicious skin with your predatory gaze. Jungkook huffs out a laugh, and you glance up to watch as he rubs the back of his neck in that same embarrassed way he’d done multiple times throughout your night together.

“My tattoos,” he says, and then seems to realize the simplicity of his statement and rushes to add to it, “I hope you don’t mind?”

You hum, shifting onto your knees to face him as you continue tracing over a huge tiger lily by his forearm. “Why would I? It’s your body,” you say, and watch the nervous glance melt off his face as he regards you with something new. Something akin to wonder as he lets you trace over more of his ink, nodding along to your words.

“Yeah… yeah!” He agrees, and you grin at his sudden zeal. He chuckles, physically relaxing beneath your touch, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s been all night as you continue rubbing your hands over every tattoo on his skin, and then purposefully focusing on the ones near his bicep. “Sorry, ‘m just used to people pushing off their own opinions about them onto me,” he explains, and for a moment, the horniness that had been fueling you all night fades away, and you let your hands trail down, past his wrist, until you’re sandwiching his hand between yours.

“Fuck what anyone else thinks,” you tell him, eyes hard as you imagine anyone imposing their stupid thoughts on Jungkook, who was too good for this world. “If you think they’re cool, then they're the coolest thing in the world.”

He smiles at you, and you’ve seen this smile about a million times tonight—when you first came in, when you talked about yourself at dinner, when you mentioned this stupid movie—but it has something swelling in your chest. Something too intimate for a first date, so you quickly move to repress it.

Glancing down at his hand in yours, littered with smaller tattoos across his knuckles, your brain whirls into action. Bringing it up between the two of you, you turn his hand over to line your palms up. “Wow, your hands are so big,” you sigh, slowly reverting back to dirty thoughts as you twist yours and Jungkook’s hands this way and that. He snorts, bends the tips of his fingers over yours just to hear you ooooh again.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big,” he agrees, completely ignoring the film playing on the screen, which is a huge win in your eyes considering how deeply he’d been watching it earlier.

Finally, you see an opening and pounce.

“Well, that means something else is pretty big too,” you murmur, chancing a glance up at his face. His face is the perfect definition of composed, and you can tell when exactly he processes your words because those little pink lips part in surprise, red slowly filling the apples of his cheeks. You let go of his palm, letting it slide between your fingers until it falls limp beside him.

Jungkook watches you with wide eyes, as you raise yourself up onto your knees. “Jungkook?” You mumble, giving him no warning before you’re throwing a leg across his lap, knees pressed into the couch on either side of his thighs.

“Y-Yes?” He stutters, brown hair falling away from his face as he stares up at you. You flash him a sweet smile, and you can tell it relaxes him because his fists unclench beside him.

“You’re a really nice boy,” you sigh, and when you’ve scooted your knees a little closer to his ridiculously thin waist, you finally let yourself sit. You find yourself right before his crotch, which he desperately tries to hide as he shifts around, but can’t with you on top of him. You let your hands flutter to rest at his shoulders, and he gulps. “You’re so sweet and cute,” you add, relish in the flush that climbs up to his ears. “But I’m a little sad you invited me over to Netflix and chill, but won’t do just that,” you pout, a finger tangling itself in a soft strand at the back of his head.

“Huh?” He stutters, eyes nearly bulging out when you wiggle around again. “I-I’m sorry?” He huffs, and when you move too close to his crotch, where his jeans are slowly growing more and more strained, he panics and reaches a hand out to steady your waist.

You feign confusion, flashing him another pout as you duck closer until your noses bump against each other. “You know what it means, don’t you, Jungkook?” You inquire, eyes falling dangerously lidded as you swallow up every inch of his appearances.

He stutters, hands moving up and down as if he doesn’t know where to put them anymore. But you know exactly where Jungkook can put those hands, and you waste no time catching his wrists in your hands to guide him towards your hips. “No?” He breathes, fingers flexing against you, and you smile sweetly at him.

“It means,” you purr, shifting forward until you’re flush against where you need him most. You can barely contain the whimper that climbs out of your throat when you finally feel the rough material of his jeans against your panties. “It means you wanna fuck, Jungkook,” you exhale, tossing your head back as your body basks in the slight reprieve, the way Jungkook squirms beneath you aiding greatly in providing that sensation you craved.

“It’s nothing more than an excuse,” you huff, placing a hand on the back of his neck to steady yourself. At your touch, Jungkook jolts, thighs jumping beneath you and you stifle another groan when the zipper of his jeans prods against your core. “For you to fuck my brains out while some s-stupid movie plays in the background.”

You’re not sure when, but sometime during that last explanation your hands had fully delved into the thick tresses of Jungkook’s hair. You give an experimental tug, and poor Jungkook, so lost in all that you’re telling him, lolls his head back for you easily until the long expanse of his neck is available, soft creamy skin yours for the taking.

You pounce, kissing the skin gently at first, before sprinkling in a handful of nibbles. He’s sensitive, devastatingly so, as he gasps at a particular suck. You suction your lips on the spot below his ear, carefully biting down on the skin as he unravels beneath you. “Will you do it, Jungkookie?” You murmur against the shell of his ear,

He nods eagerly, and his fingers hurt where he’s pressed them deep into your waist, like he’s trying to brand you as his with his mere strength alone. “Y-Yes,” he exhales, hips jerking when you swipe your tongue over the pretty mark you’d left on his perfect skin.

You smother your smirk against his neck, grinding down on him once again. “Yes what?” You tease, and let his strong hands roll you against him afterwards.

“Yes, I-I’ll…” he stumbles, eyes dazed as he watches you through hooded lids. You raise a brow at him, shifting in his lap. It’s enough to kickstart him back up, and he’s biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you just like you want,” he rambles. He surprises you when he begins rutting up against you, so animalistic and uncontrolled, nothing like the sweet Jungkook that had indulged you over dinner. “I’ll make you come, p-promise,” he rasps.

You smirk down at him, hoping he doesn’t see the metaphorical horns sticking out of your head the further he falls into your trap. Before he can say anything else, you surge forward, slotting your mouths together for the first time that night.

It’s no surprise that Jungkook kisses just like he speaks, carefully like he’s afraid one hard press of his lips will ward you off. His lips are smooth, a fact you’d hyper-fixated on all night as he spoke, but before you can ponder on that any further, something hot and wet is prodding at your lower lip.

The gasp you barely manage to contain ends up escaping anyway when Jungkook’s hand comes up to cup the side of your face, tilting your head to the side as his tongue slithers into your mouth. You become obsessed with the way he touches you, every bit the gentlemen he’d been all night, fingers just barely pressing into your cheek like he doesn’t want to mess up your makeup. His other hand, snuggly wrapped around your waist, pulls you tighter against him until your chests are pressed together.

And that tongue. That tongue of his that leaves no room for argument, quickly shutting down any attempts of yours to overtake him. He’s graceful about it too, one nudge enough to convince you he’s got this, he’ll take care of you. You whimper, a sound Jungkook swallows before he’s biting down on your lower lip.

When he pulls away, his lips are red and glossy, and you wonder if yours are too. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he sighs, gazing at you like he can’t believe you’re there in front of him.

Before you can say anything else, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck to brush kisses over your skin. “Let me eat you out,” he begs, but his voice is so silky and smooth that it doesn’t sound so much as a plea as much as it does a suggestion. He licks a stripe up your neck, and you jump in his hold.

It’s at this moment where the sudden realization hits you, the feeling of having the reins yanked out of your hands. You so vividly controlled every aspect of Jungkook just a few moments ago, when you’d had your own mouth on his neck, and carefully coaxed him into some sex.

But it seems Jeon Jungkook isn’t as soft or as pliable as you had dubbed him to be, and if the way he’s begun subtly rolling your hips into his crotch is any sign, he certainly wasn’t the submissive type either. Which leaves you wondering, exactly what type of person was Jungkook in bed?

Well, you had all night to figure that out.

“Hey,” he whines suddenly, ripping you out of your thoughts. You glance down at him, registering the bored set of his eyes and the unimpressed quirk of his lips. “Pay attention to me.”

You blink, lips twitching. You can barely muffle the giggle that tears itself from your throat, leaning your forehead on his shoulder as your body shakes at his suddenly childish words. Jungkook chuckles too, as if suddenly realizing how out of place his own statement was. “Sorry,” he smiles, cheeks pleasantly rosy and you can’t even stop yourself from kissing him silly.

Jungkook, bless his heart, let’s you rain down a good three kisses on him before he’s pushing you down on the couch beside him. There’s still a slight gleam in his eyes, but the rest of his face schools itself into a hungry expression as he drinks in your body laid out before him. “Let me eat you out?” He asks again, voice but a soft whisper.

You nod, heart beating loudly in your chest as he shuffles down until he can press a kiss to the tops of your thighs. He hasn’t even done anything that intense yet, but you already feel the muscles in your leg ready to spasm just from his proximity.

He’s mouthing at your skin, nudging your legs apart, and you, usually so confident in your sexuality, can’t find the courage to look at him as he so lovingly carries out his ministrations.

As if sensing your sudden bout of shyness (you! shy! Doyeon was gonna tease you about this for the rest of your life once you recapped this for her), he places a soft kiss just below where the hem of your dress begins, before pulling back and uttering, “this okay?”

You hum in response, face warm from just imagining how good he must look down there, peppering your skin with kisses. Your heart nearly rips itself out of your chest when a strong set of fingers wraps around your wrist suddenly, sliding over and around your hand until he’s tangled them with yours.

At this, you nearly break your neck trying to look at him, only to be met with an amused smile. Jungkook gives your hand a squeeze, and you barely get to appreciate the schoolgirl flood of emotions in your chest, when suddenly his free hand comes out of left field, cupping the back of your knee to push your legs further apart, before gliding across the expanse of your thigh to push your dress up.

If Jungkook holding your hand was enough to make your heart skip a beat, Jungkook pressing a chaste kiss to your panty-clad mound was enough to send you into cardiac arrest. Your leg twitches at the sudden touch, a gasp catching in your throat at the delicate path he kisses over your panties, until he’s flicking his tongue over your clit. “Oh,” you moan, and against your better judgment, your free hand is tangling itself in his silky strands.

Jungkook smirks, what sounds like a tiny chuckle muffled as he continues mouthing along your sex, until your panties are soaked both from your arousal and his saliva. Your little thong stares him in the face, and he groans at the sight, glancing up at you with those wide eyes of his like you’re his entire world. “Can I?”

Jungkook gives your clit one final kiss, before he lets go of your hand, and you can’t help the whine that leaves you upon the lost contact. Jungkook eats it up, pressing a kiss turned smile against your knee as he tugs your underwear down. It coils up as it goes, until he’s pulling a tightly twisted maroon thong off your ankles, and tossing it off somewhere behind him.

If his mouth felt good through your panties, it feels even better without. You mewl when he brushes his lips over your clit, plush lips working your sensitive bundle of nerves, sly tongue occasionally creeping out to toy with you further. “Jungkook,” you cry out, back arching. He licks and slurps likes he’s a starved man, and you're the first meal he’s ever had. You want to sob from how good it feels, his tongue flicking over your bud like he just can’t get enough.

He pulls away to catch your gaze, doesn’t let it go as he runs a lone finger over your slit, coating the digit in your own arousal, before carefully plunging it into your warm, wet heat. “Is this good?” He rasps out, watching your facial expressions carefully as he wiggles his finger deeper into your core, his other hand wrapped around your thigh to keep you still. You moan, feeling like a boneless heap of organs beneath this insanely handsome man who can’t keep his hands off your quivering pussy.

His fingers don’t let up, slowly pulling out before plunging back in. The room fills with disgustingly wet sounds, but that fact drifts to the back of your head the faster his fingers go. Your eyes roll into your head, your body twitching with each press of his fingers.

“Is it good, pretty?” He repeats, and since you’re not looking at him anymore, the sudden lick against your clit has your back arching and your thighs quivering with surprise. “Tell me it’s good, ___,” Jungkook croons, and you nod in a hurry.

“It’s good!” You cry, moaning loudly when he slips another finger into you, scissoring the two inside of you. “It’s so good, Jungkook—y-you’re so good,” you moan, and nearly cry actual tears when he curls his fingers inside of you, pressing down against the most sensitive spot within you.

Jungkook doesn’t let up, continues licking and slurping against your sensitive bud, even when your orgasm hits and you’re begging him to stop. He doesn’t let you go until he feels the warmth coat his fingers, feels the wetness begging to seep out of your plugged pussy. He lets you go then, only to move closer to your hole and replace his fingers with his mouth. There, he carefully catches and collects the cum that trickles out, mouth warm against your trembling body.

Your body quivers with each long drag of his tongue over your sensitive cunt, and you’re about to ask him to stop, when he finally pulls away and pushes himself over you, arms caging you in as he stares down at your withered form. “Kiss,” you manage to gasp out, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow in question. “Kiss me,” you repeat, and then, thoughtfully, “please.”

Jungkook complies, leans down to connect your mouths in a sweet kiss. You’re blinded by the delicacy of it all, that you in no way see coming the sudden substance that slides down your throat from his own. You choke at the sudden intrusion, belatedly realizing it’s your cum he’s pushing down your throat, the cum he didn’t swallow.

“That’s it, pretty,” Jungkook croons, licking up the residual come that hadn’t made it into your mouth. “See how you taste for me. Isn’t it sweet?” He murmurs, pushing his tongue into your mouth as if he regretted not saving any for himself. It’s the first time you’ve had your own pleasure in your mouth, so you’re not exactly sure how to feel. What you do feel is the overwhelming surge of arousal at seeing Jungkook rave about it and lap it up inside your own mouth.

He kisses you for a few moments, mouth moving languidly along yours. One hand reaches down to rub soothingly at your inner thigh, like he’s coaxing the feeling back into your body after lulling you into one of the most heavenly orgasms of your entire life. You whimper when he bites down on your lower lip, like you’re still too sensitive to reciprocate, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. He lets you go, licks over where he’d bitten like an apology.

After a few minutes of just this, of feeling like the most cherished girl in the entire world, Jungkook finally pulls away and levels you with a dashing smile. “All good?” He asks, hands still trailing up your waist until they’re framing the swell of your breasts, where he gently circles your nipple.

You nod, dazedly staring up at him and it’s at this exact moment that you realize there’s something stiff poking at your hip. You glance down, and Jungkook glances down with you, until you’re both staring at the hard on he’s hiding beneath his jeans. Jungkook chuckles, low and dark by your ear as he experimentally presses it against you.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is untangling itself from around his shoulders and slithering down his front. You cup his erection, his shaky exhale giving you the courage to toy with his belt buckle until it’s undone and you're battling with the button on his jeans instead. You put up a good fight, but in the end the angle is too tight for you to properly undo it, and Jungkook brushes your hands away with a soft kiss to your lips.

He pushes himself off you, and you’re immediately craving the warm press of his body against yours the second he’s gone. “Get that dress off for me, pretty girl,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, rendering you completely speechless as you gawk at his body. Jungkook glances down at you as he goes to undo his pants, a shapely brow raising in your direction and a soft quirk of his lips gesturing for you to do as you’re told.

You spur into action, wiggling the dress up and over your breasts until you’re pulling it over your head and letting it drop beside you on the floor. You’re just in time to see Jungkook push his jeans down his hips, a classic black Calvin Klein underwear band glaring back at you.

The chance to marvel at Jungkook’s thin waist framed by that tight underwear is gone as quickly as it came, and you’re greeted with an even more mouthwatering sight when he pushes the elastic band down, and that big cock you had alluded to springs out of its confines. You groan, subconsciously rolling your hips into the air as you take in the sight of his cock, mushroom tip swollen and flushed. There’s a thick vein that runs along the underside of it, one you only see when Jungkook grasps his dick in his hand and tugs upward like this isn’t his true form, and he can get bigger.

“Ready?” He asks, biting down on his lip as he continues to stroke himself. You nod, wiggling closer to him until the backs of your thighs rest on top of his, knees knocking against his waist. He grants you one more of those kind smiles, before he’s leaning down to press a hand beside your head, the other lining himself up with your soaked entrance.

Running his cock over your folds one last time, collecting as much of your cum as he can, he brushes a kiss against your cheekbone before he’s pushing in. You moan, throwing your hands around his neck as he pierces through the initial ring of muscle surrounding your warm heat. “Holy shit,” you choke, mouth dropped open as you pant like a dog against his shoulder. “J-Jungkook,” you cry, legs tightening around his waist the closer his body presses against yours.

Once he’s at the hilt, pelvis flush against you, you can’t help the series of whines and mewls that escape your lips from being so comfortably filled to the brim.

To your surprise, Jungkook is the first to speak. “Fuck,” he groans, breath hot against your ear. He sounds fucked out, once silky voice raspy with need as he grinds his hips against you tentatively. “This is what you wanted, isn't it?” He huffs, both hands coming down to wrap around your waist, your back arching under the wonderful hands that find themselves squeezing every inch of your back in an effort to pull you closer.

His mouth brushes against yours from this new position, and Jungkook puckers his lips, tongue coming out to lick at your bottom lip. You nearly cry when he finally pulls his hips away, relieves his cock from your tight heat before surging back in. “Wanted this from the moment you walked in, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Jungkook grunts, repeats the same motion until he’s picked up a steady pace of pushing and pulling, each roll of his hips sending a shock of ecstasy crawling up your spine.

You nod, eyes screwed shut as pleasure warms every inch of your body. It’s even worse to not see, because every sound and every touch is magnified tenfold, until you’re drowning in sensations. Jungkook’s choked groans, the slide of his hips, they all become too much too quickly and you’re choking back a sob.

“Fuck,” he groans, glancing down at your withered form like an animal as he picks up his pace. His hold on you tightens, never letting your body move away from him and he begins jack hammering in his thrusts, swallowing your cries with his lips. “Had me thinking you were a nice girl,” he huffs, and you wonder if he knows how tightly he’s holding you, how this grip will most likely leave you with fingerprint bruises tomorrow morning. But then again, you don’t care. All you care about is Jungkook’s voice and his body, guiding you toward completion. “But all you wanted was a quick fuck.”

You steel yourself to look at him again, and when your eyes finally open and focus, you’re wishing you hadn’t because Jungkook looks so hot over you. His pretty eyes, the ones that had led you into a false sense of comfort throughout the night and tricked you into believing he would be easy to bend to your every whim, are hard now. “Isn’t that right, doll?” He spits, and you whine when he punctuates this question with a particularly brutal thrust of his hips. His balls slap against your ass, and you squirm beneath him as you begin to feel the beginnings of an orgasm build in your core.

“I-I thought—“ you stammer, tone pitched from the way he jostles you with every thrust he gives. “Y-You wanted that,” you weekly defend, canting your hips down in a feeble attempt to progress this along.

He snorts, captures your lips in a rushed kiss where he wastes no time snaking his tongue inside your mouth. His saliva trickles into your mouth, and you whine as he purposefully lets it happen, pulls away just the slightest to pucker his lips and let a thick trail of spit fall straight into your open mouth. Satisfied with his little stunt, he rams his cock against you once more.

“If you wanted a quick fuck,” he says, nearly loses himself in your pussy, “you came to the wrong guy, sweetheart.”

You’re too caught up in the nice drag of his cock against your pussy, the tip of his cock stopping him from ever pulling out completely, that it takes you a second to process his words. “H-Huh?” You choke, teary eyes flickering across his face wildly as if the answer will be right in plain sight.

But all you’re met with is the soft pull of his lips as he flashes you a smirk, pearly white teeth tugging at the pink flesh, as he levels you with a glare of his own. Before you can question him further, he’s letting go of your waist to hike your knees into the crook of his elbows, his pouty lips growing further away as he leans back.

This shift has his cock nudging up, rubbing against the hood of your clit where a bundle of nerves he’d only briefly brushed before sits. You shriek in pleasure, writhing beneath him as the sudden sensation hits you full force. “Jungkook!” You sob, his hips slowing to a grind as he watches your face crumble beneath him.

“You like that?” He murmurs, rutting his hips against you shallowly. The change of pace, the rabid piston of his hips slowing to this, has your body melting into his touch. You barely manage a nod, eyes fluttering open and shut as his hips move sensually against you.

His cock brushes against that sensitive spot with each roll of his hips, and you’re a mewling, puddle of emotion by the third thrust. “Pretty girl,” he hums, letting go of one leg to place a hand above your mound, thumb circling your clit until you’re trembling beneath him. “Did you think I would fuck you and kick you out?” He husks, watching your body like he’s a lion and you’re his prey.

Your brain is far from comprehending anything at this point, reduced to a mere mass of nothingness as he continues moving against you, fingers rubbing your clit in all the right ways.

“Well, you were wrong about that, doll,” he huffs, and you’re blessed with the sight of his head lolling back as he loses himself in the tight grip of your pussy, skin glistening with sweat, trailing from behind his ear and over his neck, until you’re watching a pearl roll over his collarbones. “I don’t do that,” he informs you, and he pinches your clit between two fingers, hard enough that you almost miss his next words as you moan. “No, baby, I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he spits, and you whimper at his words. Finally, he lets go of your knees, right as you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and you moan out in protest as he ducks down to cage you between his arms again.

“Please,” you beg, voice hoarse as his hips slowly return to their pace from before. He’s still not pulling out as much, keeping his thrusts shallow as he kisses a trail up your neck and over your jaw.

“Gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever want to leave, pretty,” he says, kisses the corner of your mouth as his hips pick up pace. You wanna cry, feeling so warm and cherished in his arms, his voice telling you how good you’re doing as the coil in your stomach tightens and tightens until you’re begging him for more. “Do you want that?”

“Yes! Yes!” You sob, rolling your hips against his like a madman as you chase your high.

Jungkook hums, smile smushed against your lips as he watches you desperately writhing beneath him. “Yeah? You want that?” You nod, mewls swallowed by his kisses. “Then cum for me, pretty girl.”

You whimper, just as he bucks into you once more, and suddenly you’re falling apart. It starts in your lower back, the ecstasy climbing it’s way through your body until you’re quivering and sobbing in his embrace, muffling your sounds against his shoulder. The muscles in your entire body tighten painfully, until suddenly a wave of contentment washes over you, and you’re too weak to even hold onto him anymore, arms flopping back onto the couch cushions beneath you.

The whole time, Jungkook mutters encouragement against your jaw, keeps his thrusts short but quick, guiding you through your orgasm. When you’re done, he presses an open mouthed kiss beneath your ear, pulling away to look at your boneless frame beneath him.

A few pistons of his hips later, and Jungkook is coming inside of you, cum coating your walls as he hammers his way through his orgasm. He pulls out when he’s done, and you instantly feel your mixed arousal drip out between your thighs.

Woozy from the wine and the two orgasms, you fall asleep soon after.

——

“Good morning,” you murmur, standing at the doorway leading into the kitchen, an area you’d only been able to find after stumbling around the upstairs of the house in confusion.

Jungkook whirls around, wide eyes taking in your appearance. You clutch at the hem of the big t-shirt you’d pulled on, the only article of clothing you saw that was thrown over a chair in a bedroom you didn’t dare snoop around. “Morning,” he exhales, calculating gaze never leaving you as you tiptoe over to him by the counter.

He doesn’t say more, spluttering into action when you peek over his shoulder to see what he’s up to. “What’re you making?” You inquire, and his hands begin fidgeting with the knife.

“Oh, um,” he stutters, and perhaps he’s overly aware of your presence so close beside him, because he suddenly doesn’t remember how he’s supposed to cut an avocado. Cute, you think. “Just, um, toast with avocado spread…”

You hum. After a moment, it seems Jungkook is able to quell his nerves, and he carefully slices the avocado open, spreading its innards across the toast. He hands you the first piece, which you take after masking your own surprise, and soon after he’s turning away from the counter as the two of you eat in silence.

After a few thoughtful munches of bread, you speak. “Thanks for carrying me to bed,” you say, refusing to look at him.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, almost a little too fast and you barely bite down a grin as he rambles on. “Wasn’t gonna leave you on the couch, especially not when you were so tired after… ah, yeah.”

It’s the reserved way he carries himself that gives you the balls to look at him. His ears are flushed adorably red, like when you were at dinner last night talking about his job, and all you wanna do is pinch his cheeks. “Yeah,” you agree, and then add with an air of faux shyness, “you were really cool last night.”

It’s the little devil in you begging to jump out, curious to see how far you can push Jungkook before he shifts into that suave version of himself from last night, and you would feel bad had the corner of his lips not tilted up in amusement.

He chokes out a laugh, mutters a “yeah?” and you don’t stop yourself when you jump into his arms and kiss that avocado spread right off his lips.

——

On Tuesday afternoon, Kim Namjoon is in the midst of delivering another sermon-like speech on the importance of utilizing your student ID when visiting any of the Starbucks within a two mile radius of your school, when you spot a chestnut head of hair from the corner of your eye.

“Sorry, Joon! My ride's here!” You yelp, shoving your notebook into your bag as you stumble over yourself in your haste to leave.

Namjoon blinks. “Huh? I thought you lived on campus?”

You nod, that giddy feeling starting up in your chest as he comes closer to where you and Namjoon have taken up residence on a table in the commons for your weekly meeting, and by the time he reaches the table Namjoon is still in the midst of questioning you.

“Jungkook,” You say, all dreamily and dazed, and you know this because Doyeon caught you with this same exact look on your face after he dropped you off at the dorms Sunday afternoon.

Namjoon startles. “What the f—“

“Hi,” Jungkook beams, leans down to brush a kiss against your cheek, which only serves to make you even more ditzy and dumb in the face of this handsome man. “Oh, hey, hyung.”

“What’re you doi—“

“All set?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring whatever his beloved senior was saying in favor of taking your bag off your shoulders. You nod, have to swallow a giggle down when he takes your hand in his. “Bye, hyung.”

“Bye, Joon!” You barely remember to throw over your shoulder, too busy wrapping yourself around Jungkook’s arm to hear Namjoon blabber in shock. 

“Kids these days,” he huffs.

[ part 2 ; hulu & woohoo ]

[bluefirewrites]

I was tempted by librarian/avid reader for obvious reasons but I’m going with tourist/knowledgeable local au for juke (of course) 💜

Sporting my Bay Area for this one-

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I’LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

*********

"Shit," Luke angrily taps at his screen, "Google Maps... can't fucking... recenter... that damn arrow..."

Now he must look like a total idiot pivoting slowly on the corner of the street, hoping, praying, that the app would actually point him in the direction the was supposed to go.

And seeing as though he was him and he had somehow had no regards for personal space, spun around and knocked into a girl who was just minding her own business.

He grabbed at her forearm, keeping her from making contact with the ground, "Whoa. I'm- I'm so sorry."

The girl lets out a friendly gasp of surprise, "It's- It's totally fine. Should have watched where I was going."

"No, it's not you, I swear, it's-" he lamely held up his phone, "Maps. What can ya do?"

"Are you lost?" Then she made a visual sweep of his attire, "You're on vacation?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Your voice says 'New York' but your cutoffs scream 'Florida'"

He laughed, "Yeah, no. Just coming up from L.A. Meeting some friends at some venue, we have a show to play."

The girl purses her lips, "Where are you heading?"

"Some hill? I got some directions and then it frazzled out on me and all I know I just have to be at a bottom of some hill."

The girl looks him over again, particularly at his Ramones shirt and the chain he's sporting.

"It's because that's the name of the venue. Bottom of The Hill. Between Mission Bay and Potrero Hill, hence the hill."

"Riiight," he pockets his phone, "Do you know how to get there?"

"Yeah. I'm over by Dogpatch anyway. We can take the bus together,"

Luke breathes in relief, "Thank you. I'm Luke by the way."

They shake hands, "I'm Julie."

They make their way over to the bus stop, "You're familiar with the venue?"

"Yeah. 'Best Rock Club in the Bay'," she pulls him along onto the bus, and they take their seats, "Mind telling me more about this show?"

He grins, pulling out the flyer, "Yeah. We're a band called Sunset Curve..."

And Luke launches into promotion mode, maybe going overboard by even Reggie's standards, but Julie doesn't seem to have any qualms about it, cutting in once in a while to ask questions about the music, which he is happy to answer.

At one point, Julie offers one of her Air Pods.

"C'mon Ramones. Let's listen to your Sunset Swerve-"

Luke groans, "Curve. Curve."

She laughs. She knows, but it does get quite the reaction out of him and he just pouts as he takes the earbud, then directs her to their page.

They bob their heads to 'Now or Never' and he could see Julie close her eyes, losing herself to it.

"This- this is really-" she breathes in awe, "You guys are really good. Like that break right after the bridge? Awesome."

And Luke has heard a bunch of compliments over the years, but somehow this one makes his ears go red and widens his grin a bit more than usual. Maybe it's because from their conversations, there's no doubt that Julie knows music.

Soon enough their ride comes to an end. Or at least Luke's does because Julie's nudging him and pulling the line, signaling for the next stop.

"Okay, so if you continue walking in that direction, turn right on Missouri and keep going. You'll find it."

The bus screeches to a stop and Luke gets up to leave, holds up the aisle. He turns to Julie.

"Come to the show tonight?"

"I'm working tonight,"

Luke's shoulders slump, trying not to let his disappointment show too much. (And failing).

The bus driver yells at him to leave or stay on, and so he's herded off with one last quick thanks and goodbye to Julie before hopping off.

She waves at him through the window and it's not until he's trudging to the venue that he realizes that he didn't get Julie's socials.

A fact he laments to the boys once they reunite at Bottom of the Hill.

It's a small place, standing room only, and there's a section for the bar. The vibes are killer and the guys take a second to look at the wall of posters, see who got to play there before.

"Jimmy Eat World?" Alex read off, "Joan Jett? Yeah Yeah Yeahs?"

Reggie whistles, "Insane."

"Best Rock Club in the Bay," Luke mumbles to himself, grinning.

They do the usual soundcheck, band circle in the green room, and up on stage they go to a packed house.

Luke steps to the mic and is about to launch into the intros when he catches a familiar face by the bar.

Suddenly, his energy doubles and the band kickstarts their performance and Luke swears it might have been the best they ever played. (Alex would later say it's because he's been playing to impress. Whatever.)

Their set flies by and Luke doesn't remember taking the bow and ducking out to the balcony afterwards, high-fiving a couple fans on the way.

He remembers sitting there, the lanterns strung up above him as he takes in the view of the city and feeling someone sidle up next to him.

"Need a refill?"

"Thought you said you had work?"

Julie tugs on her apron and holds up a beer for him, "I do."

"You didn't tell me you worked here," Luke laughs.

"But where's the fun in that?"

"You're right,"

They couldn't talk long, Julie is being called back to the front of the house to help close up shop.

"Hey, uh," she throws a towel over her shoulder, "How long are you gonna be in SF for?"

"That depends," Luke hums.

Julie cocks a brow, "On what?"

"If there's anything worthwhile to do here?" he asks, clearly baiting her.

She lets out an offended gasp, a hand over her heart, "How dare you?"

Luke ups the ante, "I mean, there's always something to do in L.A-"

"You clearly never partied in The Bay!"

"Julie! Get your ass back out here!" A girl with braids calls out from the door.

"Okay!" Julie stares Luke down, "You stick around after I clock off and I'll show you what The Bay's got to offer. 'Kay?"

He smiles, "I'm game."

She struts away, "You know you could have just asked me out, right? Like the normal way?"

"But where's the fun in that?"

Her hearty laugh fills the space and Luke thinks to himself to come visit The Bay more often...

[pasthegate]

The Serpent man and The Fairy Godmother

The air tasted stale. Like a room untouched for many years. The rain had miraculously stopped, the sky overhead clear of clouds and stuck in blood red sunset. Oak folded away the umbrella and Tine squinted up at the building far ahead. The normal house that had been before him was gone, replaced by a tall hunching behemoth of a mansion. Four stories tall and stitched together with brick and wood, the shingles on the roof so thick the house looked like it was curving inward, with any of the massive chimneys atop ready to fall at any moment. 

The garden was filled with trees bearing multitudes of fruit, their branches drooping with the weight and their roots entangled with garlands of flowers with spots of mushrooms peeking through the petals. Curious, Tine reached up to pick a pear off a tree as they walked up the winding pathway of black pebbles leading to the house. Bringing the fruit to his lips he sniffed it first and took a bite to examine its insides. 

Black and rotting with millipedes and maggots squirming around each other within the fruits fleshy skin. Tine merely spat the piece from his teeth and tossed the pear away.

“Her sense of humour is much the same as ever.” A muttering under his breath. Appealing on the outside and toxic on the inside. If anyone who approached this house took a moment to check the delicious looking fruit they could save themselves. Yet so many literally walked away from salvation. A cruel joke.

Honestly he would like her if she weren’t such an unbearable cun-

“Good evening gentleman. How may I assist you?”

They had reached the door already and now stood before a figure wearing a purple and white striped suit, a cat mask with an ear to ear smile covering their face. Despite the mask covering the figure’s mouth their words were not muffled and they extended a a striped glove hand in greeting.

“I regret to inform you there is no party tonight. If you have come for a private show please-”

“Call the witch down.Tell her the shape shifter wants to make a trade.”

The cat masked figure pulled their hand back and nodded in understanding, taking a step back and stepping inside the house. Left to stand before the porch Tine removed his coat and hat to  hand off to Oak and straightened out his vest.It was a rather strange situation he found himself in. While he had no qualms using any means to get what he wanted he usually held all the cards or at least had a hand he could bluff with. In this particular scenario he was yet to be dealt anything and the name of the game eluded him. The ace up his sleeves could be worthless or the key to his winning. All of it was up in the air.

Speaking of up.

Pale eyes flicking to above the porch Tine smirked with an amused chuckle. 

Perched on the aged cherub statue was a creature of great size, human in shape but hunched and crouched like a beast. Covered in thick black latex from head to toe, the material pulled tight over solid muscle lined with protruding veins. Two glass half spheres bulged from where its eyes should be, a yellow glow dimly shining under them and a large zip running across the mouth from ear to ear. 

The creature didn’t move until the door opened again, leaping from its perch and landing in front of Tine to block his view of the porch. It stood to its full height and came up only centimetres short of the twin giants own eye line. Tine continued to smile, cocking his head as he looked over the body builder physic and casually spoke up as thought it wasn’t there.

“Your guard dog is rather poorly trained. I must say I am taken aback my good lady.”

A dry soft laugh came from the doorway and a quiet frail voice replied.

“I must refute you on that. Atticus is merely ensuring his master’s safety.” 

Slowly the beast slowly stepped out of the way and Tine’s gaze shifted to a small and thin elderly woman standing hunched with a welcoming smile. Silver hair tied back in a loose bun with a violet ribbon and a lavender dress buttoned up to the neck, hem brushing the ground and black slippers peeking out from under, she stood the picture of a kind elderly grandmother, a black velvet shawl draped over her shoulders to keep out the evening chill.

The cat masked figure carefully held the woman’s arm as she stepped onto the porch, her steps small and reinforcing the fragile appearance she gave off. Slowly she raised a thin wrinkled hand dotted with liver spots and cupped the underside of the black clad beast’s jaw.

“How curious to see you again shapeshifter, here I had thought you wished to wash your hands of us for good.” Faded red eyes, like those of a wilting rose bud stared from behind oval spectacles rimmed gold and resting on the bridge of her slim nose. In her youth she would be quite the beauty, sharp in chin and cheekbones. Old, she held a certain dignified beauty but her sharp features were rounded out with loose skin and bubbles of fat lingering over the aged muscles.  “Time has been good to you shifter. Or should I say, ignorant, of you?”

“The latter I would concur. For you dear lady it has been most attentive.” Smirk slipping into a full smile Tine bowed at the waist. “Yet its efforts have stolen none of your splendour.”

The old woman laughed in her throat, a sound that could have been taken for a cough and took her hand back from the beast to wave at the air between them.

“Save your flattery for the fools shifter. Why have you come?”

“I wish to make a trade.”

“A trade of what?”

“I require a spell from you.”

“And your offer?”

“What do you desire?”

The old woman’s lips pursed in thought and red eyes looked over the gentleman in deep consideration.

“I want... your life.”

In a blur of black the beast swiped its paw out at Tine’s still bowed neck, aiming like a guillotine to sever his head from his shoulders. Its impact was cut short by a large hand grabbing the creature’s thick wrist and wrenching it back. Ash squeezed the wrist until he felt bone’s bend and Atticus dug his heels into the porch’s concrete to keep a steady foothold as he pulled for his arm’s release. 

Tine straightened, Ash forcing the beast’s arm back further to keep it from his employer. Atticus struck out with his other hand and that too was caught by the giant, his own arms cris-crossed from where he stood. Shoulder’s hunching the beast’s skin tight clothing squeaked as he crouched and launched himself at  Ash, a heavy knee connecting with the giant’s jaw. Ash took the blow and stumbled back, using his grip on the arms to throw the beast down towards the orchard of trees.

Atticus landed on his feet and flicked out his arms to regain the feeling, crouching to all fours and preparing for another lunge. Ash looked back to Tine for but a moment before removing his jacket and handing it to Oak. Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders Ash began to walk towards Atticus .His walk growing to a run. Then sprint. Then a full on charge. 

The crouched beast lunged at the charging giant and aimed an elbow for his temple. The blow connected but lost its impact as Ash’s own elbow struck out at its stomach and pushed it over head. Grabbing at Atticus’s ankle the giant swung the beast at the ground, the gravel jumping off the earth at the force of the slam. The attack did little to rattle the creature however as it kicked at Ash’s shoulder and dislocated the ball from its socket. Ash dropped the creature limply and grabbed his own arm to set the bone back in. Atticus rolled back to his feet and the flesh under the black spandex rippled with the resetting of bones and muscle.

Both beings stared each other down for several seconds before each launching into a second round of blows.

Back at the house Tine and Oak watched the fighters for a few more seconds before Tine turned back to the woman and cocked his head to the side.

“Well now, shall we begin negotiations?”

Another cough laugh and the woman waved a hand to the cat masked fellow, the servant stepping back and clapping their hands. From within the house two small creatures exited carrying a table. The first was a young harpy, her wings plucked and bound with thick chains around her wrists and neck. Patches of her skin were burned and stripped away, the flesh on her shoulder so thin the white of bone could be seen jutting against the skin.

 The second was, difficult to discern what it could have been. There was fur. Feathers. Scales. Many different parts of different creatures sewn onto its body and obscuring its original form. The sewn on parts appeared to have no physical purpose either. No, they were merely woven in on whims, flights of fancy like adding new accessories to a handbag.

They set the table down between Tine and the woman and scurried back in to retrieve two chairs. As the malformed children prepared the furniture the cat masked figure set out a table cloth and retrieved a tea seat from inside.There was never a bad time for tea and negotiations went much smoother if you had something to occupy the silence in between contemplating deals. It was easy to lose your composure if all you can do is watch the other person sit silently for minutes on end, hence the refreshments and the little show going on behind them.

The mutilated harpy set his chair down behind him and Tine spared her any gawking or useless sympathy. He did not enjoy seeing children done harm, in fact he took a certain pleasure from the torture of paedophiles and child beaters that other offenders did not supply, but this child belonged to the old woman and her house and nothing he said or did now would change their fate. If anything he would make it worse. 

Waiting for the woman to sit he took his seat after and watched in silence as tea and biscuits were set out on the table. At his side Oak took care to rearrange the tea set to his master’s taste so the table looked split in two, the porcelain and silver the same but the arrangements notably different.

“So.” Tine began “I fear I must reject your first offer given such a trade would make any benefits mute to I.”

“I suppose it would. Forgive an old lady her indulgences. Atticus hasn’t been getting near enough exercise as of late.”

“Big dogs are a chore to be certain.”

“But so loyal. You should look into getting one yourself.”

“I have my own preference of beast to keep as pets.”

“So I have heard.” If her tone didn’t make her displeasure clear the small pull down at the corner of her lips did.  “But we are getting sidetracked. What spell are you after?”

“The Witch’s House spell.”

“That’s quite a heavy priced spell.”

“I reiterate, name your desire. Excluding my life of course.”

The cat masked fellow poured a cup of tea and the elderly woman took a thoughtful sip.As she considered her price Tine glanced back at the ongoing battle below.

Ash’s shirt had been torn apart, shreds of white fabric hanging off the belt around his waist. Atticus appeared unscratched but his movements had become more sluggish. The two were locked in grappling, each trying to push the other back as their feet crushed the earth beneath them.

In a sudden move Ash stopped pushing and allowed Atticus to lunge atop him, one foot lifting to kick against the dog’s stomach and launch him over head. Atticus tightened its grip on Ash’s hands and twisted its body to try and brace the impact but only half succeeded, striking the ground on its side and sweeping a leg out to try and claw across Ash’s head. Ash raised his head in time to avoid it but was slashed across his shoulder blades. The cuts were deep and the pain made the giant stagger and struggle to stand. Releasing his hands Atticus rolled onto all fours and lunged again, aiming for the jugular. Ash grabbed an extended black clad arm and flipped the dog over his shoulder, closing his legs around Atticus’s body and holding it down as he began pulling the captured arm away from its shoulder. Atticus clawed at Ash’s legs, tearing his pants below the knee to strands of bloodied fabric and flesh. The onslaught did not stop Ash from applying more and more strength to pull the arm free from its shoulder socket and snap the muscles holding it in place until-

Skin and latex tore with a flurry of blood spraying across the grass and ash’s face, the arm in his grip going limp as the last stretching pieces of muscles broke under the strain. Atticus made no sound of pain and only hesitated in its attack for a moment before continuing with renewed vigour. Ash, wishing to save his legs before the bone could be exposed dropped an elbow against Atticus’s temple and spread his legs to roll backwards to his feet, unable to stand on them and falling to his knees to ease off the pressure and pain it caused him.  Atticus too rolled onto its feet, grabbing the shoulder that had lost its limb to try and stem the bleeding.

A quiet cough in her throat alerted the dog to its master, Atticus’s head snapping towards the porch where the elderly woman placed her cup down and adjusted her glasses to stare down at the two fighters. Another small show of displeasure crossed her face before she daintily touched wrinkled fingertips to her lips and gently blew a soft whistle between them. A high but short sound that made the dog look back to its enemy and reach up with its good hand to unzip the zip around its mouth.

Beneath the latex a strong dark skinned chin speckled with black hair along its jaw line could be briefly glimpsed. Brief, as the human feature quickly began to twist and contort into an elongated snout, black fur sprouting up in clumps and coming together to cover the brown skin beneath. There was no nose at the end of its snout, only two nostrils and a series of stitches that the fur quickly covered over.  The latex around its body already pulled tight was stretched further as the form beneath it began to grow and pulse with a new raw energy.The beast grew in size, doubling its original height and width with a symphony of snapping and cracks within its body. The exposed shoulder shuddered and from its wound a bony hand burst forth , muscle, fat, flesh and skin coating it from its fingertips slowly. From the ivory wrist the beginning of an ulna and radius pushed the hand out further from the bleeding wound. Raising its head Atticus parted its jaws and revealed two sets of sharped elongated fangs with a mighty roar. Ash watched the transformation and discarded the lost arm, climbing to his feet in intense pain but the threat before him too great to ignore. In a moment of sympathy, or perhaps understanding, the giant noted the beast before him was missing its tongue. The moment quickly passed and digging his heels into the dirt he launched himself at the werewolf to do as much damage as possible before it could regrow its arm entirely.

“I want something of yours.”

The answer returned Tine’s gaze from the fight back to the table. Oak poured a cup of tea for him and added three sugar cubes, Tine taking the cup with a tilt of his head.

“Anything specific? If you are referring to my current companions I am afraid they come as something of a set and would prove less than efficient working for someone other than I.”

“No. I want your body.”

“....” Tine took a long sip. “In the literal sense I take it?”

The woman laughed dryly and touched a hand to her chest.

“Goodness me sir, do you think I so bold?” Lazily she moved the shawl aside and stroked over her covered bosom in a manner intended to be alluring. “Though if you were to insist.” Tine finished his cup and held it out for Oak to refill, his expression neutral even as he downed the second cup in a single gulp. That was a mental image he could have done without. The woman laughed again and fixed her shawl back in place. “I don’t recall hearing any complaints after the first time we had such an encounter but no, you are correct, I meant a piece of your body.”

Tine put the cup down and held a hand up to stop Oak refilling it again.

“And which piece has caught your eye?”

The woman smiled.

Left knee cap shattered. Three fingers broken on left hand and right thumb lost. Open wound between neck and shoulder, non-lethal but bleeding heavily. Vision impaired by blood loss and balance thrown off from damaged shins.  Ash calculated the damage to his body as he ducked the snapping jaws aiming to take his head clean off. It was not often he fought a creature larger than himself and its regenerative abilities put him at a great disadvantage. If Oak was with him victory would be guaranteed regardless but he was on his own and rusty.

Claws swiped. Left shoulder caught and deeply scarred. Keep as much damage to non dominant side as much as possible. Aim for the solar plexus. Use the monster’s size against it.

Ash landed a punch in Atticus’s gut but the blow barely winded it, his own size a disadvantage as it made slipping between the beast’s limbs difficult. The punch was followed up with a kick to its knee but the impact was like hitting a thick tree.

Keep moving. Keep attacking. Avoid the teeth. Use its impaired sight to advantage. Don’t be deceived by its slower moments it moves swifter than appearances allow.

Yet even being careful Ash could not avoid the clawed paw that landed in his left shoulder and pulled him back, a second newly grown set claw landing in his right shoulder. The new arm was covered in thick black fur and twitched with the constant quick pulse of the creature’s heart. Watching the arm regrow had been something horrific and as Ash tried to pry the claws out of his shoulders they were no weaker from being new than their counterparts. 

Atticus held oak out, yellow hues barely visible behind the glass circles that covered its eyes and regarded him a moment before beginning to pull at the shoulder blades connected to his collar bone. It was only fitting. It lost an arm to him so he should lose two to it. Digging the claws in deeper until the tips scratched bone it began applying more and more pressure until the first stretch of muscles rubbed against its claws.

A sudden poke to its back made the creature pause, turning its head to see the blond man and the second giant standing behind it, the man’s cane poking at its side.

“Our business is concluded. Drop him.”

Attitcus regarded the man a moment before looking to its master still sitting at the porch watching. No order came to stop and so it continued to pull apart the giant in hand.Yet as quickly as it decided to continue Atticus found itself freezing up, unable to move. There was a presence. A bigger animal. A bigger hunter watching and preparing to attack. Instincts told it of the threat and looming danger that was closing in on it.

Right behind it.

The presence eased off, still present but enough to let Atticus release the giant. The second one rushed to his twin’s aid and helped him toward their master. Without looking back Atticus hunched down and leaped to the top of the garden, landing in front of the porch.

“Run back to our bitch with tail between your legs... my dog is better. “ Even if the stubborn bastard wouldn’t wear a collar.

Ash found it difficult to stand even with aid from his twin and at his employer’s comment he looked up with blurred vision to a confusing and alarming sight. Part of Tine was missing. Gone and traded. In his hand clutched in gloved fingers was a small orb that swirled with a purple hue. The deal was done and he wanted out of this farce of a wonderland.

From the porch the old woman watched the shapeshifter and his goons pass through the gate to the other side, leaving her world and only a mess at the end of her garden and empty tea cup behind in their wake.

Oh and of course the piece of the shapeshifter she now had floating in her own tea cup. Such a proud and strong creature he was, so arrogant and self assured of his superiority. Now she had a part of him. Something no one else could ever have. Her sense of humour was indeed the same as it ever was.

Atticus turned its lumbering head towards her and with a scowl she promptly chucked the tea pot and the remaining scalding tea inside at it.

“Will you get out of that hideous form? You played too long and looked what happened. You are worthless. Useless! A stupid monstrous lumix of an existence! You-”

And she stops. And she turns her head.

And she stares at you.

Yes you.

She sees you now, spectators and peeping toms, voyeurs of the night’s sordid affairs. She looks to you and she smiles kindly.

And you are outside the house, staring at an ordinary house with dull cream bricks and a neatly trimmed lawn. She has pushed you from her realm. Did you enjoy it? The sights you saw? I should hope so!

What? You want to know who she is? Or is your concern what part of himself Tine traded off? Well you’ve come this far I could give you some reward.

She is The Fairy Godmother.

And the second answer is yet to come.

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

Major Crimes Re-Watch-D.O.A.

So, yes there was a case but you won’t read much about that in this synopsis. There was too much going on with the Sharon and Jack dynamic and the case totally paled by comparison. Looking back on these Jack episodes makes it even more apparent why Sharon needed to take things so slow with Andy and why it took her so long to trust in what they had. Another thing that I hadn’t thought of before is the financial aspect of things. In this episode Sharon talks about how Jack never helped her financially, never paid child support, didn’t help pay for their kids college and that he totally messed up their credit and it took her years to get untangled from his bad debt. That made me realize what a really huge step it was for her to agree to buy a house with Andy. It really attests to the depth of her feelings for him and her complete trust in him, that she was willing to combine her finances with his to buy the house even before they were married. Considering the writers of MC don’t focus at all on how Sharon and Andy really feel we have to kind of work that all out in our own heads.

“There's someone in the house"

The only time in FIVE YEARS that we got to see Sharon Raydor in bed and the scene was with...guess whom? Surprise, surprise...RUSTY. 'Nuff said. Right from the get go we see that although Sharon and Jack are technically still married, there is definitely no longer any type of physical relationship. Jack went directly to the spare room and upon finding it locked went to the kitchen. He did not go to Sharon's bedroom nor try to wake her. 

“Jack, what are you doing here?"

Sharon is so not pleased to see him. The minute she heard his voice answering the phone, she gets a look of disgust. Also, instead of just confronting him, she kicks the refrigerator in to scare him...hard…she's pissed...and holds her gun on him--even though she knew it was him. It gives the viewers immediate insight into their relationship and it‘s definitely a “Fasten your seatbelts it‘s gonna be a bumpy ride“ moment.

"Jack what are you doing here at 3:00am without calling me."

At first, I thought this was just typical Jack behavior and that Sharon allowed him to come and go at will, but that obviously is NOT the case. She is totally ticked off that he just showed up and presumed to make himself at home without having called her for permission.

Showing up in the middle of the night like this is incredibly rude. He hasn’t been in contact with Sharon in over five years and yet he obviously was not concerned that he might be walking in on anything with Sharon and another man, which is also telling of their relationship. However, if he'd waited another two years he might have walked in on Sharon in bed with Andy--now wouldn't that have been a great scene? Anyway, I think his decision to just show up wasn’t just an oblivious lack of consideration. It was deliberate. Jack is desperate and he knows if he called Sharon to ask if he could stay with her, she probably would have said no. Their kids are no longer living with her and she has no reason to put him up. By just showing up, he knows it will be harder for her to send him away and it will give him a better chance to charm and manipulate her into letting him stay. Squatter’s rights and all.

"Good old Jack Raydor, you know it was a shame when he moved to Vegas. What? I liked him."

Oh my, hard to believe now that there was ever a time that Andy liked Jack. But I can see it. I am NOT a fan of Jack Raydor's but I can see where he would be a fun guy to hang out with. It sounds like maybe way back when he and Andy might have hung out at the same bar a few times and shared a few drinks and a few "war stories" Andy is also a fun guy and he likes to tell stories too, though I never feel like Andy is trying to put on a show the way Jack always seems to be doing.  Of course, now that Andy is in love with Sharon, knows the real history of Jack and has also gotten to see the dark, selfish, nasty side of the man through his dealings with Major Crimes, he can't stand the guy. I love the Andy/Jack testosterone laced scenes. Provenza on the other hand has always seen right through Jack's bullshit and never liked him.

“Sharon, who the hell is this?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth young fella'“

I can’t help but wonder what Jack's first thought was upon seeing a young teenage boy in his pajamas at Sharon's at 3:00am LOL. Also, really Rusty? Sharon had a gun and you thought you needed a lamp. It was a sweet gesture though.

“What are you moving in or something?”

“No...NO.”

Nope, he's not welcome. Jack was definitely right to make the sneak attack.Still cannot figure out why Jack goes on about his soymilk, almond milk and going gluten free. Is he trying to show Sharon he’s trying to make healthier decisions? If so, that’s another Andy parallel.

“You can stay on the couch for the 2 days that I usually give you.” Sharon and her rules. She has very clear boundaries with Jack. It sounds like whenever he deigned to show up she allowed him 2 days at her home to visit with the kids and then he had to move on. So, obviously this is not the first time he’s shown up hoping to overstay his welcome.

“Jack looks much less stressed than the last time I saw him. Getting back on the court appointed list should help give him a fresh start.”

“For the 100th time.”

“Not a terrific husband I guess. But lots of natural charm.”

“None of which he wasted on raising his children and oddly enough charm doesn't pay for college.”

Jack being around is definitely throwing Sharon. The entire time she's in talking to Taylor she keeps looking out at Jack who is out putting on a show for her colleagues and Rusty. What makes this conversation interesting is that, first of all, she's having it with Taylor and she seems perfectly comfortable discussing her personal life and the details of her marriage with him so it‘s pretty apparent that they all (Taylor, Provenza, Andy, maybe Tao) know how Jack comes and goes from her life. It also shows us that Sharon has given Jack dozens of chances to change his life and he has screwed them up every time and that he did not help raise his children nor offer any financial help to her. You can also tell that while she'd enabled him before, as of right now she is just simply done with him Also, Taylor says "getting back on the court appointed list" so this is not the first time Jack has had to resort to this to try to reclaim his law career and make a fresh start. Lastly, this is the scene where they screwed up and showed Mary wearing her own glasses rather than Sharon's as she tries to get Rusty's attention. I gotta say, I like Sharon's glasses, but I like Mary’s better. In that moment, her tapping on the window to get Rusty’s attention we can see that Sharon is worried about Rusty being sucked in by Jack’s charm. She knows what Jack is all about and knows that whatever kind of friendship might form between them, Jack will have no qualms walking away and she does not want to see Rusty get hurt, hence, why she keeps watching Jack and why she tries to get Rusty's attention to get him away from Jack.

“I don't mind sleeping on the couch if Jack wants my bed. It's closer to the TV.”

“It's closer to the front door which is why Jack is going to stay exactly where he is. I don’t want him getting too comfortable.”

“What’s the deal between you two, why are you still married?”“Well there are financial issues, there are religious issues and there are some things I can't explain and none of it is any of y

The first time I watched this episode my assumption was that the “something I can’t explain” applied to Sharon’s feelings for Jack. And I’m sure there was some of that. But a year later when Sharon asks Jack for the divorce and he tells her that if she’d really wanted a divorce she would have done it years ago, she tells him that the time that she needed a ring on her finger for her career is over. So, that brings a whole new light to the “things I can’t explain.” I’m sure in the early years Sharon went through a lot of sexual harassment--another reason to check off in her decision to join the PSB and clean the department up.

“Rusty do not get attached to Jack. He only stays as long as it takes to get what he wants.”

Sharon is very world-weary at this point. She's been through it herself, has been through her with her two children and she doesn't want Rusty to have to go through it too. By offering to give Jack the couch Sharon can see that Rusty is already being seduced by Jack.

“Take a good long look in the mirror Susan because the only person you're fooling is you.”

I always love watching Andy with the addicts. He is no nonsense with them and doesn’t cut them any slack but is also always trying to get them to see the light and face their problems. I would love to see him with some of the guys he's sponsored

. “A few years ago I had this big case, huge payday, 200 grand. You know what I did with it? I played three months in poker tournaments.”

“Three months of poker tournaments? How much did you win?”

“Ohhhhhh....I didn't. But I was so close.”

The story of Jack's life. The bastard won 200,000 in a legitimate court case and instead of paying Sharon back child support or giving his kids money for college, he pissed it all away playing poker. The sad thing is that Rusty is impressed by this. It's no wonder Sharon does not want Rusty falling under Jack's influence and it's probably a good thing that Jack was an absentee parent to Emily and Ricky. They were much better off with just Sharon to guide them.

“In 30 years I've never seen you put a toothpick in your mouth.” At first, I thought that line was thrown in just to show how long Jack has known Sharon, however, as @milquetoast-on-acid pointed out; it was probably more like foreshadowing for Andy becoming a part of Sharon’s life. Andy often had a toothpick in his mouth on TC so evidently she’s had toothpicks in her cupboard all these years just waiting for Andy to come along and use them :-)

“Are you gambling?”

and

“Rusty are you finished studying?

Sharon as the killjoy--- I think this is often how Jack really sees Sharon--a few seasons later he makes the comment “who would show up here sober”. Sharon is Jack’s conscience and she is becoming Rusty’s conscience. She is the responsible one and she is also desperately trying to keep Rusty from getting too involved with Jack. But Rusty is starved for affection and here is Jack with all kinds of time on his hands who is able to focus all his attention on getting into Rusty’s good graces. Jack isn’t stupid; he’s a master manipulator who has been manipulating Sharon for years. He knows her Achilles heel is her children (The only reason Sharon allows him to stay past his allotted time is because he caves in to her blackmail and calls Ricky and Emily) and right away he can see that she views Rusty as one of her children. Since he does not have a relationship with his own children, Rusty is the best bet. And for Rusty, living under Mom’s rules, Jack is a breath of fresh air. Jack is the one who plays upon Rusty’s worst instincts and makes them okay, whereas Sharon is always steering him do the right thing and making him feel bad when he does not. The same can be said for Rusty’s two  father figures. Andy and Provenza are more parental figures while Jack is like the misfit black sheep uncle who returns to wreak havoc. He is fun and doesn’t play by the rules and he seems to enjoy spending time with Rusty, of course Rusty is seduced. “That's easy; Jack can see your cards reflected in those ridiculous sunglasses he probably talked you into wearing.”

“Oh my god you had me fooled the entire time.”

“That's his specialty.”

Again, Sharon is trying to keep Rusty from falling under Jack's spell, but instead of heeding her warning or being pissed at Jack for cheating he’s just impressed with Jack’s cunning and thinks he’s cool.

 “Rusty it's after 10.  I don't want to hear any complaining.”

Again, we have the Sharon and Jack as polar opposites, Sharon wanting Rusty to do what's good for him, to follow the rules she's laid out etc whereas Jack is all about fun and not caring about the fact that Rusty has school the next day. Sometimes opposites work--in the case of Sharon and Andy who balance each other out--and other times the behavior is so opposite that it grates and creates a division as between Sharon and Jack. However, at this point Jack is still treading very lightly and does back Sharon up.

“I guess it's your place.”

Sharon definitely bought the condo on her own. My head canon says they originally  had a house which she sold after Ricky went off to college, which is when she bought her condo, hence, why Jack has no leverage with her when it comes to staying there. “We agreed on two nights, this is the second night.”“I could go pick up the kid tomorrow at school.I"m free.”

The first time I watched the Jack episodes I thought he seemed like an okay guy--it seemed like he was being kind to Rusty and was trying to help out. It was only later that I realized he was totally using Rusty to butter Sharon up so he could eventually get her to co-sign for his apartment--though I’m sure he did enjoy spending time with Rusty. Having never been burned by him like the rest of the family, Rusty looks at Jack with admiration and Jack feeds off that

. "What’s the matter?"

Jack groans pretending to be hurt and even in this moment, you can hear the suspicion in Sharon's voice when she asks him that question. This is a woman who has really been burned by this guy. There is not one iota of trust left her when it comes to him. Love the steely glare Sharon gives Jack when he gets too close. She might be an enabler, but she does have very definite boundaries with him and hanky panky is certainly out of the question. She’s moved on even though it’s pretty apparent that Jack hasn’t.

“My apologies for interfering. I just feel kind of sorry for the kid.”

Oops, wrong thing to say. The minute he says this you see Sharon's face just freeze.  He feels sorry for Rusty but never felt sorry for his own biological children?

“Can I get ya a blanket you look cold.

”“Maybe that's because you've spent more time with Rusty in the past 2 days than you have with our own kids in the last five years.”

“Don't start Sharon. I can't change the past; I can only try to do better.”

This is a conversation they’ve evidently had hundreds of times. Sadly, this is all lip service with Jack. He doesn’t really care about doing better.

“A man can change his face, he can change his name, but changing his nature is very hard.”

Speaking from experience, she's talking  as much about Jack as she is about Jim, the suspect. She’s realized that no matter how many times Jack says he’s going to change, how many times he thinks he’s going to change he simply cannot change who he is who he is.

“If you completely changed, why are you back in another police station? Being arrested for first degree murder.”

Again, the parallel between Jim the suspect and Jack. Jack is right back where he started, trying yet again to get his life back on track, mooching off Sharon and avoiding his children.

Andy is still eating French fries at this point.

“So this is what this drive through is really all about? You want me to co -sign for an apartment.”

“Would you?”

“Absolutely not. I spent years getting untangled from your finances, Jack; I'm not going back there.

This is what Sharon has been waiting for. From the moment Jack arrived, she knew he wanted something from her and now she knows what it is. We also now find out that not only did Jack not give her child support or help her financially he actually  screwed her over messing up her credit and putting her in debt. For someone who did something like that, it's hard to believe that he has the nerve to come back and ask her for help like this. When these episodes first aired, I thought Jack was a rather charming irresponsible lout. Now watching it again, he really comes off as rather embarrassingly weak and pathetic.  How can he not feel any shame at having to beg his wife and play the "poor me card" for help? I was embarrassed for him.

“I guess I'll have to call my brother.”

“Oh my god why do I always end up feeling sorry for you.”

Probably because contrary to her former image, she has such a compassionate heart and likes to help people. And maybe because she can still remember the Jack she originally fell in love with, and there are still a few sparks of him in the pathetic man he has become.

“I've had to negotiate with her my entire adult life.”

The first indication we have that he and Sharon married very young.

“Calling your kids, why is that a problem?

”“Sometimes Rusty you let down the people you love and you don’t know how to start over again, isn't that true Jack?”

“The kids don't want to talk to me.”

“You’re right, they don't want to talk you, but they NEED to talk to you and they will. NOW. Otherwise the Best Western is right down the street.”

This is something very important to Sharon; you can hear her voice start to break with emotion when she says they need to talk to him. Sharon may have been an enabler but she is no pushover. Rusty gets the first inkling into who Jack really is and that maybe there is a reason that Sharon is so wary of him. And for the first time we see real genuine emotion in Jack. When he says the kids don't want to talk to him, there are real tears in his eyes. He knows how badly he has messed up, so badly his kids don't want anything to do with him and if it wasn't for Sharon that's the way it would probably still be today. S As for Sharon she's frustrated with having Jack around; worried about how he's affecting Rusty, yet, if she can blackmail him into calling their kids she'll deal with all that fallout. She is not doing it for Jack; she is doing it for her kids. She wants them to have some kind of a relationship with their father, even if it comes from him being forced into it. And this is such a HUGE difference between Jack and Andy. Andy is willing to do whatever it takes to work on his relationship with his kids, and it is genuine and comes from the heart--not from being blackmailed. I’m thinking that some of the emotions left over from the Jack visit are what spurs Sharon on to help Andy in his quest to be more involved in his daughter’s life and to accompany him to Nicole’s wedding. She can see how much Andy is hurting and how badly he wants to repair things and I’m sure she wishes that Jack felt for Emily just a touch of what Andy feels for Nicole. I think seeing how emotionally invested Andy is truly touches Sharon and it is the start of her opening her heart to him. 

“You know she's going to call them back to see what you said.”“Of course will, but that's partly because she's still crazy about me.”

Oh the look Rusty gives him, like "are you nuts" LOL. I really think that it is the other way around. I think that despite everything Jack is still crazy about Sharon. I don't think that Sharon is still crazy about Jack. I think she still cares about Jack  and that she still loves him, but is no longer “in love” with him and that for her, being in a relationship with him again is out of the question whereas I think Jack would love to slip right back into her bed and start playing hubby again. But it wouldn‘t last. He can‘t live the way Sharon lives. I saw a comment somewhere about Jack still wearing his wedding ring, while Sharon doesn’t. To be honest, I don’t think Jack wears that ring out of any attachment to his marriage. I think it all comes down to manipulation with him. I doubt he had that wedding ring on when he lived in Vegas, however, he puts it on when he comes home to Sharon because he wants her to help him, wants her to still see him as her husband, wants her to think he still sees them as a married couple.  It’s funny but people often talk about Sharon having not been able to move on, but I don’t agree. Sharon has moved on. She’s made a great life for herself without him, he’s the one who keeps running back to her–and she’s not particularly pleased about that. She has very clear boundaries with him and is really more focused on his relationship or lack thereof with their children. 

“Richard William Raydor.

Right away, the genuine Jack is gone and "show Jack" is back on. He's putting on an act for Ricky and for Sharon and that is very sad. Throughout this episode it feels like Jack is always putting on a show. I get the feeling that for all his confidence and bravado, Jack is not very happy with who he is inside so he's always putting on a show,presenting a face far different from who he is on the inside. When I think of Jack Raydor, I think of an old-fashioned snake oil salesman or con artist.

[qqueenofhades]

Black Sails s4/finale thoughts

Okay, so I caught up on episodes 4x05-4x10 with @thelittleschemer​ over the past few days, and as such finished the season/series. Now I have many thoughts and need to write them down, welp.

I held off on finishing the show because I didn’t want it to interfere with what I had planned for TDH, and I can definitely say that it did not change anything about what I had worked out for the ending of said fic (which I really need to get around to doing soon). I was pleased to see that there were/will be a few points of concord, but yeah, TDH will definitely remain its own entity/story.

Tagging @prairiepirate​ and @ransomideas, who have expressed interest in my thoughts on said subject, heh. Under the cut for length and possible unpopular opinions.

Okay, first and foremost: Overall, I really liked it. The writing generally remains some of the best on TV, the acting is phenomenal, and as usual with Starz’ historical dramas these days, the production value is jaw-dropping. The sets, costumes, ships, etc are all just so real, and it definitely set up well for Treasure Island. It finished off its narrative arcs cleanly (or mostly so) and it continues to provide some excellent meaty commentary on the nature of stories, who tells them, who remembers them (hums “Who Lives Who Dies Who Tells Your Story” because lbr, theme song of this whole show) and the roles we play in creating and managing and remembering our own. This show was (and remains) incredibly intelligent and complex and subversive, you have to pay attention to all of it or you’re going to miss important plot developments (and probably still be confused on a few points) and it’s otherwise not at all what you’d expect from the premise (and first few episodes). As I said, just overall really impressive on many levels. The final few episodes also had a very POTC feeling to them, with mysterious islands that nobody can find, ghost stories, swashbuckling sea battles, hidden treasure, and so forth, and that was a lot of fun.

That said: Time to deconstruct it!

My main issue with the second half of s4 was that they seemed to throw all constraints of time/space/travel out the window, especially when it involves the characters sailing long distances at sea over incredibly cramped time-frames. Possibly writing TDH has made me too well-informed in said matters, heh, but they’d have us believe that Jack sailed from Nassau to Philadelphia, back to Nassau, out to Skeleton Island, and then back to Philadelphia in what.... a week? It’s been hard to gauge a reliable timeline for the show, since they’re moving historical events around freely and playing fast and loose with the facts to tell a good story, but we have the Maroons arriving and Madi’s mother saying that pirates from as far away as Massachusetts (which made me briefly hopeful for a Sam cameo, I AM NOT GONNA LIE) have heard of the fall of Nassau and have come to fight. In what... again, a day or so? I realize it’s important to keep the plot moving, and that nobody is actually going to watch two weeks of Jack and Anne stuck on a ship on the way to Philadelphia (although lbr, it’s probably still amusing), but for a show that has prided itself on its gritty realism, it kept taking me out of the story because I was all, NO WAY THEY’RE THERE ALREADY. WAIT. WHAT. THEY’RE BACK AGAIN? OKAY THEN.

(Aka, every historical/historical fantasy show has to contend with the fact that they need to get characters/news to places faster than historically accurate transport can actually take them, so things get compressed and skimmed over and squashed together, etc. It wasn’t enough to ruin anything for me, but I did keep noticing it, so yeah.)

My other issue was the involvement of the Spanish. Once again, I understand the narrative choice behind the decision: they needed a wild card/way to shake things up/break the standoff between the English forces and the pirates, and re-change the balance of power on Nassau. However (and I feel like they were aware of it and tried to finesse it to some degree in the narrative) are we really supposed to buy that the Spanish hate pirates just that bit more than they hate Rogers, agree to sail to Nassau, sack the place good, and then.... pack up and leave, never to be seen again or to have any further involvement with trying to reclaim the Urca gold (which would at least be a full-circle thing)? Within the span of an episode? I feel like the writers needed the shakeup, and to obviously provide an impetus for Rogers’ poor decisions to blow up in his face, but they knew they didn’t have time to adequately deal with the outcome, so we had the Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition and then poof, gone. This connects to the other sense I had, which was that they knew they had to wrap things up for the final season and find a way to stop a full-out war from happening, so the Spanish had to disappear after their use as a one-off shit-stirring device, the Maroons and the pirates and the English had to hastily make treaties to avoid said war, and despite a few really excellent action scenes, it still felt, idk, a bit... anti-climactic? As if they wanted a relatively happy ending for these characters (which is understandable) but didn’t have time to play everything out, so it just got compressed and a bit watered down.

Speaking of characters...

I love that the show has such intensive character studies/conversations/setpieces. However, I also feel as if the pacing ended up being a bit off as a result. We kept having long, multi-minute scenes of just two characters talking to each other (and again, exchanging important information in most cases, so you can’t really tune out), followed by a brief action scene, usually followed by yet another long dialogue scene. It’s always enjoyable to see the acting chops on display (I mean, these are not easy scenes to work through and require a lot of line memorization and facial nuance and other skill), but at several points I was wondering when everyone was going to stop talking and get back to the issues at hand -- as noted, if they’d cut some of the talking and focused on solving their plot problems, it could have flowed somewhat more smoothly. It felt as if they went too often to the well of “flashback followed by voiceover explaining plot twist” and had to TELL us information rather than SHOW us. Which again, it’s a good problem to have when your narrative is rich and complex and intelligent and has a lot of moving pieces, but again, everything could just be a bit, well, tighter. At least, that was the overall impression I was left with.

I was successfully kept on pins and needles over Madi’s fate (I had a few choice words when it looked like she was dead) and I hope she and Silver do end up together (I think it’s implied she does come back to him at the end) because I really like that relationship for both of them. It added a bit of selflessness and sympathy to Silver’s otherwise completely self-interested character, as did the scene where Flint presses him to explain his past and he doesn’t; we can tell he simply wants to forget everything that existed before Long John Silver (and I love how both that persona and “Captain Flint” were treated and twisted as distinct narrative entities for both characters) and that his life has probably been incredibly tragic too. He’s just dealt with it differently than Flint (which again, fits with them well as each other’s foils/yin and yang.) Their conversations/one-on-one faceoffs were some powerhouse acting from both Toby Stephens and Luke Arnold, and I appreciated the way things came full circle between them/to the logical end, but with a twist and with callbacks to their relationship in the pilot (as well as Silver finding the cook belowdecks). Madi is also generally a queen of everything and I love that she, a dark-skinned African woman, was made a central love interest and given emotional and narrative power/sympathy in her own right, and that the subject of slavery and her telling off Rogers to his face remained front and center. The show has always been so good with that (and LGBT representation, to the point where it’s a shorter list to think of who ISN’T LGBT than who is) and I really appreciated that.

On the subject of Rogers: Luke Roberts did an incredibly good job. Like damn. You can see the anger and insanity and grief rising and rising in him, but he’s almost scarier because it never breaks the dam entirely, because he’s always (almost always) self-controlled and dangerously calm and driven to do whatever he has to, and yet has no qualms with absolutely anything that is going to take. I was yelling at him for being the worst (and as noting, side-eyeing the decision to involve the Spanish both on a story and a meta level), and rooting for him to get his just desserts, but also genuinely being scared of him and respecting that he was good at what he was doing. You’re aware that he CAN hurt/kill/otherwise cause serious problems for our faves, and you’ve seen him do it, sometimes in gruesome detail. So yes, he served as an effective villain. You never could relax with him on screen, or be quite sure which way he was going next.

As for him and Eleanor, I’m still not entirely sure what to take away from that. I never bought that she genuinely loved him, as Eleanor is way too selfish to do anything, even a relationship, without personal benefit, and she got together with him in the first place as an alternative to incarceration/hanging. Even Flint questions whether her relationship with Rogers is somehow different from all the men she’s bragging about overcoming. Eleanor’s motives/nuances remained opaque until the end -- I believe that she wanted to rule Nassau again, and that she wanted to survive (hence the sad irony in her fate: that everything she did and everyone she sold out trying to save her neck led to her dying anyway) and that she saw in Rogers a way to do it. Likewise, I think he loved the idea of controlling Nassau through her more than her, and that it was easy for both of them to attach their feelings about ruling/controlling this place to the person of the other, to the point where even they might have been fooled/willing to believe it was true (if somewhat twisted) love. Hence as well why neither of them ended up in charge of it, she died, and he was ruined by his wife’s family, but not the wife he expected.

Jack and Anne were, as usual, fab, though as noted, their Super Speed Ship Travel had me side-eyeing hard. I noticed that their story, at least for now, ended far more happily than it does in history. Glad that Max got the chance to come out on top (I never ended up fully connecting to her as a character, but she’s definitely a BAMF).

Billy.... damn. Talk about a 180. Going from the man willing to do anything to keep your crewmates safe from Flint, to shooting them down in the water aboard a boat full of redcoats? Not cool, bro. Not. Cool. (Though I did enjoy the final face-off between him and Flint on the yards.) When that’s contrasted with Flint giving orders to make sure everyone is evacuated from Nassau and nobody is left behind, it strikes you how much they’ve changed places and how Billy has become objectively no better -- indeed, possibly worse -- than Flint, and doesn’t even have Flint’s self-awareness to know it. He has gone down a road by himself, by choice, and which fits fairly well with his upcoming role in Treasure Island/estrangement from the others (real talk, how does he get off?) but which made him pretty hard to root for by the end. I also think it’s no accident that he got paired with Rogers. Both characters are convinced they are acting for a greater good on their respective sides, but both are willing to do anything to achieve it, stubborn and independent to a fault, and unwilling to take any responsibility for their mistakes.

And okay, so... Flint.

He is my favorite and as such, I’ve had to save him for last, since I probably have the most thoughts/investment on the end of his story. In a nutshell: I have mixed feelings. I was convinced that he was going to die for most of the season, so I am obviously happy that he got some measure of solace/happiness/reunion at the end. However, I am also not sure that it wouldn’t have worked better for him to die, or at least leave his fate more open-ended. Hint that Silver wasn’t telling the whole story and that Flint was still alive, but for it to remain ambiguous where he went or what he did or why.

This obviously is a strange place to be for my favorite, but after a season of fairly hard-hitting emotional moments/notes and some pretty bloody action, I almost feel like they chickened out of killing Flint at the end and wanted to give him some happiness instead -- aka, an unexpectedly sunny “Everyone Lives!”-type finale for what has been a pretty dark show. Which again -- I have no problem with, because heaven knows the man deserves some happiness, but I still found myself vaguely unsatisfied with how it was pulled off. See above for my feelings on how well they dealt with the legends/personas of “Long John Silver” and “Captain Flint” in their own right, and I did appreciate that the end of season 2 (Flint wants to leave it behind and settle down with Miranda, but she’s killed) was paralleled with the end of season 4 (Flint does get a chance to leave it behind/is reunited with Thomas). However, on a narrative level, this... doesn’t quite work for me, because Thomas was never built up on-screen to be a character capable of carrying this emotional weight. We saw him only in a few season 2 flashbacks. We saw a bit of his and Flint’s relationship and how that backfired, but all we ever really knew about Thomas mattering to Flint was that we were told he did. We cared about Thomas because we cared about Flint and Miranda, but there was never really enough for him to become any more than a motivating/backstory figure in Flint’s own story.

Hence, I feel as if Thomas worked better as such (a backstory figure) rather than as Flint’s presumably somewhat-happy ending. Yes, I am a diehard Flint/Miranda shipper, but I was more invested in Flint and Miranda’s relationship because of all the time the narrative spent on making me care about it. We saw them together for two seasons. We saw their arguments, their disagreements, their tender moments (”I was hoping to have you all to myself for a few days”/”I recognize you, do you recognize me?” will never not kill me). We saw Miranda fighting to be with Flint and reminding him that she has been loyal and devoted to him for ten years, and him finally accepting that and letting her come with him to Charlestown and the two of them planning to make their home together and leave piracy behind... only for, yeah, welp, noooo. We saw Miranda’s relationships with other characters and we saw her own struggle in how exile had changed her and the sacrifices she had made for allowing Flint and Thomas to be together and the blame she took for the scandal. We had Flint wanting to die and be with her and his flashbacks/dreams of her for half of season 3, and him even saying that this was worse than losing Thomas (”But you... I am ruined over you.”) In other words, I was invested in them because the show spent so much time making sure that I was. I cried out loud when Flint compared Silver’s apparent loss of Madi (the woman he was willing to give up the war for/wanted to be his wife) to his own loss of Miranda. Flint and Miranda were both real characters in their own right, and Thomas just by nature of his role in the story was someone that they had lost and whose memory they still honored. To pluck him out and make him alive again seems a bit, well, pat.

Don’t get me wrong, my super bi ass is definitely incredibly appreciative that Flint, a bi character who has had two great loves in his life (Thomas and Miranda) ended up with his same-gender partner, and that they got to be reunited on screen. But I also feel as if the most poignant and fitting end for his story would either for him to explicitly die, and for his reunion with both Thomas and Miranda to take place in the afterlife (I so wanted that scene of the three of them together again/Thomas and Miranda being there to finally bring Flint back to them) or for his fate to not be spelled out, as it is in Treasure Island. I.e., for it to be pretty clear that Silver didn’t kill him and let him go, but for us not to know where he went or why, and that is why the legend remains and lives on. That way they can have the symmetry of him letting the persona of Flint “go back to the sea,” and to also keep the tragedy and romance and true loss of his story. He HAS changed forever in being Flint. He can’t give that up, he can’t wake from his nightmare. He’s lost everything and everyone (including his ship, poor Walrus). The ending with Thomas was nice enough, but again, I don’t care that much about Thomas in his own right, because the narrative never spent time on making me do that. I am happy FOR Flint because I love him and I know it’s what he would have wanted, but I don’t feel the gut-wrenching relief/sadness/cry-for-days-but-love it that I would have with Flint dying and finally getting to be with both Thomas AND Miranda again, and for us to see them once more as a threesome and a whole. Again, I feel like they ducked out of bringing Flint’s story to a sadder and arguably more fitting end, and while I can’t argue with my fave getting to live, yeah.

Anyway! Damn. That was a long-ass meta. As I said, overall I did like it very much, I certainly had feelings, and the rest of the show was generally so well-written that I can forgive them some pacing and plot hiccups here and there in this season. As I said, this is absolutely one of the smartest and most subversive and diverse shows on TV, and I am sorry to see it end. I would watch the shit out of Treasure Island if they do it (as I think they were kicking around). I just wish they could have hit some even more powerful notes in a few places. But thanks for the great adventure.

[glassofgaytea]

FYI: A Case for Johnlock: Why SHERLOCK Should Embrace Its Ship of Dreams | ScreenSpy

Thank you!

Article link…

A Case for Johnlock: Why SHERLOCK Should Embrace Its Ship of Dreams - By Chris. B

Modern television has more “ships” than the Pacific Ocean. Virtually every character on the airwaves has been matched with another, fancied relationships dreamed up by eager fans, either to generate laughs or to satisfy personal passions.  Every fandom has its favorite pairs, but if you’re a follower of the BBC’s Sherlock, the most discussed coupling by far is that John and Sherlock, or Johnlock.  The desire to see these two together in more than a simple platonic friendship is one that is played out in blogs and fan fiction regularly, but is this something fans will ever see developed on screen? 

There are many factors to consider here.  Sadly, in 2017, there is still a certain amount of controversy about showing a gay couple in an everyday relationship, one that is not present for purposes of comic relief or sideline plot support.  Would the network and affiliates allow it?  How conservative are its politics and those of its advertisers?  Given the overwhelming popularity of the show on an international scale, I would wager their wallets would easily trump any qualms that might exist.  It is amazing how capitalism can solve all manner of perceived ills. 

Regardless, do Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat even want this to be the dynamic of their characters?  According to them, the answer is no.  In an interview with Valerie Parker in July of last year, Gatiss claimed, “…we’ve explicitly said this is not going to happen – there is no game plan – no matter how much we lie about other things, that this show is going to culminate in Martin and Benedict going off into the sunset together. They are not going to do it.” 

That sounds pretty final.  Maybe. 

Since these two have made the most of The X-Files philosophy that a lie is most conveniently hidden between two truths, there is always room for doubt.  (Really, how likely is it that a seasoned professional like Gatiss suddenly mistook the names of his characters for those of the men who portray them?) 

In any case, I think an openly romantic relationship between John and Sherlock would be well worth it.  Consider the following points and determine for yourself if this match is a just a forgettable fantasy, or if it could be an ultimate destiny. 

 5. The characters are already tightly bonded 

No one would argue with the idea that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original characters of Holmes and Watson are best friends; through each of the numerous variations presented over the intervening century plus, this is one of the few facets has remained consistent.  They are a team. Individually, though, each member of the team is lacking.  At one point, Sherlock confesses in “The Great Game” that he’s been “reliably informed” that he has no heart, going so far as to declare several different times that he is a high-functioning sociopath.  John, on the other hand, is “abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people”; he misses the war that left him behind.  Both have a hole that they need to fill, and that is exactly what the other satisfies. 

In Sherlock, this is reinforced repeatedly.  John and Sherlock are clearly presented as two halves of the same whole, each needing the other to be a complete version of himself—John, the heart and inspiration; Sherlock, the excitement and intellectual challenge.  When Sherlock is baffled why a woman would be upset about her child’s death after fourteen years or when he too gleefully investigates a child kidnapping, John is there to mediate his reactions.  Then, when Sherlock returns in “The Empty Hearse,” he insists correctly of John, “You have missed this…the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, the two of us against the rest of the world.”  Later, in “The Abominable Bride,” John quips to Moriarty, “There are always two of us.”  There must be.  Inevitably, all roads they take lead to Baker Street, back to their roots together.   

4. There is already plenty of precedent for it 

Sherlock has never shied away from the suggestion that Sherlock and John are more than friends.  From the outset, John is mistaken for Sherlock’s date, and the man who will “outlive God trying to have the last word” makes no correction, nor does he when a reporter in “The Reichenbach Fall” asks for a quote about whether he and Dr. Watson are “strictly platonic.”  Further, the two gay owners of The Cross Keys Inn from “The Hounds of Baskerville” assess John and Sherlock as a pair; and Mrs. Hudson, who lives just a floor below them and knows them very well, refers to one of their arguments as “a little domestic” and is shocked when John is ready to move on (to marry a woman?) a full two years after Sherlock’s supposed death.  Then, Irene Adler, who sizes people up as adeptly as Sherlock, calls out John’s jealousy about the 57 unanswered texts that she’s sent (yes, John kept track) and flatly counters John’s insistence that he and Sherlock are a couple:  “Yes, you are.”  Finally, in “The Abominable Bride,” when John saves his other half from the precipice and Sherlock gushes about John’s intelligence, Moriarty himself rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Oh, why don’t you two just elope, for God’s sake!” 

There are innumerable instances of extreme devotion shown to us as well.  In “His Last Vow” Sherlock literally restarts his own heart because John is in danger, then commits murder to protect John from the thumb of Magnussen’s extortion.  In “The Great Game” John throws himself on Moriarty to allow Sherlock to escape the bomb he wears, and in “A Scandal in Belgravia,” he dumps his girlfriend and their holiday plans to stay home and look after Sherlock, a choice he makes easily after she demands, “Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!”  (Oh, he won’t, dear; there’s no contest.)  Further, images abound of the intense and meaningful stares shared by these two, traded like stocks on internet forums and social media, all screaming of something bubbling beneath the surface.  Thus, to transition to an official couple would not be much of a stretch.  

3. It fits the transformational model of the show 

Gatiss and Moffat have shown a penchant for pushing the envelope with their version of Doyle’s characters. Would Doyle have raised his eyebrows over John’s sibling being a divorced lesbian who’s taken to drink?  I doubt the original author could have imagined Mrs. Hudson as a former exotic dancer who had been married to the head of a drug cartel.  And certainly no one anticipated that the lovable Mary Morstan would turn out to be a former intelligence agent and ruthless trained assassin. 

The creators have not been afraid to add their own special spice to these characters.  In a 2014 interview with Phil Ittner, Gatiss and Moffat asserted, “Most of [the series] is actually completely new, so there’s not a drying-up of the source…we’re slightly broadening out the world a bit and being slightly more heretical than we probably would have been at the beginning. But then that’s good, it feels like this is our version…”   To go all-in and apex this concept with the core pair would allow them to make a truly indelible mark on the enormous canon of Sherlock Holmes iterations. 

After all, side characters are only so revealing; in this universe, John and Sherlock are the only ones who matter.  The series has been proposed as the story of the development of a genius, hence its very specific title, so building Sherlock Holmes to the point where he can freely give and receive love, achieving true intimacy, would be the greatest development possible.  Gatiss and Moffat could provide that humanity for him, to create their own warm center to the notoriously melancholy sphere of the private life of the world’s only consulting detective.   

2. Proper representation matters 

All segments of society can and should have a right to see themselves recognized unabashedly by the media they consume, whether it is fiction or non-fiction.  In the twenty-first century, this should not still be the struggle that it is, yet any in the LBGTQ community know how resistant this practice is to change in the machine of social institutions.  Too often, gay characters are used as statue pieces or comic relief, sidelines or after thoughts; they are not permitted to be real and valuable human beings, but are stock characters and stereotypes, extras who inevitably get the axe if the Grim Reaper comes calling.

 Steven Moffat has been most emphatic on the issue that the showing of gay or bisexual characters in popular culture should not be approached with triviality, that it is a serious issue that should be offered (particularly to young people) in a way that denotes true acceptance.  In his Parker interview, he asserted, “You don’t want to essentially tell children that [being gay is] something to campaign about. You want to say this is absolutely fine and normal. There is no question to answer. You want to walk right past it, in a way. You don’t want to…say, as sometimes other kinds of literature or movies might, we forgive you for being gay. You’re just saying you’re gay and it doesn’t matter. There’s no issue.” 

Essentially, one’s sexuality is just an average, marginally interesting, non-personality-defining, run-of-the-mill reality.  Thus, no matter what your sexual bent, it is not odd; it is not special or different, wonderful or terrible.  It just is, as mundane to one’s whole character as eye color or shoe size.  Indeed, until this matter does not flutter pulses with its rakish novelty, true acceptance has not yet occurred.  Having Sherlock and John integrate their sexuality seamlessly into the roster of the other attributes that the audience has witnessed, to roll it into the entire picture of who they are, we would be granted a relaxed and genuine portrayal of a devoted couple that happens to be gay, one from which we could all ultimately benefit.   

1. It would count Sherlock is a global phenomenon.  

According to the Radio Times, it is shown in 224 countries and territories around the world, making it the most watched of any of the BBC’s programs, surpassing even Dr. Who, which has decades of history.  It has spawned blogs and merchandise and a number of Sherlocked fan events, which are major affairs to rival the most popular comic cons, where every artifact, set detail, and image from the show is cherished and applauded. 

The series’ leads, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, are beloved international stars.  Thanks in no small part to this show, they are in constant demand and headline massive studio projects, like The Hobbit series of films and Marvel’s Dr. Strange.  Each has a immense following of fans, and rightly so—they are award-winning craftsmen, extremely versatile talents who deserve every bit of success they’ve acquired. 

This degree of influence and appeal leverages a lot of power. 

What this show brings to the table, the world eats; what it points to as its guides, people would notice, and what’s more, follow.  What, then, could be accomplished in social terms if Sherlock were to subtly demystify gay relationships?   What might result if a stellar product and the highly popular individuals involved indicate that a homosexual relationship is every bit as complicated and trying and boring and wonderful as every other kind? 

Respect. And with luck, progress.

Thanks, Chris. B

[dmellieon]

Why SHERLOCK Should Embrace Its Ship of Dreams

By The Screen Spy Team on January 10, 2017 By Chris B. 

Modern television has more “ships” than the Pacific Ocean. Virtually every character on the airwaves has been matched with another, fancied relationships dreamed up by eager fans, either to generate laughs or to satisfy personal passions.  Every fandom has its favorite pairs, but if you’re a follower of the BBC’s Sherlock, the most discussed coupling by far is that John and Sherlock, or Johnlock.  The desire to see these two together in more than a simple platonic friendship is one that is played out in blogs and fan fiction regularly, but is this something fans will ever see developed on screen? There are many factors to consider here.  Sadly, in 2017, there is still a certain amount of controversy about showing a gay couple in an everyday relationship, one that is not present for purposes of comic relief or sideline plot support.  Would the network and affiliates allow it?  How conservative are its politics and those of its advertisers?  Given the overwhelming popularity of the show on an international scale, I would wager their wallets would easily trump any qualms that might exist.  It is amazing how capitalism can solve all manner of perceived ills. Regardless, do Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat even want this to be the dynamic of their characters?  According to them, the answer is no.  In an interview with Valerie Parker in July of last year, Gatiss claimed, “…we’ve explicitly said this is not going to happen – there is no game plan – no matter how much we lie about other things, that this show is going to culminate in Martin and Benedict going off into the sunset together. They are not going to do it.” That sounds pretty final.  Maybe. Since these two have made the most of The X-Files philosophy that a lie is most conveniently hidden between two truths, there is always room for doubt.  (Really, how likely is it that a seasoned professional like Gatiss suddenly mistook the names of his characters for those of the men who portray them?) In any case, I think an openly romantic relationship between John and Sherlock would be well worth it.  Consider the following points and determine for yourself if this match is a just a forgettable fantasy, or if it could be an ultimate destiny.   

5. The characters are already tightly bonded No one would argue with the idea that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original characters of Holmes and Watson are best friends; through each of the numerous variations presented over the intervening century plus, this is one of the few facets has remained consistent.  They are a team. Individually, though, each member of the team is lacking.  At one point, Sherlock confesses in “The Great Game” that he’s been “reliably informed” that he has no heart, going so far as to declare several different times that he is a high-functioning sociopath.  John, on the other hand, is “abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people”; he misses the war that left him behind.  Both have a hole that they need to fill, and that is exactly what the other satisfies. In Sherlock, this is reinforced repeatedly.  John and Sherlock are clearly presented as two halves of the same whole, each needing the other to be a complete version of himself—John, the heart and inspiration; Sherlock, the excitement and intellectual challenge.  When Sherlock is baffled why a woman would be upset about her child’s death after fourteen years or when he too gleefully investigates a child kidnapping, John is there to mediate his reactions.  Then, when Sherlock returns in “The Empty Hearse,” he insists correctly of John, “You have missed this…the thrill of the chase, the blood pumping through your veins, the two of us against the rest of the world.”  Later, in “The Abominable Bride,” John quips to Moriarty, “There are always two of us.”  There must be.  Inevitably, all roads they take lead to Baker Street, back to their roots together.   

4. There is already plenty of precedent for it Sherlock has never shied away from the suggestion that Sherlock and John are more than friends.  From the outset, John is mistaken for Sherlock’s date, and the man who will “outlive God trying to have the last word” makes no correction, nor does he when a reporter in “The Reichenbach Fall” asks for a quote about whether he and Dr. Watson are “strictly platonic.”  Further, the two gay owners of The Cross Keys Inn from “The Hounds of Baskerville” assess John and Sherlock as a pair; and Mrs. Hudson, who lives just a floor below them and knows them very well, refers to one of their arguments as “a little domestic” and is shocked when John is ready to move on (to marry a woman?) a full two years after Sherlock’s supposed death.  Then, Irene Adler, who sizes people up as adeptly as Sherlock, calls out John’s jealousy about the 57 unanswered texts that she’s sent (yes, John kept track) and flatly counters John’s insistence that he and Sherlock are a couple:  “Yes, you are.”  Finally, in “The Abominable Bride,” when John saves his other half from the precipice and Sherlock gushes about John’s intelligence, Moriarty himself rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Oh, why don’t you two just elope, for God’s sake!” There are innumerable instances of extreme devotion shown to us as well.  In “His Last Vow” Sherlock literally restarts his own heart because John is in danger, then commits murder to protect John from the thumb of Magnussen’s extortion.  In “The Great Game” John throws himself on Moriarty to allow Sherlock to escape the bomb he wears, and in “A Scandal in Belgravia,” he dumps his girlfriend and their holiday plans to stay home and look after Sherlock, a choice he makes easily after she demands, “Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!”  (Oh, he won’t, dear; there’s no contest.)  Further, images abound of the intense and meaningful stares shared by these two, traded like stocks on internet forums and social media, all screaming of something bubbling beneath the surface.  Thus, to transition to an official couple would not be much of a stretch.   

3. It fits the transformational model of the show Gatiss and Moffat have shown a penchant for pushing the envelope with their version of Doyle’s characters.  Would Doyle have raised his eyebrows over John’s sibling being a divorced lesbian who’s taken to drink?  I doubt the original author could have imagined Mrs. Hudson as a former exotic dancer who had been married to the head of a drug cartel.  And certainly no one anticipated that the lovable Mary Morstan would turn out to be a former intelligence agent and ruthless trained assassin. The creators have not been afraid to add their own special spice to these characters.  In a 2014 interview with Phil Ittner, Gatiss and Moffat asserted, “Most of [the series] is actually completely new, so there’s not a drying-up of the source…we’re slightly broadening out the world a bit and being slightly more heretical than we probably would have been at the beginning. But then that’s good, it feels like this is our version…”   To go all-in and apex this concept with the core pair would allow them to make a truly indelible mark on the enormous canon of Sherlock Holmes iterations. After all, side characters are only so revealing; in this universe, John and Sherlock are the only ones who matter.  The series has been proposed as the story of the development of a genius, hence its very specific title, so building Sherlock Holmes to the point where he can freely give and receive love, achieving true intimacy, would be the greatest development possible.  Gatiss and Moffat could provide that humanity for him, to create their own warm center to the notoriously melancholy sphere of the private life of the world’s only consulting detective.   

2. Proper representation matters All segments of society can and should have a right to see themselves recognized unabashedly by the media they consume, whether it is fiction or non-fiction.  In the twenty-first century, this should not still be the struggle that it is, yet any in the LBGTQ community know how resistant this practice is to change in the machine of social institutions.  Too often, gay characters are used as statue pieces or comic relief, sidelines or after thoughts; they are not permitted to be real and valuable human beings, but are stock characters and stereotypes, extras who inevitably get the axe if the Grim Reaper comes calling. Steven Moffat has been most emphatic on the issue that the showing of gay or bisexual characters in popular culture should not be approached with triviality, that it is a serious issue that should be offered (particularly to young people) in a way that denotes true acceptance.  In his Parker interview, he asserted, “You don’t want to essentially tell children that [being gay is] something to campaign about. You want to say this is absolutely fine and normal. There is no question to answer. You want to walk right past it, in a way. You don’t want to…say, as sometimes other kinds of literature or movies might, we forgive you for being gay. You’re just saying you’re gay and it doesn’t matter. There’s no issue.” Essentially, one’s sexuality is just an average, marginally interesting, non-personality-defining, run-of-the-mill reality.  Thus, no matter what your sexual bent, it is not odd; it is not special or different, wonderful or terrible.  It just is, as mundane to one’s whole character as eye color or shoe size.  Indeed, until this matter does not flutter pulses with its rakish novelty, true acceptance has not yet occurred.  Having Sherlock and John integrate their sexuality seamlessly into the roster of the other attributes that the audience has witnessed, to roll it into the entire picture of who they are, we would be granted a relaxed and genuine portrayal of a devoted couple that happens to be gay, one from which we could all ultimately benefit.   

1. It would count Sherlock is a global phenomenon.  According to the Radio Times, it is shown in 224 countries and territories around the world, making it the most watched of any of the BBC’s programs, surpassing even Dr. Who, which has decades of history.  It has spawned blogs and merchandise and a number of Sherlocked fan events, which are major affairs to rival the most popular comic cons, where every artifact, set detail, and image from the show is cherished and applauded. The series’ leads, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, are beloved international stars.  Thanks in no small part to this show, they are in constant demand and headline massive studio projects, like The Hobbit series of films and Marvel’s Dr. Strange.  Each has a immense following of fans, and rightly so—they are award-winning craftsmen, extremely versatile talents who deserve every bit of success they’ve acquired. This degree of influence and appeal leverages a lot of power. What this show brings to the table, the world eats; what it points to as its guides, people would notice, and what’s more, follow.  What, then, could be accomplished in social terms if Sherlock were to subtly demystify gay relationships?   What might result if a stellar product and the highly popular individuals involved indicate that a homosexual relationship is every bit as complicated and trying and boring and wonderful as every other kind? 

Respect.  And with luck, progress. 

(via A Case for Johnlock: Why SHERLOCK Should Embrace Its Ship of Dreams)