#wish me good luck with the aeroplane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaotic-nick · 2 years

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Note: Used one of my headcanons as an inspiration for the story. Annnnnd I'm posting this before I go to bed because I pulled an all nighter for my midterm. The last one for this semester.

word count: 2700

warnings: mentions of infidelity, death of a parent.

Event: Forbidden Collab hosted by @1252291

They never met. Really never.

Though it was their families that have done well in aspects beyond their business— maintaining a rivalry that started with their grandparents. Sure the (L/n) daughter tried to mend ties with the oldest son of the Zacharias family when she sat in her grandfather’s chair.

He was the typical movie villain of a CEO. Only five years ahead of her in taking his father’s position, he used it as an invitation to smoke a cigar as she discussed what could be done to fix their rivalry and then blow smoke at her face. It took everything in her not to snatch the rifle above his office door when he told her that the company should fall into her husband’s hands.

After that, (M/n) only wished him ‘good luck, and a goodbye’ at an event when his youngest son brought havoc. Hand on her belly, as if telling him to be afraid of the (L/n) heir.

But as the youngest, Miche, grew, Mikhail realised he needed more than just a ‘good luck’.

If he wasn’t the favourite child, he would’ve disposed of Miche, shut his mouth from airing out his dirty laundry to every person he spoke. His wife’s last pregnancy was enough of a mistake, and every waking day Mikhail spent proved that his youngest son was an expense.

Standing tall, blond hair combed so lovingly by his wife and his skin dusted with freckles, his words never failed to make the older men laugh. All crowded around him at the events, Miche was more amusing than his father himself.

Some would say that Mikhail hated the boy’s guts because he was a carbon copy of his mother. A woman he couldn’t control at first.

He was smart for his age, already reading books on cultures and religion. He was more than happy to share them with everyone he met. “So my papa should be a Muslim!”

Pyxis, who was the first to entertain him, bent down to his height. “Hmm. Why so, Mister Zacharias?”

“Because. I see him telling all the girls at the big building that he’ll marry them— that’s bad. My mommy tells me that—”

“That’s enough, Miche.” At the young age of eight when he started tagging along to these events, he was already bringing shame to his father’s face.

While he brought shame, (Y/n) frolicked around in her estate. Mud weighing her down. Sometimes beating the air with a stray stick.

In a way they were already connected through the shared stories of retired business executives, all gathered at Lucia’s pond. She sighed into her glass of whisky, already asking for Pyxis to pour her another one. “That child.” With the tone of her voice, they all turned to watch (M/n) chasing her around to get her in her afternoon shower. She was moving about like the pressure of her to do well everywhere.

“Now I know how much of a mischief I was with my mom,” she lit a cigarette. “I told (M/n), ‘no let her enjoy all the brands I’m buying her. She’s the first granddaughter, she should know, she’s special.’ And my poor heart can’t take it when I have to wait all year to spend two months with her.

Zackly laughed heartedly, being the one to see (Y/n) with a lot of amusement, remembering that she excitedly joined their farmers. And then ran to her father telling him that she no longer wanted to see aeroplanes, only planting seeds and watching them grow. “Sounds like she and the Zacharias boy would get along—” he turned to Pyxis, who was growing red from drinking, for confirmation. “He’s ten now?”

“Thirteen,”

“Ah, six years older than her,”

Zackly turned back to Lucia and asked. “Think they’ll be the one to fix severed ties?” Not that he really expected an answer.

“I lost hope that they’d listen to us, but—” her eyebrows furrowed, she closed her eyes. Fixing the gap the Zacharias family was what she considered her only regret.“For them to force their children to carry on the weight of a generation’s hatred. How pathetic. The youngest will be the one to break their bubbles, I’m telling you.”

If only Miche hadn’t seen the many nights his mother cried over his father’s many accounts of infidelities. Or was asked to keep quiet about seeing his father ‘enjoying’ his secretary, he wouldn’t use going to university as a pathway to getting out of his father’s roof.

Maybe if his mother was still around, he would’ve stayed in Paradis. But, her death was enough for him to move to a new country with nothing and start anew with Erwin.

He wouldn’t have met (Y/n) there, still writing her university experience story when he felt a connection with her. One that she ignored at first.

“Shit—” defeated he fell into the softness of his bed. A defeated ‘fuck’ following when he saw her lip pressed in a thin line, looking at him with a glint of amusement. “I think I should cancel class tomorrow. Head's killing me."

“That you should do,” she popped the foil sachet open, letting the tablet drop into his open hand. The glass of warm water by his bedside. Then showed him her compact mirror, just to make him see how much of a mess he was.

Hair sticking to his forehead all pointed at different places. And still, he had enough hair that it was all fluffy at the back. Eyes all red— “You were crying about how you used to respect your dad, but now you hate him so much,” Followed by her turning away, “you’re starting to smell, Miche.”

“Oh,” he fell back closing his eyes with a hand to block the sunlight. “I’ll shower if you come with me?”

“Right . . .” followed quickly by, “so you can vomit on me like what you did with Erwin.”

“I did that?!”

“At least it’s not one Levi?” True, he and Erwin have been friends enough for him to let the vomit affect him. "I was stopping Hanji from taking your pictures."

Her back was facing him as she walked from one spot to another, looking at the unfinished paintings hung up on his wall. All with base drawings. Miche hoped he knew that it wasn’t any woman that was in them, savouring how she looked so innocent in staring at them. “How do we tell them?”

A question he dreaded hearing. So many scripted answers that only came at night, but every time she asked with an added despair—

—he didn’t have all those words he guarded in his mind. Breaking his heart when her broken eyes looked away from him.

“Our age gap is one thing, and then you telling your parents . . .” fear followed when she faced him. His back hugs won’t do anything if she was beginning to lose hope that he’d have the courage to show his face for once.

She was young, if she leaves him, she’ll be able to move on. But in his case—

“Miche?”

What he’s gotten good at besides hiding his face, was, “This and that. If you don’t worry about it enough, we can run away and settle here. Change our names as well.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Figured you’d say that.” if she ever does think about leaving him, he has all these paintings of her to remind him of the love he treasured so much. He nuzzled further into her, then after a long sniff asked, “When do you go home?”

“Maybe a month after I graduate. ”

“Then I’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“It’ll get us attention from them. Two heirs arrived in Paradis at the same time. Scandalous. But I’ll make sure it’s all on me, and not you. So you can go home safely.”

“And you’re doing that because?”

“To give my cheater of a father a heart attack.”

——

She should’ve trusted her gut when it told her it wasn’t just that. Yes, she had every right to believe that it was the intention, MIche hated that man with every nerve of his being. However, she should have prepared for this as well.

He’s somewhere in his mansion, nursing a wound, thinking he was probably so smug in sending her family an invitation for his art gallery. A green envelope sat in the middle of the dining table. The gold Zacharias seal torn away from the envelope but done carefully to not break the wax seal. She toyed with the bouquet of baby’s breath that was sent along with it. Watching her grandmother and mother’s faces contort to different emotions.

“Are we going, (m/n)?”

She asked to break the silence that’s been there since the sender of the letter was announced. Even if she knew her mother had an inkling, attention going straight to her when she offered to open the letter too excitedly.

“Yes! Of course, it was the son who invited us.”

“Don’t.” (Y/n) tested the waters. Hoping her tone sounded too unsure enough. “What if it’s a trap? I dunno, don’t you guys hate each other?”

That only earned her light slap of a hand fan on her shoulder from her grandmother. Amused.

“Do you hate someone you’ve never met, (Y/n)?” With a tone like that partnered with a side glance, (Y/n)’s nape felt cold under the jacket she wore. Miche’s jacket. One that she’d ‘borrowed’ so she could smell him.

The gallery’s cold air silenced her more. Lips cracking under the lipstick and lipgloss that promised to keep them moisturised. Yes, the decor was beautiful. A timeless classic. Familiar faces who’s reminded her that she too has aged, no longer a child. A row of cameras— expensive and with lenses huge enough to capture a secret from afar.

Inside, she could only wish that the invitation was the end of his antics.

Oh, how wrong all of her guesses were.

Knowing that Miche was somewhere inside, she still let the void growing inside take over her. Drying her throat and pushing her heart up to lodge it there.

“Miss (Y/n) (L/n),” came a redhead, at the entrance of the gallery, stopping her.

“Yes?” Now she was praying that those flowers that stood out on their own weren’t for her. There was already a snap of pictures coming behind her.

“From the artist himself, miss.”

Outside, she controlled every urge to smile, forcing a shocked expression. And walked with her family, head held high. ‘Try not to cry. NO, When you see Miche be civil with him. Don’t cry just yet.’

Fucking hell. MIche I swear to god— “I see, wonderful! Thank you!” Inside, all the anger melted to giddiness. The bouquet consisted of the first flowers he ever gave her. This time wider. Loud with decorations.

“He’s a talented painter.”

That he is. They all stood in front of the first canvas. Admiring it. Her voice came back, wanting to tell then that the subject of the painting was her! When she first wore a dress for him, spent her time looking all dolled up. He captured it perfectly. A simple pink dress.

And when the night ended with him dancing her along with the melody of his favourite piano piece.

Next was her side profile, was he slowly going to reveal her face to her family? It was her! Still blurry. She only recognised it as it was from when they were caught in the rain and sought shelter under a closed church.

Looking solemnly into the distance. “It’s for a future painting, I swear!” Was followed when she looked at him so— offended?

As if it wasn’t enough torture the last one was of her entire face, looking down up at his. This was from a wedding! Nile and Marie’s wedding when he told her that she’d be his, that she just needed to wait. Entranced by how his hands replicate the picture with more depth to the emotions they felt that day, she stepped forward, letting her face show awe.

“Take care of her, Miche.”

What?

Quickly, she snapped her head to the side where she heard her grandmother’s voice. In front of another painting, her family members surrounded a MIche, forehead touching the floor as his hands balanced his body. Nothing but serene smiles on their faces. Her parents were amused. Urging him to stand up so he could join her.

He laughed as he stood up, “Of course, future in-laws,” his back being met by slaps on the back from Zackly and Pyxis. Both mumbling about how he’s become the real problem child for Mikhail.

“Hey,” he joined her, pulling her to his side. Head resting above hers. (Y/n), lowered her bouquet to feel his warmth when she turned to him. “you’re crying.”

“Of course I would.”

He reached into the back if his pocket, fishing for a box. “Guess I’ll have to make you cry even more.” Like he wasn’t crying himself when he looked up at her from where he kneeled.

“What about your family, Miche? You’ll be excommunicated!”

“So? I already have a million something.” He took her hand. “And a house somewhere.” He slipped the ring, staying on the ground longer to let them take proper pictures of her.

Any moment now his father would barge in. Yelling to have all the attention on him, make a fuss about how he’s such a disgrace and doing this was an act of treachery to the family. For now, he stood up, giving his engagement ring for her to slip on his. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

“You actually rubbed off on me, I was thinking of eloping after this.”

“Oh, so I didn’t have to kneel down like that after all? Or risked my life going to your mansion to ask for your hand in marriage.”

“You did that?”

“Yea, your grandma told me not to wake you up. She wanted to see how long you’ll keep quiet.”

“NO!”

“I have a picture of you asleep.”

“Yep”

She stared longer at the painting, leaning on Miche’s side. Her beating her heart coming to a steady pace. “Mic—”

“SIR!” Petra nearly tripped running to him if it weren’t for Levi, the panicked expression on her face telling them enough. Her shrill voice silenced the conversations among people, going all to her.

Then a loud bang from the doors being slammed open. Miche flinched, standing there to make sure it was his father before bending down to put an arm behind (Y/n)’s knees. Carrying her bridal style.

“What kind of a disgrace are you?” (Y/n) heard a she turned to her parents, standing at an open backdoor that Miche ran to.

“We’ll see you there, (Y/n). Don’t worry.”

There?

“Mama!”

“We love you!”

She looked up at Miche, pieces of the smashed bouquet leaving a trail as he took the steps in wide leaps. Asking him for an answer. “I also have a helicopter waiting for us upstairs,”

“Where to?”

“Hizuru!”

“We have a lifetime to be together?”

“Not that,” he almost threw her in. Jumping in after. “Last time I talked to him he broke my nose.”

She looked below out the window, her family’s guards trying their best to stop Mikhail’s guards from going near the helicopter. And as the helicopter took off from the helipad, his father broke reached the rooftop. An angry stance that could only punch someone. Not land the plane. “We’ll be alright, (Y/n).”

Inside she hoped his words were true, as the conflict below them grew smaller. Then swallowed by the land as they joined the skies. For now, she could squeeze his hand. “So, Hizuru?”

Taglist: @axoxtxhxh @stigandr-the-cat @sinnerofthewalls @daichimorelikedaddy @onecelestialbeing @daichimorelikedaddy @ririthu @tinymiraclegoatee @nanaminsx @just-a-teal-android @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes

#nick writes fics #miche zacharias #mike zacharias #mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharius x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot fic #miche zacharius x you #mike zakarius

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hyperpsychomaniac · 2 years

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Flight or Flight - Chapter 7

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: When Della discovers her childhood hero, Ripcord McQuack, will fly Scrooge's new aeroplane at an upcoming airshow, she weasels her way into a meeting with Scrooge and the aeroplane's lead designer, Birdie McQuack. But the McQuacks have a request: that Della set up a meeting with their son, Launchpad, who they've been in contact with but has actively avoided seeing them in person.

Chapter 1

***

Launchpad frowned at the keypad for the security system in Mr McDee's hanger. He never could remember the dang code. "Hang on. Third time's the charm."

Ripcord hovered at his shoulder. "It'd better be. I think it's going to go off if you don't get it right this time."

"Hmm. I know Della set it. That's right! It's one of her boys' birthdays. But I only know Dewey's so…" Launchpad gritted his teeth and mashed his hand across the keypad. The system clicked off. "Phew. There we go. I guess Dewey is her favourite. He'll be so happy." He flicked on the overhead lights, revealing the Sunchaser. Crowded right up around her were a dozen smaller stunt planes. They were packed in, completely filling the hanger. Mr McDee had rented the space out for cheap, he'd said, but it looked like he'd got as many of the small planes squeezed in as he could. They effectively blocked off the Sunchaser, and Della would have had a fit.

"That's your plane?" Ripcord asked.

"Technically, it's Della's. But she said we could call it Sunchaser like I'd wanted, which was nice. And I do most of the maintenance."

"That's pretty cool. I've done some, but Gasolini never really let us muck around with his planes."

"I guess she doesn't fly like the stunt planes you used to. Or Mom's."

Ripcord squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, that's nothing to be ashamed about. You know, after I couldn't fly these little fellas anymore, but I still wanted to be up there, I was flying stuff more the size of this. They're different, yeah. But fun, in their own way. It kind of feels… I don't know, you're slow and heavy, but…"

"But you know the plane is going to support you. She's there for you, even if you mess up."

"Yeah, that's it!"

Launchpad put a hand on the Sunchaser's side. "The Sunchaser is like that. I've crashed her like a million times, but she's never hurt me once. She's got my back because she knows I'll always put her back together again, and I'll even make her better when I do…" Launchpad trailed off. "Sorry, that sounds silly."

"It doesn't," said Ripcord. "You know, if you're having trouble crashing, I could teach you some stuff. If you trust me, I mean."

"Della has tried teaching me how to land. But she hasn't had much luck." Launchpad frowned. "Wait, why wouldn't I trust you?"

His father looked away and shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't trust me to teach you to land."

"How come?"

"You know, because of last time. The only time I tried teaching you. I completely ballsed it up, and we crashed. You and your Mom, you could've…" Ripcord's hands tightened to fists at his sides.

Launchpad gulped. Of course, his Dad would be worried about him doing something like that to him again. He forced a smile. "I get it, Dad. It's okay. I don't think I'm ever going to figure out how to land properly anyway. But don't worry. I'm good at crashing. I can make do with that."

"Yeah, of course." Ripcord swallowed and looked around. "Hey, let's see what's stashed in here, huh?"

They walked among the stunt planes where they sat nestled under the Sunchaser, like chicks under a mother hen's wings.

"Wait, I think this one is Loopey's!" Launchpad stopped at one, painted bright pink.

Ripcord laughed. "Yeah, that's hers. Man, this is a really good plane; I wanted her to have the best. And then she goes and paints it hot pink."

"I think it looks nice."

"I think she wanted to make a very clear point about exactly who was flying the plane. She gets that from her Mom." Ripcord ran a hand over the wing.

"I really wish you'd taught me too," Launchpad said quietly.

"I still can. If you want."

Launchpad swallowed and looked at his feet.

"Hey, you don't have to decide now. We're just mucking about in here, remember? No pressure." Ripcord trailed between the planes, a wistful look on his face. "Wait a damn minute." He moved towards the back to a small plane covered in a tarp. "Give me a hand with this."

Launchpad grabbed the other corner, and together they reefed the covering off. A beautiful yellow and gold biplane was revealed.

Ripcord ran a hand over the wing. "Holy crap…"

"Is that?"

"The Joyrider. I didn't know Gasolini still had this. He's given her a paint job and… holy crap…" Ripcord's eyes sparkled as he walked around the plane, running his hand over her. "Oh, girl, I missed you."

Launchpad felt a lump rise in his throat. He'd taken all this away from his father. But he'd said he'd be there for him, said he loved him, and Launchpad could not remember him telling him that as a kid. Maybe, he had forgiven him. Even though Launchpad had never got the chance to apologise. He could not let this slide any longer. Sure, his parents had made mistakes. But so had he. "Dad?"

Ripcord looked up. "Yeah? Hey, what's up?"

"I'm… I'm sorry, Dad."

"For what?"

"For that day at the airfield. For stealing a plane. For making us crash. I ruined your entire career."

"Kiddo, don't worry about that."

"But you love planes! You loved flying these planes, especially the Joyrider. And I get how much that meant to you now. But, if I hadn't gone up in that plane. If I'd listened to you instead of slamming into the runway and dragging us all down, I…"

Ripcord grabbed him by the shoulders. "Woah, woah, slow down… It's okay. Take a deep breath."

Launchpad did as his father instructed. "You can't fly stunt planes anymore because you hurt your leg. And that was because I made us crash. I just… I had to make sure I said it. I'm sorry."

"Aw, Launchpad… I… argh…" Ripcord shook himself a little. "That crash was not your fault."

"But I slammed us into the runway."

"At that point, I think it might have been one of the better options. We could've ended up in the fence or the swamp otherwise. That would've been worse."

"But…"

"Hey, I think it might be your turn to listen to me. Or rather, my turn to actually talk to you. I didn't talk much about what happened that day. I probably should have. And I always wondered, if I had, if maybe you wouldn't have left. But I wasn't real good at that sort of thing then and… and that's just another excuse. Will you let me explain?"

"Sure, Dad."

They sat down, under the Sunchaser's wing, beside the Joyrider. Ripcord took a breath and began.

***

The training plane taxied awkwardly down the runway and took to the air. Ripcord ran a hand through his hair. "Crap." He wasn't sure he was grateful that his son had taken off fine. It'd have been better if he'd baulked or given up and stayed on the ground.

"Yup. Serious, discipline issue there, McQuack," said Gasolini. "Now, if that were my kid…"

"Shut up," said Birdie.

"Discipline issue all around," Gasolini muttered, but this time had the sense to lower his voice.

Ripcord didn't have time to argue with his manager. Gasolini would find some way to punish him for this later, but right now, he had other issues to deal with. What the hell had gotten into Launchpad head?

Birdie grabbed his arm. "We need to go up after him."

"I know. We'll get a plane…"

"Oh no," said Gasolini. "Those are my planes, and if you think you can just use them as you please to deal with your own personal family crisis, then…"

"And if we don't get Launchpad down in one piece, he's going to smash up that plane he's in. Do you want that?" Ripcord snapped.

Gasolini glared. Yup. He was definitely sweeping the hanger later. "Fine. But then you get your boy off my airfield, understood?"

They got clearance, and he and Birdie fell in beside their son.

"Launchpad, we're up here with you," Ripcord radioed.

"Dad!" And even through the radio, Ripcord could hear his son's excitement. "I can fly."

Amidst the annoyance, Ripcord felt something else stirring inside of him. Hell, Launchpad was flying a plane. Just like his old man. If the circumstances had been a little different, he would've been proud. If only he had the time to teach him himself. Gasolini would never give him the time or even a plane. And now, the stupid kid had gone and got himself banned from the airfield. So much for that.

"That's great, sweetheart," said Birdie. "And we will talk about you flying. Let's just get you down and…"

"Do you really think we should reward him?"

"I think there's a bit more going on here, Rip."

Yeah, but what? Birdie was talking to Launchpad again. And, of course, it ended up in a fight. Ripcord shot back a halfhearted response and tried to think. Maybe, he could get the kid to do something fancy. Yeah, that would do it. He wanted his old man to teach him some stunts. So he would. With any luck, Gasolini might see and think twice about banning Launchpad from the airfield. He might give Ripcord the chance to train him. He just had to show him that he had a bit of spunk and some potential. Gasolini might smell cash and be willing to see where it went.

Of course, he'd have to be careful and make sure Launchpad never signed anything with the bastard.

"You want your old man to show you how to land a plane, yeah?"

"Yes! Dad, that's all I wanted."

Ripcord swallowed the lump in his throat. Poor kid. He'd really messed up as a dad, but he was going to turn this all around. He'd find the time. He'd make this work, somehow. As long as he was flying a plane, he would figure out how to pass that onto his son. And make sure he didn't make the same mistakes he had.

"Okay. I'm going to show you a little trick me and the boys have been practising. I'll guide you in so you don't get scared, and you'll know exactly what to do. Head for the runway. Birdie, I want you to pull in under his left wingtip."

They both did as he instructed. This was kind of fun, actually. "Okay, I just need you to ease the throttle back a bit…"

"Ripcord, he's not a stunt pilot, and neither am I."

Ripcord gritted his teeth. "Will you listen to me without bloody arguing for once?" Or course, he wasn't stupid enough to transmit that comment over the radio.

And then Launchpad sped up.

"What are you, the other way!" Ripcord burst out. "We need to slow down!"

"What are you even trying to get us to do?" said Birdie. "Ripcord McQuack, if you are showing off for your friends, I swear…"

"Will you shut up for once in your life and listen to me?!" He wasn't doing this to show off. He was doing it for his son! Couldn't she just trust him?!

"We need to get him to land the plane safely! Not pull off one of your stupid tricks."

"I'm Ripcord bloody McQuack! I am the best pilot on this damned airfield, and if I want to show my son how to land a plane with a little bit of flair, then I can..." The runway loomed, closed. They'd been practising this trick. But, his wingmates were trained stunt pilots. They knew how to land. Launchpad had half a dozen lessons under his belt, and he had not been taught to land yet. He still hadn't even got his head around how to slow down. Even Birdie was a good pilot, but she didn't do this for a living.

"You idiot!" Birdie's reprimand blazed through the radio, even as Ripcord realised it for himself. "You are not in control of this!"

"I… I'm not…." Ripcord's thumb slipped off the radio's transmit button. The runway, the trees and the swamp at its end all loomed nearer. He should pull up. It'd be easy. But Launchpad and Birdie had to as well, and he needed to tell them. But what if Launchpad couldn't pull that off? A half dozen over maneuvers spilled through his head, but he could not teach his son in the rapidly dwindling seconds. He couldn't teach stuff!

Ripcord's throat constricted, and his hands tightened, locking onto the controls, and he couldn't even move, far less think straight enough to respond to the desperate pleas of his family over the radio. He could barely breathe.

And then his aeroplane was dragged down onto the runway in a screech of tortured metal.

Ripcord woke to the sound of screaming airfield sirens. He shifted under the wreckage, then yelped at the pain that tore through his leg. Birdie. Launchpad.

"Launchpad!" He tore at the fuselage that pinned him. The glorious creature that had always brought him so much joy was now his prison. It enclosed and clamped down on his leg like a vice. It was crushing him. He couldn't move. He could not check if his family was okay.

He was not in control.

***

Ripcord stared at the hanger floor. "I know you stole the plane, and we wouldn't have been up there if you hadn't. But you were a kid. You wanted to fly, and I, of all people, should have seen that. It was the only way you could get through to me. You're right. I don't always listen. But crashing? That wasn't your fault. I could have guided you through a normal landing, and even if you'd set down a little hard, it wouldn't have been so bad."

Launchpad had thought his dad had zero interest in training him for all this time. "You were trying to teach me a stunt?"

"Heh, yeah. Stupid, huh? I had no idea how to teach flying back then. Maybe that's why I got into training all the kids, because of you. At least I'm good at that now."

"How come you freaked out?"

Ripcord shrugged. "I think I realised I was going to hurt you guys, and there'd be nothing I could do about it. That's never happened to me before, and…" He swallowed hard. "I clammed up. I'm Ripcord McQuack. I was supposed to be fearless. Guess I bought into that. But the first time I found myself in a situation I couldn't control, I baulked. I just need you to know that I was the one who screwed up. Not you. Like I said, smashing us into the runway like that may have been pretty crazy, but I think you saved us from getting hurt worse."

Launchpad stared out into the hanger at the planes surrounding them. "So you're not mad at me for the crash?"

"No, I never blamed you. I was just a little sad after I figured out I wouldn't be able to fly the planes again. You know because… because of my bum leg." His voice was strained as he ran a hand over his thigh.

Launchpad gulped. "Then how come you told me to leave home?"

Ripcord's gaze shot up to meet his. "What… when, Launchpad, I would have never told you to do that!"

Launchpad felt his chest tighten. "You don't remember? In the hanger, Dad. That night I found you, and… well, I guess now I know you'd been drinking. But you'd been talking to your manager, and you said I should leave and… and I did…"

"Wait, you left home because you thought I wanted you to?"

"You said you didn't want me!" Launchpad burst out, hands tightening at his sides. How could his father not even remember?

Ripcord gripped his arm.

A part of Launchpad wanted to pull away. But he couldn't. Because at that moment, he also didn't want his dad to let him go.

"I remember talking to you, alright? But I was under a lot of stress that night. I know I yelled at you, but… look, can you give me a chance to explain? Then, we can work this out."

Launchpad's chest heaved. He bit his lip and nodded. "Okay, Dad."

***

Ripcord gripped the phone's handset so hard he feared it would crack under his grip. But he couldn't work up the courage to pick up, not yet. It was going to be Gasolini. He'd listened to his crap a million times. But this time was different. Because no matter how much the man belittled or bullied him, Ripcord knew he would be unable to comply with his demands.

Finally working up the courage, Ripcord picked up the receiver.

"McQuack, is that you?"

"Yeah."

"For god's sake, answer the phone properly. Where have you been? You missed training," said Gasolini. "I don't want to have to keep chasing you up like a five-year-old. You already missed one show because of your idiot son. But, it's going to be alright. Supply and demand, I guess… you weren't there, so now, everyone wants to see you more than ever. I'm going to make a killing at this next show. Isn't that great?"

Oh, how Ripcord wanted to go. But he knew he couldn't. He'd tried. At training, when he'd finally got away from Gasolini, Dave had realised he was struggling and had offered to give him a hand. He'd been a bit more understanding and helped him up into the plane. This time, despite the twinge of protest from his leg, Ripcord had managed to get into the damned thing.

But he hadn't been able to get the plane off the ground. He'd thought, with his leg better enough, he could manage it. I mean, it wasn't like he had to do much with it once he was in the cockpit. And it had hurt, so bad. Not his leg. But the realisation that something else was wrong, and it had hit him like a slam to the gut. He could not do this. He'd held it together on the airfield, at least. Dave probably could see that something was going on, but he was one of the nicer guys and didn't say anything.

Ripcord had bailed and returned to the hanger. And still, bloody Gasolini hounded him. He had to stand up to him. And somehow, although he had no choice, which should have made it easier, it still scared him.

"You know there's no way I'm going to make the next airshow." He'd meant to be firm. He just sounded tired.

"Don't try and bail on me, McQuack," Gasolini exploded. "You have a contract. You fly all the main airshows, and whatever the hell else I tell you if you know what's good for you. So what the hell's wrong? You've been spending too much time with that family of yours. That's what it is. I'd told you they'd drag you down, especially your wife. You've got more important things in your life. Like a legally enforceable contract…"

He should've defended Birdie. But he never had, and he didn't this time either. Ripcord just wanted this conversation to be over. At least the contract no longer held the weight it once had. He and Birdie had been over it enough times. He knew where the holes were. "I don't care about the contract. Good luck making that thing stick. My leg's busted up good. And I can't fly a plane in an airshow like this." He physically couldn't. And that was his out. Good luck arguing with that.

Gasolini was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, you see, I'm not so sure I believe that. I saw you get into that plane just fine, and as far as I'm concerned, if your leg's the problem, that's the hard part. Once you're in the cockpit, there is no damned reason you shouldn't be able to fly it. Besides, I spoke with your doctor. And he told me it's healed up fine. There's no reason physical reason you can't fly a plane, so if this is some…"

"You what?!" Ripcord exploded. His heart hammered in his chest. "You have no right talking to my doctor. He has no right talking to you and…"

"I have a vested interest in you. I own you…"

"I don't care!" Ripcord felt his chest tightening again. No. Just, just go away. But he wanted to fly the planes. Even if it was under Gasolini's stupid contract. But… "I can't!" And as the words tore from his mouth, they brought tears to his eyes. "My leg's busted up good. And I cannot fly those stupid tiny planes..." He slammed the phone back into its cradle. And it punched straight through into the wall.

Ripcord stood, chest heaving. He could not fly the planes. Whatever Gasolini thought had happened in that crash, whatever his doctor thought, it didn't matter. He couldn't. End of story.

End of being a pilot.

"Dad?"

The voice brought Ripcord spinning around. "Launchpad? What are you doing here, son?"

Launchpad looked up at him, eyes wide. He was growing into a man, Ripcord realised. When had he missed that? But there was a softness there, in his eyes, looking up at his father with concern. "You seemed sad at dinner. I wanted to see if you were okay?"

Of course, he did. Launchpad cared deeply about, well, everybody. It was something Ripcord had only come to realise in the past few months. Stuck at home, sure he'd been happy to spend the time with Birdie and the kids, but he still felt stuck, and he'd known it'd made him a little quiet. Launchpad had always asked him how he was. Or got out a board game and asked him if he wanted to play, to distract him, even though he almost always lost.

Now he was here, checking on him again. "Am I okay? Heh." Ripcord glanced at the bottle he held in his hand. He'd pulled it out of the hanger fridge, always stocked, when he'd got here. He'd hardly gotten through it, though he'd planned to consume many more before the night was over. He didn't want Launchpad to see him in that state.

He chucked the bottle in the bin, hard. "Well, I only just told my good-for-nothing manager I can't make it to the next airshow."

"Aw, Dad, I'm sorry. I know you were really looking forward to it."

Ripcord stepped away from his son's touch. He didn't deserve the sympathy. He should've listened to Launchpad when he said he wanted to fly. Then they wouldn't be both in this mess. At least his son was only banned from the airfield, and that wasn't so permanent. He walked across the hanger and laid a hand on the Joyrider's wing.

"That's your plane, isn't it? The Joyrider? It looks really cool."

"My plane. Hah. Don't let Gasoilni hear you say that. I only flew it." Past tense. "And now I can't."

"Because I made us crash, and you got hurt. Dad, I'm so sorry. But, there's always next year, right?"

Next year? No. Ripcord felt something well up in his chest. Tears filled his eyes. "I can't fly these planes again. Not just this year. Not ever."

"But… but why?"

Ripcord whirled around. "I tried, okay? I tried! With Gasolini harassing me and everything. But I can't! I can't even get in the cockpit, far less get one in the air. You were there. I busted my leg. Right? That's a legitimate reason? Isn't it?!" Launchpad was there! He knew what had happened. He would believe him when he said this was something he could not do. "And I can't… it just won't work with these small planes… I…" He turned around, resting a hand on the Joyriders wing. The tears he had so desperately been trying to hide from his son squeezed from his eyes. He needed to feel this. He needed to tell someone. And Launchpad, with all his understanding that Ripcord had been too stupid to see until these last few months, he would get that, right?

"Dad, I'm so sorry," Launchpad said softly, "Don't cry…" And he laid a hand on his arm.

"I'm not crying! I'm a man!" Ripcord snatched his arm away. No. His son could not see him crying over a stupid machine. A machine that had always made him feel more alive than anything in the world. "Why'd you have to steal the plane, huh?"

"I wanted to fly, just like you…"

"Yeah, well, so do I. And now I can't! Not like this!" The anger pushed away the pain for only a brief moment. And then it was back. "I tried, LP. I tried really, really hard and… I can't and…"

"Dad…"

"You did that to me." And that wasn't fair. He knew it even as he said it.

"I'm sorry." Launchpad grasped his shoulder.

Ripcord shrugged him off. "I don't want you here. Leave."

"Dad…"

"I said go!" Ripcord felt his control slipping, even as his hands started shaking down at his sides. "I don't want you…" He choked off as tears spilled over his beak. I don't want you to see me like this. "Now, get the hell out of here."

He didn't turn around. Couldn't. Couldn't check if his son had gone. Because if he did, he would see him fall apart.

Launchpad had left.

Ripcord slumped over the Joyriders' wing, hugging the cold metal, and broke down.

***

Ripcord traced a finger through the dirt on the hanger floor. "It hurt, you know. Knowing I'd never fly like that again. I was scared of you seeing me like that. I was young, stupid, now I know you would've been there for me. And I'm sorry. I was such a wreck that night; I guess I didn't realise how you might have interpreted what was going on. But I never said I didn't want you."

Launchpad stared at his father. "I thought…" he said thinly. "When… when you told me to leave the hanger, you just didn't want me to see you break down, but I only heard…" His stomach twisted up in knots, so bad it physically hurt. He wrapped his arms around his middle, hanging his head as his next breath came out a gasping sob.

"Hey, hey…" Ripcord put his arms around him and pulled him into his side. "It's okay, buddy."

Launchpad buried his face in his father's shoulder. All those nights with his family those last few months. Playing games, watching movies, hanging out. It all flashed before his eyes, too short. He thought his father had snatched it away from him. If he'd only stayed a little longer, confronted his dad. Or told Mom and got her to do it. But instead, Launchpad had left. He'd thought he had to.

Launchpad wanted to explain this to his dad. But he was shaking, his breath coming out in sobs, and all he could manage was: "Dad, I wanted to stay."

***

Launchpad pressed against his father’s side, letting him get an arm around him as they walked. It was far too close to really be comfortable, making keeping pace a little awkward. But he hadn’t cared.

His parents had mucked up a lot, sure, made many mistakes. But he had still been the one who had chosen to leave, and somehow that hurt more. But it meant he didn’t need to be angry with them, keep them at the same distance. They were trying to be here. And they had wanted him. What he’d missed out on still hurt, more deeply than anything Launchpad could remember feeling. But if he could make a choice to leave, he could make a choice to try this again.

“Hey, we’re here.” They stood outside Mr McDee’s garage. Ripcord squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” Launchpad did not move to open his door. He wanted to stay here, at his dad’s side. “I’m not sure I want to be alone just yet. But, you know, if you need to go home, or…”

“We have a spare room in the apartment.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on. If it’ll help you sleep better. Me and your Mom’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

***

Chapter 8

#dt17 launchpad #launchpad mcquack #disney ducks #launchpad #ducktales #dt17 #ducktales 2017 #ripcord mcquack #fanfic #fanfiction #ducktales fanfiction

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voughtcorsair · 3 years

Note

if you were a young gay soldier in wwi what would the letters to your lover say

gatz vs. really weird specific dreams of wwi specifically dying because i crashed my plane into the ocean lol. anyways this won't be super edited buuuuut

Dear —;

We have spent a long day training in hopes that we take to the skies before the war is over. Hardly looking likely. The aeroplanes looked so small before– up close, a propeller might be as tall as a man. You can drag them out to the field by the tail; they're far lighter than I expected. A funeral this week- nobody I knew. I think we'll make it through.

However, I'm certain I'll need all the good luck I can get. If you get posted to leave before I, please send something from home (or if you're so inclined, send something of your own. I have enclosed a picture of myself and an aeroplane- I wish you could join us.) Most everyone here carries something for good luck. I was clearly unprepared, again...

Please keep me updated on how you are doing; conditions, etc. I will send socks, chocolate, jam, cookies...heard it's awful over there, I don't envy you in the least. I have heard some companies are adopting mascots- have you gotten that dog you always wanted? We have a cat. Named it Mauser. Head my way if you can.

Clear skies and tailwinds,

———

#askz #pennyroyalunplugged

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cuculine-nelipot · 4 years

Text

Wish We Could

Chapter Three: All Aboard (The Hogwarts Express)

2nd June, 1996

“So how was your date?” George asked with a sing-song lilt as soon as Fred arrived back at the store, an impish grin splashed across his face.

“What date?” Fred feigned innocence, and rather poorly. He wound his way through a maze of boxes, putting his things behind the counter before setting about stocking shelves with his brother.

“You know, the one you were on all day with a certain curly haired, amber skinned, friend of the family.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” answered Fred, pursing his lips and shaking his head as though lost. He told his brother everything, usually. But this was different — felt different. For now at least, he wanted him and Hermione to be just him and Hermione, alone together and shinning.

“Oh you know, about yay high, half-Indian, half-Caribbean, muggle born, a fair bit posh, definitely too posh for the likes of—“

“Mate,” his demeanour darkened dramatically, “if you don’t stop it, I’m going to have to smack you.”

Considering however, that in doing so Fred would wind up hurting himself too, George persisted, confident that he wouldn’t. A nice bit of twin magic that. Or a curse, depending on where you stood. So he followed his brother around the store, pelting him with questions.

“Where’d you go? What’d you do? What’s Foyles? Are those books? Can I see? Did you get something for me? Fred did you get something for me? Did you kiss? Did you hold hands? Did you kiss her Fred? Fred did you kiss her? You know it’s funny, I always thought Hermione and Ron— OW!” His upper arm throbbed in pain, and he looked down to see a red patch on his arm roughly the size of Fred’s fist. Fred stalked upstairs, his trainers thumping loudly on the steps, rubbing the same spot on his own arm.

Late that night, George rolled over in bed, and Fred’s arm throbbed in pain. “Sorry,” Fred said from his own bed across the room, his voice meek.

“It’s fine,” was George’s sleep-gruff response. He meant it, and that only made Fred feel worse.

“It was a good day. If you were still wondering.”

“Good, I’m glad.” And he meant that too. Fred could hear the smile in his voice.

Minutes trickled by, then hours. George’s breathes came slower, and quieter as he fell asleep. Fred lay awake, his eyes fixed on the blackness above. Fred and Hermione he said to himself over and over, finding new empathy for 10-year-old Ginny devoutly drawing hearts around Harry’s name. He couldn’t believe his luck, was almost certain it wouldn’t last, couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on borrowed time somehow. He said their names like an incantation, like a mantra, like a prayer. Fred and Hermione. He would hold on to it as long as he could, as long as he was allowed. Fred and Hermione. He let the phrase well in his ears, warm, and light, and rosy. He let it percolate through his body, shinning from his head to his toes, until at last he fell asleep.

1st September, 1998

He couldn’t exactly not go to King’s Cross, it being Ginny and Ron’s last year at Hogwarts and all. Seeing Hermione was just a bonus, even if she wouldn’t talk to him, or look at him. Even if she had ignored every owl and phone call since they last saw each other. Even if he had to see Ron kiss her, even if his only small comfort was convincing himself that maybe he saw her pull away away. It was, he thought, enough just to see her from across the station.

And Hermione hadn’t doubted for a second that he would be there. Still, seeing him set her teeth on edge. The familiar, biting, Fred Weasley brand of annoyance shot through her from stomach to her jaw. Just look at him, standing there, his legs spread in a V, one arm crossing his chest, the fingers of his other hand touching his lips, laughing at something Ginny says. His ginger hair coiffed, and in brilliant contrast to a white t-shirt and navy bomber. What an arse.

Hermione’s thoughts, like his, turn inevitably, unerringly, unstoppably to the last time they were both on Platform 9 and 3/4.

1st September, 1996

The rest of the summer had been peppered with moments like this; Fred tenderly rubbing cream into bruised skin beneath her eye after she had fallen victim to a trick telescope, Fred showing up outside her window on his broom in the middle of the night, to take her anywhere, or to just stay and talk a while, Fred, Crookshanks-like, reaching out to stroke her face while she read, Fred flinging and arm around her while they walked, or playfully shoving into her and running away so that she had to chase after him to get her revenge. Fred pulling her in for a kiss before she could.

Snogging, — this time behind a pillar in a half hearted attempt to not be seen, at least not by anyone who would care. Her arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, something pink glittering under her skin, his skin. Neither of them had felt anything like it before and both we sure they would never feel that way ever again, not with anyone else.

“Stop it you’re going to make me late,” she whined, but she was smiling and made no attempt to pull away. Maybe she could spare a few more seconds. It wasn’t like she had to say goodbye to anyone else anyway.

“It’s fine that was just the warning whistle.” His voice muffled against her lips.

“Come on Fred. “

“Can’t,“ he teased, “don’t go there anymore.”

“Frederick,” she’d said in her best warning tone. She was going to be late for the prefects’ meeting. He was going to make her late. Fred let out a deep sigh, rubbed his nose against her neck, kissed her quick once, twice, three times on the mouth before he dropped his arms and let her go.

“Granger,” he called. She hadn’t taken three steps. Half turning around, she fixed him with a quizzical look. “I miss you.”

Ridiculous, she thought. She rolled her eyes. She walked away before he could see the smile that cracked across her face, grateful that he couldn’t see her blush.

She felt a pang of sadness, boarding the train. She hadn’t had anyone else to say goodbye to. At her insistence, her parents hadn’t come. The Weasleys’ are always running late. There wouldn’t be time for a proper goodbye. Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you at Christmas. I promise. I love you too.

Of course, she would have preferred they be there, but it seemed much too dangerous, all things considered. Voldemort clearly wasn’t hiding anymore, and she didn’t want anyone remembering what her parents look like. In fact, when whatever was coming eventually came, she wanted her parents as far away from her as possible.

But such thoughts were cut short by the fluttering of paper on her cheek. She pulled a small folded aeroplane from the air, unfolded it on her way to the prefects carriage, observed the now familiar script, halfway between elegant and utterly illegible.

You’re perfect Granger.

And just like that she was smiling again.

1st September, 1998

He throws another fugitive glance in her direction, but this time he catches her looking too. She narrows her eyes at him before snapping her attention back to her parents.

“You have to write to us everyday, do you understand Hermione? Everyday. And we want pictures. Lots of them. Do you have the camera?”

“Yes dad,” she says, trying her best to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

“And film?”

“Yes mama.”

“Okay. Good, good,” her father says. Both her parents are looking at her with the same, worried expressions that cross their faces whenever Hogwarts had come up recently. They don’t particularly understand why Hermione doesn’t just do her A Levels, go to a nice Muggle university, stay far away from the world that had put her in so much danger. She hadn’t ruled it out entirely — A Levels and uni, but she isn’t one to not finish something she started, and she definitely isn’t one to run scared, at the first sign of trouble. Or the hundredth for that matter. Besides, there is the burning desire to experience at least one semi-normal year at Hogwarts to take into account.

“Are you sure about this darling?” Her mother asks again, the same pained expression on her face.

Her parents had married young, and were only in their mid-30s the first time they sent her off to Hogwarts. The intervening years had been kind to them, no doubt, but there was no denying the crows feet carved into her father’s dark skin, the wisps of white hair falling like thin satin ribbons, framing her mother’s ashy brown face, the creases in their brows. They had plenty of time left, it was true, but none they wanted to spare, and Hermione had been so distant for so long. Still…

“Very,” she says, apologetically.

“You’ll write everyday, won’t you?”

“Everyday,” she confirms

“Well, okay then. You better go.” The train whistles in agreement. Mrs. Granger pulls Hermione into a bony hug, all collar bones and elbows, but warm and comfortable nonetheless.

Everyone boards, Hermione piling into a carriage with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. She gives her parents final kisses on the cheeks, leaning out the window as the Hogwarts Express glides out of the station.

She stays that way, leaning on the windowpane, long after King’s Cross is out of sight. She watches farm and field roll past as the crisp autumn air whips at her face. The carriage is crowded and suitably noisy, everyone excited and nervous in equal measure at the prospect of returning to Hogwarts.

A small paper aeroplane flutters toward her, pausing in front of her nose. She plucks it from the air, and unfolds it with needlessly careful fingers.

I miss you Granger.

No one is looking so, perhaps for the first time in her life, Hermione acts without thinking too much, without giving herself the chance to lose courage. No one pays attention as she rummages in her rucksack for a quill, or when she hastily scrawls a reply, refolds it into a plane, and breathes on it to make it fly. There. Now it’s done. Now he’ll know. No turning back now.

She feels lighter suddenly, and pulls her body into the carriage to keep from being blown away. She listens to Luna tell one of her ridiculous stories, and to everyone’s surprise, she smiles good-naturedly instead of tearing the (lack of) reason apart, as she would have done once upon a time.

“Alright, Hermione?” She turns to find Ginny looking at her curiously, her pink, delicate face set with perhaps the faintest hint of concern.

“Yeah,” Hermione says smiling, a reckless joy bubbling in her chest, “I’m great.” She laughs and Ginny, though she’s not sure what’s so funny, laughs too, simply happy that her friend is.

Things go quiet the closer they get to Hogwarts, each person drawing increasingly inward, all trying to imagine what it will be like to walk those halls again — halls that they themselves helped rebuild just months ago. What it would be like to eat in the Great Hall as they had done so many times, to sit through History of Magic knowing that recently they had no small part in making it. They pull on their robes in silence, do their best to clean up the sweet wrappers and pasty crumb. Harry puts his arm around Ginny’s shoulder and she leans into his side. He brings his hand up to play with the hair next to her ear. It’s unclear who is comforting whom.

Hermione looks out the window, not wanting to miss the first sight of the castle. Ron, in his seat across from her, leans over and tries to take her hand but she jerks away from the unexpected touch. Turning to find a wounded look on his face, she takes one of his hands in both of hers. Then she sees it, the silhouette of its towers against the fast dusking sky, a thousand lights winking in a thousand windows, and she feels magic rush through her veins again.

“Harry,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He is the only one of her friends who really understood the wonder of discovering magic, and Hogwarts. He is the only one who knows how it felt, learning that it came at so perilous a price. Switching places with Ginny, he leans toward the window, a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. The moment he catches sight of the first place that ever felt like home to him, she feels a slight squeeze, hears his breath hitch. She turns back to look to him, and he gives her a nervous smile, a glint in his eyes approaching something like wonder.

Fred was halfway home by the time it found its way back to him. He hadn’t expected to see it, assumed that she would have burned his little note to a crisp. So he just stared at its floating form, mouth agape. The paper plane, growing impatient, began insistently banging into his forehead. He snatched it from the air then, as though afraid of startling it, as if it might still burst into flames if he was too eager, unfolded it with cautious fingers.

I miss you too.

Taglist: @solunars @lovedyouthreesummers @keoghans @aquaeryn @thelasttime

#Fremione #fred x hermione fanfinction #fremione fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #Fred Weasley #Hermione Granger #HP #fred weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hermione granger fanfic #re-posting this because I somehow copy and pasted it wrong last night

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sulfurousdreamscapes · 4 years

Text

Shruti heard the song from outside of her sixth-floor window, and she felt as if that song had never been played since she last heard it on an unmarked day in middle school.

She'd almost fallen asleep in front of the news channel again. A volcano eruption in Iceland, and all the airports had had to be shut down, even in Western Europe. Wiping ugly, dripping saliva off of her shoulder, Shruti stumbled to her feet, stepped on empty beer cans, and made her way to the window.

The acoustic guitar kept getting interrupted by the jackhammer on the street down below. Shruti wished she could shout at the helmeted man operating the instrument. Instead, she had to make do with the snatches she got to hear, tossed between the honking of the diverted traffic and the screaming of an aeroplane taking flight.

Shruti reached for her phone, its black form sitting invitingly on a small table, hitherto kept away for fear of addiction, for fear of work reaching its claws into what little free time she had to herself.

"Someone's playing a song rn," she tweeted, "I haven't heard it in years. Driving me crazy!"

She posted the tweet, rubbed her screen for good luck with her thumb, and waited. While she kept her eyes closed and tried to focus on the guitar strings, her tweet accrued a few likes, even a reblog.

It made Shruti smile, even more than the breeze that had somehow struggled into this part of the city. The song ended, and a different song took its place, threatening to wash away the engraving of the tune that Shruti had struggled to remember.

"Song just ended," Shruti typed, and added a sobbing emoji. More likes. Another reblog.

And then, the current song stopped abruptly. Shruti sighed, closed her eyes, and tried to remember the melody of the song from before, the one she would sink herself in when she came home from school, the one she blared until she cried, and that sang her to sleep until she didn't cry anymore. It was that song. How could she have forgotten it?

When the guitar strings were plucked again, when the opening notes came back in through the air, streaming towards her window, Shruti's hands went weak.

The little black slab fell from the sixth-floor window, having slipped through her hands, having slipped through her life, hurtling down, dangerously down, until it finally connected with the pavement and made a loud, cheap plastic sound.

When Shruti looked at her empty hands, she longed to thank whoever had heard her electronic prayer. She splayed her hands, balled them tight, splayed them again, as if moving her fingers would conjure the phone again.

The jackhammer noise stopped, and one of the helmeted men approached the phone, stared up at the building, searched for its unfortunate owner. Then the jackhammer noise resumed, because there were important things to be done, and the traffic blared and honked, because there were places to get to, and the aeroplanes whined louder than them all, because the volcano can't take down all the airports in the world.

Meanwhile, Shruti rocked her head, gently and smiling, her hands clasped together.

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piss-hands-blog · 5 years

Note

heyheyHEY u got that tasty,,, SHIGADABI PLANE OMO YOU PROMISED US-- Okay real talk tho. I love your work so much.? Like sure your fics are short but!! Thats fine bc i love them anyway. Please take my uwus

Aaaah thank chu anon

Here it is!

((Shigadabi omo! Pining and getting together, as well as the classic omorashi.

Omorashi = pants wetting, don’t like? Don’t read.

Fic is below the cut~

Please give constructive criticism! Thank you!))

“Are you all ready to leave?” Kurogiri calls out, waiting at the front door with all of the League’s luggage. All For One, being the odd person he is, had sent the five top members of the League Of Villains - Dabi, Shigaraki, Kurogiri, Toga And Twice - on a vacation for a bonding exercise. None of them had ever been overseas before, being in an illegal organisation and all, so they were looking forward to it. The only thing they weren’t looking forward to was the aeroplane ride there, which would take 8 and a half hours in total. Being stuck in a flying tube of metal all day wasn’t exactly anybody’s idea of fun, after all.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get outta here,” Dabi grumbles, followed by a cheery shout of “We’re coming, Giri!” From Toga. Shigaraki waits beside Kurogiri, tapping his foot anxiously.

“C’mon, you idiots, we’re gonna miss our flight,” Shigaraki groans.

“Calm your tits, Shiggy. They’re coming.” Dabi laughs, patting Shigaraki on the back. He smirks as the blue haired man glares at him, but looks away quickly when their eyes connect.

Suddenly, Twice comes tumbling down the stairs, screaming.“Yes! We are on our way! Also!” His voice switches. “We won’t be out the door in the next five minutes. Oh, and we’ll totally miss our flight.” Twice stands up and skips out the door, with the rest of the league closely following, Kurogiri carrying their luggage.

The car ride was short, and with minimal banter, as was booking in and entering the plane. Now for the hard part - 8 or so hours of hell.

As Dabi boarded the plane and found his seat with the rest of the LoV, he felt a twinge in his abdomen, which had been reoccurring since they’d left the house an hour ago. He debated going to the bathroom, but ultimately, he decided he could hold it. He took his seat next to a nervous Shigaraki, not bothering with his seatbelt just yet. It was 30 seconds before the League were all seated, and the speakers were blaring with the sound of an old man’s raspy voice.

“This is your pilot speaking. Welcome, passengers, to our flight from Japan to Hawaii! Before we take off, we have a small announcement. It is a rarely windy day today, and as a consequence of such we may have more turbulence with us. This should not be an issue - though, passengers will need to stay seated unless absolutely necessary.” There is a soft murmur that ripples throughout the plane, and Dabi sighs worriedly. This was going to be a long flight. There is a small chime from the speakers, and the seatbelt lights flicker on. Dabi rolls his eyes and fastened his seatbelt, hoping the take off doesn’t take too long.

Luckily, with only a few bumps and mildly alarming sounds, they were in the air. The seatbelt light flickers off, and Dabi almost got up to go to the bathroom, before whipping his head around to look, and seeing the long line. He undid his seatbelt and pulled out his phone, waiting for the line to shrink.

“Oi, Dabi.” Shigaraki pokes Dabi’s shoulder. Dabi glares at him,

“What do you want, crusty?” Shigaraki puts a hand on his heart at this comment.

“You know what, raisin? I’m not gonna tell you now.” Shigaraki sits back in his seat, a slight blush on his cheeks. Dabi flips him off, pretending not to notice, and goes back to his phone. He barely manages to unlock it before a chime sounds for passengers to sit down and put seatbelts on.

“What? Aww, Giri, I don’t wanna put my seatbelt back on already, it’s too tight…” Toga grumbles. Kurogiri, who never undid his belt, just shrugs. Toga whines, ands straps herself in.

“They did say there’d be a bit of turbulence.” A passenger nearby mutters.

“I’m fine with putting the seatbelt back on!” Twice chimes, doing his belt up. “Why?” His voice changes once more. “Because I’d never obey the laws of safety.”

Shigaraki, who was struggling with his seatbelt, groans in frustration. Dabi reaches over to help him wordlessly, not making eye contact. He could feel Shigaraki’s curious gaze on his, but said nothing as he sat back in his seat. He just managed to get his own on in time before the plane started rocking and tilting.

Toga yelps out in terror, clinging onto Kurogiri’s arm. Kurogiri seems unbothered by both the turbulence and Toga. Twice is tapping his finger on his thigh anxiously, not saying anything. Shigaraki is scratching his neck furiously, muttering under his breath. Dabi is unbothered by the turbulence. He has other issues, like the fact that the rocking is making the liquid in his bladder slosh uncomfortably, worsening his need. He clenches his legs, waiting for the turbulence to go away so he can use the bathroom.

The turbulence calms, and the plane goes quiet…

…before it comes back full force.

Toga’s nails are digging into Kurogiri’s arm, as Twice continues to tap nervously. Shigaraki’s scratching becomes more harsh, and god, Dabi can see flakes of skin coming off his pale, blue skin. Crusty, he thought to himself, crossing his legs tighter.

The turbulence is finally gone after 20 minutes or crying from Toga, muttering and scratching from Shigaraki, and Dabi crossing his legs, becoming increasingly desperate. The seatbelt lights flicker back off, and Dabi sighs with relief. He unbuckles his seatbelt and prepares to stand up and go to the bathroom, but Shigaraki stands up first and beats him to it. Before he can even get out of the seat, Shigaraki is entering the bathroom. Dabi groans and sits down, trying not to make his ever-increasing need obvious. He glances continuously at the bathroom door, waiting for Shigaraki to leave. He decides to pull out his phone to distract himself, scrolling through the latest memes.

After 5 minutes, Shigaraki finally comes back, looking rather smug. Dabi looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and then looks at the door. Actually, he doesn’t look at the door. He looks at the back of a huge line, waiting for the bathroom. Just his luck. Dabi glares at Shigaraki for a moment, and Shigaraki sticks out his tongue at him.

“Crusty bitch,” he spits at him.

“You just wish you’d gotten up first.” Shigaraki pokes his shoulder as he speaks. Dabi goes a little red at the poke, and brushes the pale hand away. Suddenly, with the shit eating grin on Shigaraki’s face, Dabi is hit with a realisation.

“You motherfucker.”

“Yep! And now you’ll have to wait for the line to clear up, what a shame.”

“I’ll fucking piss on you, asshole.”

“Kurogiri, Dabi’s threatening me!”

Kurogiri, along with Toga and Twice, is asleep, so they squabble back and forth for a few minutes. After a while, Dabi puts on his headphones to block out Shigaraki’s shitty insults. That doesn’t stop Shigaraki, however. He creeps up to Dabi’s ear, and whispers.

“Raisin.”“Fuck off.” Dabi goes red at the feeling of Shigaraki’s breath on his ear, and turns up his music.

“Hey raisin.” He speaks louder.

“What?”

“Psssssh.”

Water sounds, classic. Dabi crosses his legs tighter. “Fuck off, Shiggy, I’m serious.”

“Aww, but just imagine how good it would feel, Dabi, to finally let go of all that sloshing piss inside you!” He chuckles. Dabi groans at the thought. He continues making water sounds in Dabi’s ear, and Dabi’s not sure how much longer he can take it. He clenches his thighs and tries not to make an audible sound. Shigaraki’s water sounds are relentless, driving Dabi crazy with every passing second.

His bladder gives a particularly strong spasm, and he lifts up his hand involuntarily. He stops his arm just before it goes to his crotch, but it’s too late. Shigaraki has noticed, and has his mind set on one goal.

“Ooh, you must need it bad, Dabi. Are you sure you don’t want to just let it go here? The seats can be cleaned, after all~ and it’d feel so good, being free of your full bladder! Just imagine that golden stream of piss, flowing down your legs, hitting the floor with a soft pitter-patter.”

Dabi groans again, shifting and squeezing his legs together tight.

“Shiggy, please stop, I’m seriously at my limit.” He goes red with humiliation.

“Please?” Shigaraki chuckles. “Who are you want what did you do with Dabi?”

Dabi taps his feet, squirming again. “Shut the fuck up, Shiggy.”

“Pssssssssssh.”Dabi groans.

“Fucking bastard.” He can’t help it this time - He grabs his crotch, hoping to stem the flow that’s begging to come out of him. Laughing, Shigaraki continues his water sounds. Dabi grabs himself tighter, and his eyes widen as he feels a soft leak.

“Shit shit shit, no, not yet-“ he shoves his second hand on top of the first, grabbing himself desperately. “Fuck, I’m not fucking peeing here, no-“ but it’s too late. Shigaraki’s water sounds have stopped, and the grin on his face fades as a soft dribble sound is heard, piss begining to patter onto the floor. Dabi hides his face in his hands, essentially giving up.

There is silence for a few seconds, where Shigaraki is stunned. He decides to speak up.

“Sh-shit, Dabi, are you-“ But Shigaraki is cut off with a loud shout from Dabi.

“FUCK OFF, BASTARD. YOU DID THIS.” He sobs as he floods his seat, his piss dribbling onto the floor. Dabi sobs in embarrassment, trying to stifle his groans of relief because god, this feels so fucking good. He sobs into his hands, hiding his face.

“I- fuck, I didn’t think- I’m sorry, Dabi, I didn’t mean to make you-“ Shigaraki stumbles over his words, but Dabi is ignoring him. His stream comes to a stop, Dabi still sobbing.

“Yeah, well look at what you fucking did. Just- just fuck off.”Shigaraki sighs. He looks at Dabi with an expression of sadness and guilt. He puts a soft hand on his shoulder, careful to keep one finger away.

“Dabi, I’m sorry. I was just having a little fun, I didn’t honestly think you’d…“ he stops for a moment. "I’ll help you clean up, and we’ll never talk about this again. okay?”

Dabi sniffles, but brings his red face out of his hands. He looks down at his mess, and wipes his face of tears.

“Y-Yeah… I- I’m sorry for yelling at ya, Shiggy.“ Dabi offers him a weak smile, which Shigaraki returns goofily.

“Hey, it’s no problem. We’ll wait for the line to clear up and you can go change. Oh, take this.” He takes his jacket off and hands it to Dabi. “Wrap it around your waist, so people won’t see it. I can wash it.” He pats Dabi on the back, his thumb crossed behind his index finger. Dabi takes it greatfully, and notices a pink flush dusting Shigaraki’s cheeks. His bright blue eyes connect with Shigaraki’s crimson ones, and they lock eyes, frozen in time. Dabi grabs Shigaraki’s hand without thinking, and Shigaraki smiles and squeezes the hand back, still careful of his thumb.

“Tomura, I…” He starts, but Shigaraki cuts him off by leaning in and smashing their lips together. Dabi goes red, but he kisses Shigaraki back with desire. As the pair melt into the kiss, the years of pining becomes clear to the both of them, and they break apart panting.

“I love you, Dabi… even if you did piss yourself.“ Dabi can’t help but chuckle.

“I love you too, Tomura.”

There is silence for a moment, until…

“Fucking FINALLY! Twice, Giri, you guys owe me 20 bucks!”

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matildainmotion · 4 years

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On Staying Put in the Pot of Life as Far as Possible

No, I don’t have a cure for the Coronavirus, though I hope there may be something helpful for our collective health in here. The virus was not the bug that started this blog. It was something, someone else.

Recently a woman, six years younger than me, mother to three children at my son’s school, died of cancer. I did not know her. I do not know her husband or her children, but I know plenty of people that do. Such a loss is felt across the whole community. I think of her, and of her family, daily now. Alongside the love I send them silently, is the thought that it could have been me, that it could be my husband, my children, left behind.

This is not a new thought. I have heard other mothers talk about it too, the sudden sense of responsibility they had on becoming mothers to do their level best to stay alive. “When I go to cross a road,” a new mother once said to me, “I now tell myself I mustn’t mess it up.” For me the thought pre-dates even motherhood because my maternal grandmother did not make it across the road – she died of Lupus when my mother was eight years old. The night after her death my grandfather committed suicide. As children do, I absorbed this story in my mother’s milk, in the smell of her, the sound of her. My father was a jewish refugee from Nazi Germany, so I had a dose of loss from him as well. Consequently, despite the fact that I have lived an incredibly privileged and protected life to date, I have a hidden ‘loss alarm’ inside me.

My loss alarm is like one of those annoying, over-sensitive smoke detectors that goes off every time you burn a bit of toast, as if the house were on fire. Except toast is not the trigger. Every time I hear a story of untimely loss, it goes off. Panic follows. There is no handy ‘re-set’ button on my loss alarm – it can sound out, keeping me awake, for weeks. The stories that trigger it can be newspaper headlines: terrorist attacks; aeroplane crashes; gun men; refugees who lose their lives as they attempt to flee. Or they can be more personal: a friend of a friend I knew who died in a fall at work; a boy near our village who slipped into a grain silo; someone’s sister hit by a car – each of these sets off my loss-alarm.

Let me be clear, the kind of panic I feel is not the same as that which is currently sweeping the world and causing the shelves in shops to empty of hand sanitizer and ibuprofen. I am not afraid of death. I feel nervous about death, but in the way I feel nervous before stepping on to a stage – a slight excitement about not knowing what is going to happen. At the moment bath bombs are all the rage in our house, and my latest fantasy of death is that it will be like fizzing away until there is nothing tangible left of me, whilst the ether around where I was turns a funky, joyful colour. The panic I feel is not about death, but loss – what those left behind will have to undergo. Before I became a mother I was afraid of the grief that I might feel. Now, whilst that still scares me, the loss-alarm sounds loudest when I think of my children, left bereft.

I have tried many different tactics over the years to shore up against this loss, different ways to try to muffle or mute the wailing of the alarm. Obviously, the best way to avoid it is to do what I can to help myself, and those I love, to stay alive. Just looking both ways and crossing the road with care does not seem good enough. There is still the risk of error, of bad luck, of reckless drivers, misplaced banana skins, or thunderbolts out of the blue. I am making light of it because it is hard to write about – it feels unbearable. I understand why the king and queen in Sleeping Beauty did not want to invite the thirteenth fairy to their baby’s christening, and then, after the fairy had gate-crashed with her curse, wished to rid the kingdom of all spinning wheels, to make misfortune, as far as possible, impossible. No needles allowed anywhere, so that their daughter may stay forever safe, awake, alive.

How to live with the knowledge that survival is not guaranteed? In fact the reverse is true – death is definite. Life, not so much. When I was younger I felt that if the facts were against me, I would have to resort to magic. ‘Magical thinking’ is a strange phrase – it sounds rather wonderful but it can refer to a form of mental disorder. On Wikipedia it is defined as “the false belief that one's thoughts, actions, or words will cause or prevent a specific consequence in some way that defies commonly understood laws of causality.” If I burn all the spinning wheels in the land, my daughter will be safe. If I count to ten and touch wood twice before I cross the road then I won’t get run over. When I was eight, in the mornings before school, I would ask my mother to promise me that she would not die that day. I knew she could not do this – there are dangerous roads to be crossed every day - but I hoped the promise had a magical power that might ensure her survival. As a teenager, my years of anorexia were another magical-thought practice, a way of starving to stay alive: if I can control my weight, eat impossibly little, then loss will never touch me. In my twenties I moved from magical thoughts to magical acts, training as a circus aerialist. Often aerialists are aligned with angels, people perfecting the art of flight. Not me. I was training in the art of holding on hard, with hands, toes, backs of my knees, neck, the fold of my hips. If I could get magically good at gripping, I would never have to lose myself, or anyone else.

The problem is, it doesn’t work. These are frightened magical practices. They put you under a spell of fear. The part of me that still engages in magical thought, believes that writing a blog like this is tantamount to suicide, that if I admit the possibility that loss could happen, then it will. It feels like signposting Sleeping Beauty towards the spinning wheel. But there are plenty of stories in which the protagonist’s very attempt to escape the feared fate, brings it about. Banish the fairy and she is sure to haunt you forever. Such a haunted life is not much of a life. I know - I’ve lived it. It’s not very magical. So here I am, a mother in my forties, still aware of that loss-alarm, wondering what better ways I could respond to it than by self-isolating, trying to avoid the many spinning wheels, sharp and whirring, in the world. And there is so much danger and loss around these days, loss of people, animals, entire landscapes, loss of life as we know it. So much loss that my alarm has been sounding almost constantly for months now and I have not been sleeping. I am tired. I’d love to sleep for a hundred years. But I can’t and anyway it’s not the answer. What’s to be done?

As ever I think the answer is right here, beside me. My daughter is on the bed, scribbling on my notebook as I type this. My children are beginning to teach me some other, more helpful responses to loss. Motherhood is fraught with loss. It comes with the territory. I don’t think you can make a life without becoming intimate with the possibility of losing it. Infertility, miscarriage, childbirth, still birth. I have been very lucky. I remember looking over my midwife’s shoulder as she filled in a form, after the birth of my daughter: ‘Infant born 10.08pm,’ she wrote in one square, and then in the next square, she noted down the word, ‘alive,’ and I thought at once of how it might have been a different word. One of our first jobs as mothers is to give birth. If we survive and the children survive, I think our last job is to die, to make way for them to step into the role of being the generation in charge. From start to finish motherhood is a glorious, dangerous business, not for the faint-hearted, which is not to say you need to be tough-hearted. It is, I hope, slowly teaching me instead to become more whole-hearted – to be able to hold the whole lot.

A passage that has always helped me accept the spinning wheels and their sharp needles is the one in Kahil Gibran’s The Prophet on joy and sorrow, in which sorrow is framed as a creative act:

“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?....”

Carving, containing, holding are the verbs used here for understanding and processing loss. An alarm instructs you to leave the building, evacuate the vessel. Here is a different response: stay put, Gibran says, create a container, to hold the joy and the sorrow. I think good art is just this - a container. Be it a story, a painting, a poem or a pot – each is good at holding things. At bedtime my daughter listens to the teachings of another great spiritual poet: Winnie the Pooh. In one Pooh story the sad, grey donkey, Eeyore has a rare moment of joy when Pooh gives him, “A Useful Pot to Keep Things in” for his birthday. “You can keep anything in it,” Pooh explains, even sad things, like Eeyore’s other present, a burst balloon, and Eeyore is delighted. So that’s what I need then. Not an alarm, but a pot. A pot, not only for loss, but for the lot. Spending my life, however much I have of it, making that kind of pot feels like something I can do. That is what the novel I am writing is meant to be. And when I have finished that one, I will start on another totally impractical, utterly vital pot, a holding vessel. This is a braver magic.

I wonder also how I might integrate such a pot-making process consciously back within my mothering. Most evenings, as soon as it gets dark, my son declares that he is sad. He starts a count down, “By the time I get to ‘one’, I will have sadness overload,” he says, “You have to do something before that happens!” He starts the countdown, “Ten…nine…eight…seven….six….” What can I do? I only have six seconds left! I am tempted to rely on frightened magic, to pretend that I can keep all the bad things away, banish the beasts and the viscous fairies. I can’t. “Two…one…zero.” My son collapses on the floor.

“How are you doing?” I say.

“I’m so sad I can’t move,” he replies.

“Can you move your toes?”

“No.”

“That’s bad. I’ll have to carry you upstairs.” And, for now, I can still carry my great long-legged eight year old, and he rather enjoys it when I make groaning noises to show how heavy he is.

“Can you make it up the last two steps?” I say.

“Just about.”

Bit by bit, day by day, we practice our pot-making, bearing the things that seem unbearable, overloading with sadness and discovering that actually we can hold the load. This is not a fire drill. We are staying in the building. I am grateful for every day we get to practice.

I am still determined to do what I can to stay alive. But I believe that actually writing a blog like this, letting loss come to the party, inviting the thirteenth fairy, leaving the land whirring with spinning wheels, is my best chance at surviving. Not because my words will immortalise me, but literally, that my writing helps me keep on living, just right here, sitting on the bed, after another sleepless night, with the sun falling over my left hand typing this, and my right in shadow. So by all means wash your hands for twenty seconds, the current advice for the prevention of the spread of the Coronavirus, but as you do so, also for twenty seconds, ask yourself this: What helps you not just stay alive, but stay put in life? How do you hold it all? What useful pots do you have or are you making?

Mothers Who Make is itself meant to be a pot – a place for women who already hold a lot to come together and help hold one another. We have, in turn, put out a ‘pot’ to the world recently to ask for help in our work as we are currently unfunded. I’m busking here, online. If you like this blog and want to support me, and other MWM-ers, to sustain us in our pot-making, then please go here, and for £3 per month, become a ‘Matron Saint’ of our cause. And ultimately, for me, the cause is as grand and as simple as the need to practice holding everything - both life and the loss of it.

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hyperpsychomaniac · 3 years

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Who Says You Can't Go Home - Chapter 5

Darkwing Duck (90s series) fanfiction

Sequel to my recent fanfic The Other Side of Me

Summary: Down on his luck, the Negaverse Launchpad crashes at Launchpad’s parents looking for help. Launchpad, who has avoided visiting his family since he started working with Darkwing, returns in a panic to ensure his double isn’t causing trouble. And then it gets awkward.

Chapter 1

***

“Why aren’t the rivets with the rivet gun?”

“Because they’re fasteners. Not a tool. And you think you’ve got it hard? I think he’s arranged the sealants by… viscosity?”

“Viva what?” Launchpad slammed the doors to the tool cupboard he’d been riffling through, and moved onto the next. Despite the organisation of their parents’ hanger, finding the right parts they needed, without leaving anything behind and as quickly as possible, proved a challenge. “And what ever happened to using chewing gum?”

“Wrong viscosity. Hurry it up. We’ve got to get out there, rivet back up the strut, seal the wing and let the sealant dry…”

“It can dry as we tow it. This would be easier if we could just bring it straight back and fix it in the hanger.”

“Do you want to explain what happened?”

Launchpad gritted his teeth. “Finally, fasteners! And no, I don’t.” He jammed his hand into the box containing the right sized rivets, and pulled out a fistful. A couple bounced out and found their way into nearby containers. He stepped back and pushed the rivets around in his hands, counting to make sure he had enough along with a couple spares. “I wish you’d never convinced me to fly through that damned canyon.”

“You flew where?!”

Launchpad spun around and threw himself back into the cupboard, slamming the doors closed behind him. The entire thing rocked under the impact of his weight. Inside, the clatter of hundreds of airborne fasteners bounced around and off the metal walls. The rivets he’d held scattered across the floor.

Ripcord McQuack’s gaze trailed one of the unfortunate rivets across the floor, then snapped back up to Launchpad. “You went to… the canyon?”

Loopey sidled up beside him. “Told you. Deja vu.”

“Launchpad! Answer me!”

“I… yes?” What else was he supposed to say?

Ripcord’s chest heaved. “I told you kids you were never allowed to fly there.”

“Dad, calm down,” said Loopey. “We’re not kids anymore, remember?”

“Then how come I find you two riffling through everything like a couple teenagers and creating a mess?”

Launchpad exchanged a look with his sister.

“Launchpad!”

“Why am I the one getting yelled at? We just had a… minor…”

Ripcord looked around the hanger. “Loopey, where is your plane?”

“At the bottom of the canyon. Its fine,” she said quickly. “We’re just going to have to tow it out.”

“You’re here for five minutes and you take your sister…”

Loopey pushed past her brother. “Launchpad didn’t take me anywhere. I’ve been to the canyon before. You know, when I come and visit and go out flying by myself and decide where I’m going like an adult is supposed to?”

Ripcord swallowed hard. “You’ve… Launchpad could’ve, you could’ve… don’t you think I told you not to go there for a reason?”

“Yes, but what reason?” Loopey threw her arms out wide. Launchpad let her talk. She was getting through to Dad a lot better than he would’ve. He was taking her more seriously too. Launchpad should’ve been mad but he just wanted this to be over. “You’ve told us not to go there, but you have never, ever, told us why. We’re adults now. If you don’t want us to do something just tell us the reason. We’ll listen to you. But you can’t expect us to do what you say, with no explanation.”

“Okay, fine, I’m overreacting. Just tell me what happened.”

“I broke a strut on the canyon wall. We figured we…”

Ripcord paled. “What?”

Launchpad wasn’t letting Loopey get in trouble for this one. He stepped up and put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Dad, it’s not her fault. I got too close on top of her; she didn’t have room to move.”

“You were right on top of each other? What the hell were you doing in there?”

Launchpad swallowed. “Racing.”

Ripcord squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “You have no idea how stupid that was. Anything goes wrong in there and there is nothing you can do…”

“That’s not true. Loopey landed the plane just fine, and…”

“Enough! Just forget it. If you’re going to act like children, you’re both bloody grounded.”

Launchpad rolled his eyes. “You can’t actually ground us anymore.”

“Want to bet? I’m not talking about sending you to your rooms. I mean literally. These are mine and your mother’s planes. We decide who flys them. And for the rest of this visit that doesn’t include either of you.” Ripcord stomped over to the jeep and began rearranging the tools the siblings had already haphazardly packed. “Don’t worry about your mess. I’ll clean it up myself.”

Launchpad felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he kept his beak firmly shut. He was way too old to be grounded. But arguing would just make him sound even more childish. He was done with that for this visit.

Beside him, Loopey folded her arms across her chest. She also looked a little flushed. “What the actual heck? We’ve all flown in tight spaces plenty of times before, done dangerous stunts... And I thought I’d never have to hear another grounded pun again.”

Launchpad watched his father rifle through the jeep with his back to his kids. He was going to go get that plane all by himself. However bad he was reacting, that wasn’t his fault. And however innocent it had been, racing through that spot had been pretty dumb. “I’ll go out with him. It’s kind of my fault.”

“Not completely.”

“I know,” he smiled at his sister faintly. “Speed demon. Go on, don’t worry about this. I should spend some time with him anyway.”

“Thanks, big brother. Good luck.”

Launchpad sidled over to his father. “Dad, I’ll come with you. You’re going to need help.”

Ripcord straightened, rubbed at the corner of his eye, then turned to face his son. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? You want to fly like a maniac, that’s your business. But when you’re flying with someone else you’ve got a responsibility for them too, especially if they’re family.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Do you want my help or not?”

Ripcord swallowed. “It’s going to be a long drive. Sure you want to spend that amount of time with me?”

That look in his father’s eye. It was trying to be anger, but there was something deeper, more desperate. He’d definitely put this off way too long. “Yeah, Dad.”

***

The jeep bounced and rattled across the dirt track as they started the trek out to the canyon. Ripcord drove, one hand on the steering wheel. He was the first to break the silence. “I should probably let you know, Gosalyn was mucking around with… Launchpad… she hit her head. She’s okay!” he said quickly, when Launchpad jerked up from his slouch in the passenger seat. “I’m pretty sure her dad can take care of her. Just thought you should know.”

Launchpad huffed. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it. What did Launchpad do?”

Ripcord shrugged. “Whatever it was he felt pretty bad about it. He wouldn’t have meant to hurt her. Kids… stuff happens… it’s not his fault.”

“As long as she’s okay.”

“You really care about those two, don’t you?”

Launchpad groaned. “We’re not dating!”

Ripcord smirked. “I know. I think your mother does too. But can you blame her? You’ve been so secretive.” The smirk slipped from his beak. “Me and your Mom, we’re sorry for lying to you. It’s just that we haven’t seen you in so long. And you’ll talk to your Mom on the phone. But you always seem to manage to hang up before I get there. And, well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something anyway and I wanted to do it in person.”

“I’m not trying to avoid you. It’s just… complicated…”

Ripcord glanced across at him, and Launchpad dropped his gaze to his lap. His father smiled faintly. “It’s okay. I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t.” How was he supposed to tell his parents about Darkwing Duck? He had to tell them something. But he hadn’t talked to DW about this, so he didn’t even know what would be okay to share. He didn’t want to put his friend in a spot. He had his secret identify for a reason.

“Launchpad, I get, it really, I…” Ripcord huffed. “Okay. You don’t think it was weird for us having a guy that looked exactly like you crash onto our doorstep, bleeding and begging for help?”

The Negaverse Launchpad. It was certainly a safer topic. “Yeah, what happened to him?”

“He crashed in here with a broken arm, near exhaustion. Told us, once he’d woken up, that he’d gotten involved with air pirates. He was a bit of a mess. When he woke up he was throwing punches at doctors and I thought I was going to have to sit on him or something. Until your mother calmed him down. I guess he didn’t expect us to take him to a hospital and all that attention actually scared him. Since he left Saint Canard he’s just been butting around, not knowing what to do with himself. He didn’t just come to us because he was hurt. He was at the end of his rope and he needed someplace where he’d feel safe, with people he knew he could trust.”

Launchpad had set him up with a plane but then he’d left him to his own devices. Those two weeks they’d spent together, his double had been an wreck for most of it, as he’d progressively worked up the courage to tell him more stuff about Negaduck. He’d only started to pull himself out of it once the plane had started to come together. It had been naive to assume he’d be alright out here by himself. “I told him to stay away from Saint Canard. I guess he thought he had no place else he could turn. Guess I didn’t help him as much as I thought.”

“Son, he can’t stop talking about how much you helped him and how you made him that aeroplane. Its weird, one moment he’s trying to fight your mother’s plants, and then he’s getting all excited about that scrap heap you built. You helped him plenty. But he was on our doorstep, hurt… I think, at that point, seeing him like that, we…” he gulped, then shook himself a little. “We thought of you. We just went into full blown parenting mode. But after, well, we started asking questions. He told us about the Negaverse.”

Launchpad nodded. “And Negaduck?”

Ripcord’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Oh, yeah. And Negaduck. I tell you, if I ever get my hands on that manipulative piece of work…”

“Dad, do not mess with Negaduck.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Follow what I’m saying here. Launchpad explained where he came from. That he’s your twin from another universe. He told us he works for Negaduck, and that Negaduck is the twin of Darkwing Duck, you know, infamous vigilante from Saint Canard.”

“Yeah…”

Ripcord sighed. “He had to explain how you guys met. Launchpad, I know you’ve been flying a plane for Darkwing Duck.”

It was everything he’d been trying to figure out how to explain and he hadn’t known how to tell his father and then it was just… done… over… and… he still didn’t know if too much had been revealed. Launchpad sunk into his seat and put his face in his hands.

“That’s why you haven’t come to visit, isn’t it? Look, I get some of its got to be secret stuff. But if this Darkwing Duck has been bullying you, or…”

“Wait, wait,” Launchpad jerked up in his seat. “He only told you that I worked for Darkwing… that’s it?”

“That you were his pilot. I think he caught on pretty quickly that we actually had no idea that’s what you were doing. So, yeah, that’s all he said. And I get that there’s identities that need to remain secret, assuming you even know that…”

Some of the tension left Launchpad’s shoulders. The Negaverse Launchpad had to tell them something. He should’ve figured that. But it looked like he’d been smart enough to keep Drake out of it. His parents knew about Darkwing Duck. They just didn’t know he was also living with the guy and doing his groceries.

“Launchpad, look at me.” His father grabbed him by the shoulder, his fingers digging in, and the jeep rumbled to a halt. “You don’t have to share everything about this. It’d be the same if you were working for the government, or any other place where there might be confidentiality agreements, or… we don’t expect that of you. But I just want to know one thing.”

Launchpad put his hand over his father’s, if only to loosen his grip. “Sure, Dad.”

“The whole Negaverse thing, there’s parallels to it.”

“You mean how everyone’s opposite?”

Ripcord shook his head. “No. Not opposites. I see a lot of you in that other Launchpad. I think you did as well. And, I guess that’s why I’m worried. You and Launchpad. Negaduck and Darkwing. You’ve both worked for them. But, some of the stories Launchpad has told me about Negaduck…”

“He told them to me as well. I know.”

“I just want to know if Darkwing has ever hurt you. Because if he has I’ll pack up my shotgun right now and…”

“What? No…” Launchpad pulled back. “he’s not Negaduck.”

“He hasn’t forbid you to come see us? Or just made you feel that you can’t? Or threatened to hurt you if you reveal to much about him, or… anything, Launchpad, you just have to tell us.”

“Dad, I said no!” said Launchpad, a growl creeping into his voice. “DW’s a good guy, and besides, he’s my friend. He’s difficult, and he’s got an ego, but he’d never do anything like that.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything about working with him before?”

“He never told me I couldn’t. I just… I never brought it up properly with him.” Launchpad slumped back in his seat as he heard his own words. Yeah, DW was difficult. And any conversation about him telling his parents anything would result in DW stressing out, probably overreacting a bit, but… he would eventually come around. And he would’ve told him exactly how much information he was comfortable for his sidekick to share. He’d never actually stopped him. In fact, every time his mother had called, Drake had always pushed Launchpad to talk to her.

“Oh. Okay.” Ripcord put the jeep in gear and pulled off. After a few moments, he spoke again. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk to your dad about what you’re doing anymore. But, we’re still proud of you, okay? Even without the superhero sidekick stuff. Drake and Gosalyn… being a single parent is tough. The fact you’re helping Drake around the house, and being there for Gosalyn, not a lot of people would do that. And after how bad the other Launchpad hurt you,” he reached out, and gently squeezed Launchpad arm, “to still go and help him when no one else would, that took a lot of guts.”

Launchpad rested his head against the window, unable to look at his father, and watched the rocks and withered trees rumble by. Sure, he’d been there for Drake, and Gosalyn, and the other Launchpad. But he hadn’t tried hard enough to just do something as simple as have a difficult conversation with DW, so they could get their story straight, and he could come see his Mom and Dad.

“I just… wish I didn’t have to lie to you to see you. I miss you.”

Launchpad squeezed his eyes shut tight.

***

The doctor arrived within half an hour, pronounced Gosalyn ‘mostly fine’, and then told them to keep an eye on her and not let her nap until it was evening. Then Mrs McQuack pulled Launchpad aside and asked him what had really happened. He told her the truth. About the potato gun anyway. He wasn’t really lying, leaving out Negaduck. Negaduck hadn’t had anything to do with what happened to Gosalyn.

Birdie patted him on the shoulder and told him he needed to ‘be careful with that thing’, especially if he was playing with a kid, and that maybe it was best if he left it alone until the Mallards left. Heck, she’d been angrier about her stinking rose bushes. But that was probably more to do with the mood he’d been in at the time.

Truth be told, Launchpad had expected everyone’s reaction to what he’d done to Gosalyn to be much worse. Even Drake, though he’d been shooting him glares all day, had eventually left him alone in front of the television with his daughter. Although, Launchpad was pretty sure that was because he’d finally got stressed out sitting with his daughter most of the day, and couldn’t take watching the cartoons she’d pronounced were the only sure fire way to keep her awake.

It was the longest, most stressful afternoon of Launchpad’s life. And not because Gosalyn kept trying to bully him into bringing her snacks. Negaduck’s ultimatum hung in his mind like heavy fog. It wasn’t that he was conflicted about the choice he had made. He just wasn’t sure he was strong enough to pull it off.

Launchpad tapped his foot on the ground; he needed a cigarette. Mrs McQuack had been trying to get him to cut down and the one he usually had in the morning had lately been enough, but not today. Besides, he’d left them all in a heap outside his shack after Gosalyn had startled him.

“You’re as bad as Launchpad.”

“I am Launchpad.”

“No, I mean the real one. You’re shaking the whole sofa.”

“I’m keeping you awake.”

“Hello, that’s what the cartoons are for?” Gosalyn waved at the television.

“This drivel? It’s unrealistic. You hit a cat with a hammer it doesn’t make little stars, it just…” Launchpad folded his arms with a harrumph.

Gosalyn leaned forward to check no one was in the next room, then lowered her voice. “You’re worried about Negaduck. We should tell Dad.”

“We can’t. Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of it.” Launchpad stood to his feet. It was nearing sundown; Negaduck’s decision time. But first, he was going to collect some tools from the hanger. He’d give Negaduck his decision alright, and he was going to make it bloody clear.

Gosalyn glared up at him. “I should come with you. But I still feel a little dizzy so it might not be a good idea. Just be careful. If you get hurt, I’m going to be mad. And if you take too long, I’m telling Dad. I don’t care what I promised.”

Launchpad waited for a second. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m going to do?”

“Is what you’re going to do appropriate to tell a kid… oh, are you going to hit him with a bat or something, or just punch his face in? Or, you know, worse?”

Launchpad huffed and rolled his eyes. “I meant about… he asked me to join him. He wants me to kill your dad. Which I already tried to do once.”

“But you were different then. And you told me that story…”

“I could’ve been lying.”

“I don’t think you’re smart enough to make up a story like that.”

“I…” Launchpad’s shoulders sagged. “Aw, kid. You know how many faces I’ve smashed in for calling me stupid?”

Gosalyn stood up on the sofa so she could look him in the eye. “I know he’s hurt you. But you can still beat him.”

Launchpad swallowed hard. Damn this kid. “How do you know that?”

Gosalyn grabbed him by the collar. “I know because you’re Launchpad McQuack! And you’re not going to let anybody hurt your family!” Her beak was pressed almost to his, and she glared into his eyes so earnestly, almost angrily.

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. “Cover for me? They won’t be suspicious. I do this sometimes; wander off at night.”

“I’ve got your back.”

“Good on ya, kiddo.”

Launchpad made his way over to the McQuack’s hanger. A crowbar was always a good go-to. But maybe he should find something bigger, and sharper. You never knew with Negaduck. Sometimes it didn’t matter what weapon you had.

Inside, the lights were on. Launchpad made his way straight to the tool board. At first, he’d found the place nauseatingly tidy. But after helping the McQuack’s out with some repairs, he had to admit, it was nice to be able to find stuff. That would’ve been the last thing he needed today, stressing about digging through tools when he just wanted to grab what he wanted and go deal with Negaduck.

There was the ping of metal on metal. Launchpad spun around and brandished the crowbar.

“Oh, Launchpad, sorry, I thought you realised I was in here.” Loopey sat on the floor, surrounded by a half dozen containers filled with bolts and fasteners. The noise had just been her pegging a bolt into one of the half filled containers, and it was absolutely ridiculous that it had startled him. He really was on edge. She jumped to her feet, picked her way amongst the containers, and came over to him. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to chat.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Loopey frowned at the crowbar. “Now, what are you doing with that?”

“Er…” He’d almost forgotten that most people in this dimension didn’t routinely carry around weapons, and here he was waving a crowbar in the McQuack’s daughter’s face. Still, most people in both dimensions wouldn’t bounce right up to him when he had a weapon in hand. “Um… was going to knock some… heads off flowers. Sometimes I need to blow off steam.”

“Ah,” said Loopey, as if that had been a perfectly rational answer. “Just don’t mess with anything in Mom’s garden.”

Launchpad winced. “Yeah, I’ll only make that mistake once.”

She had her arms folded, looking at him, trying to figure him out. She seemed far too calm. His own sister would’ve been swinging her fist in his face, just like the last time he’d seen her.

“You burned your planes? For him.”

He’d caught her fist. Laughed.

“I am so glad Mom and Dad aren’t here to see what you’ve become.”

“They were weak. Negaduck isn’t.” And then he’d thrown that punch right back.

Loopey lightly brushed his sleeve. “Hey, you okay?”

Launchpad shook himself. He had to deal with Negaduck. But he wanted to talk to Loopey. It was just like what he’d felt with Gosalyn; he wanted to connect with her. It wouldn’t make up for anything with his own sister. But, shit. He missed her. “Er… what are you doing in here anyway?” Launchpad waved the crowbar towards the containers.

“Launchpad crashed into the cupboard, typical, and messed them all up. But he’s out with Dad and…” Loopey rubbed at her arm. “We crashed one of the planes. They’re out there now to bring it in… and… well, Dad seemed a bit upset. I didn’t want to leave this for him to clean up. So, you got a spunky little sister over in this Negaverse place?”

One who hated him so much he’d never be able to speak to her, like this, again. “We haven’t spoken in years.”

“Oh. What about your parents?”

Rougher around the edges then the McQuacks he’d spent the last two months with. Still good people, by Negaverse standards. He and his sister would’ve never hit each other like that when they’d been alive. You only fought if you’d both agreed you were sparring, because a family had to have some way to blow off steam when they were pissed at each other. Other people? Fine. If you knew you needed to smack them one you just did it. But not family. They were your backup, your protection. You treated them with some respect. “They’re dead.”

Loopey winced. “Oh, did this Negaduck guy…?”

Launchpad shook his head. “Nothing to do with him. The Negaverse is just a rough place.” And he’d actually been angry with them, just for not being tough enough to take on the air pirates that had challenged them for their air space. It had been ridiculously immature of him, and he’d figured that out, as he got older, before he even left the Negaverse. When things had come to a head, two planes had taken down nearly a dozen pirate fighter planes between them, until the pirates finally shot down the Negaverse’s Ripcord McQuack. And then Birdie McQuack had flown her plane straight into the main engine of the pirate airship and brought the whole thing down with her. What his parents had done had been borderline legendary.

But they were still dead. And Launchpad had decided that was because they hadn’t been strong enough. Despite how much they relied on and protected each other, when they’d been outnumbered, it wasn’t enough. Allying in yourself to just anyone, no matter how much you trusted them, was not enough. You needed to ally yourself to someone strong. Like the guy who had singlehandedly brought the chaotic and dangerous Negaverse to its knees and declared himself its ruler.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re Mom and Dad didn’t even know me. But they’ve been everything I needed right now. Them and your brother…” Launchpad gulped at the lump that had risen to his throat. Negaduck hadn’t given him the safety he’d been looking for. How he’d treated him had been a poor exchange for his protection. Then he’d come over here. And the McQuacks may not have had the strength he thought he needed, but they’d given him what Negaduck never had and didn’t ask for anything in return. Apart from refraining from ripping up their garden.

Now Negaduck was here to take that all away from him. Launchpad’s fist tightened around the crowbar.

“They’re pretty great, aren’t they? Look, if you want to talk some more, you don’t have to go assault plants. You could help me, er…” Loopey’s shoulders slumped. “Sort fasteners.”

Launchpad forced a smile. “Raincheck?”

“Pft. Coward.” Loopey blinked as she caught herself. “Um, sorry. I talk like this to my brother all the time. You realise this is very confusing, right?”

At least he wasn’t the only one getting mixed up feelings about his actual family mixed in with the ones he was starting to develop for this one. “Yeah, I get it. But we can talk later. I really just need to… blow off some steam.”

“Later.”

The Gator was parked outside. Launchpad swung himself in, grabbed the seatbelt, then let it slide back as he remembered he wasn’t riding with Mr McQuack. He put the machine in drive and tore down the hill as fast as he could.

They might not be his family. But he was attached. And for once, that no longer felt like a weakness. If only he’d worked that out back in the Negaverse with Gosalyn, and with his sister. He may have blown his chances back home, but he would not fail this time.

Negaduck was going to pay.

***

Chapter 6

#darkwing #darkwing duck #darkwing fanfiction #darkwing duck fanfiction #launchpad #negalaunchpad #nega launchpad #launchpad mcquack #negaduck #dwd #dwd91 #darkwing duck 1991 #disney ducks

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wendigoross · 6 years

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5AM Ramblin’s

I’m really tired and can’t stop thinking about shit so I thought I would ramble and rant on Tumblr.

First topic of the evening is music, most importantly works like Neutral Milk Hotel and whatever the fuck else makes me cry or feel feelings. I honestly feel such an ernest and emotional connection with most if not all of NMH’s music. Jeff is such a wonderful storyteller and musician everytime the guy opens his mouth I feel literal magic comes out. This is only heightened by wonderful bandmates that only make the expecience more enjoyable. Aeroplane Over the Sea and Ferris Wheel On Fire are probably my two favorite albums of all time due to themes and msuic brought to the table despite the really odd and surreal way it’s often presented. My favorite song out of all of them being Oh Comley which is a really sexual story about the ruination of sex which is masterfully interwoven with feminine innocence and purity. Furthermore I find Jeff Mangum outside of the band (and inside) to be an utter delight. I honestly wish I could hang out with the guy. I kinda feel bad for him too as his life (at least as far as I know) has been in the shitter and he hasnt had the best of luck with life and shit. I’ve also been dabbling with other indie artists and other genres of music in general. Iron & Wine have become a favorite of mine with their three songs; Cinder & Smoke, Passing Afternoon, and Such Great Heights. Lord Huron’s album Strange Trails has also become a favorite of mine due to it’s dark and surreal nature.

Next ramble is about Doki Doki Literature Club or more specificly, Monika; Monika is probably one of the greatest antagonists (at least for me) that I have seen in a VERY long time. She invokes everything I fear like the absence of free will, death, utter crippling aloneness, and because this really fucking spooks me no free will. Dan and the team did such a fantastic job making such a fucking great “villian”. Not much else to say really. Also Your Reality still makes me tear up.

Next up stock is me not wanting to be an adult. Everyone goes through this phase. Nothing more to say on the subject other than jobs spook me.

Anime has been pretty big for me this year as I watched both seasons of Konosuba, My Hero Aca, and Made in Abyss (which is why you’ve been seeing so much Nanachi lately). Konosuba was pretty funny and reminds me of what real life D&D is like, but I did want more from it, the characters could of been explored in much more detail. Darkness’ masochism joke is funny the first few times, but for me got old pretty quick, most people seem to be one tricks and nothing else. I’m a lot more mixed on My Hero Aca because on one hand I really fucking like it and on the other I feel bored watching it. I can’t really put my feelings into words so I’ll just move along. My favorite of the season is Made in Abyss. I love the fucking SHIT out of this series. Everything I could ever want is in here, Lovecraftian elements, subversion of genre, A+ world building, surreal elements, and BRUTALITY WITHOUT REMORSE. It’s also sometimes a very deep philosophical study into themes such as MERCY KILLING. Shit gets lit fam. This video tackles everything I could say and does it better, it has SPOILERS so if you haven’t seen the series do it.

I would also like to talk about my love (if you haven’t guessed it) of the surreal and paranormal. Anyone who full on knows me knows that I write (even if I almost never share my writing with anyone) and I love writing horror...even if I’m not very good at it. Lovecraft and Cosmic Horror are some of my favorite things in fiction ever, which is why I love the death out of Junji Ito and his manga’s. Although I have been going through a now 3 month writers block on EVERYTHING including my school work which is fucking me quite hard. It’s part of the reason I made this in the first place so I can just get all my thoughts out of my head and onto something. yeah...

END OF RAMBLIN’

also here’s my playlist of songs i like AAAAAAAAAAAA

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mercurialtraveller-blog · 7 years

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Clear Sky, 7°C

Mezhdunarodnoye sh., вл1, Moskva, Russia, 141425

Day 1 London > Japan Woke up hungover as fuck. Don’t think I slept properly, really. The previous day’s exploits at Hospitality in the Park had taken their toll, but certainly were worthwhile. Such a nice send off with Toby, Kris and Emma, and in smaller doses Coops and Lucy. Dragged my arse out of bed at 6:30am, having gone to bed a little bit worse for wear at around 12:45. Thankfully mum had cooked me dinner before I slept so after a nice hot shower and some ibu + codeine I started to feel better. I quickly gathered my gadgets which had been left charging and slipped them into the bottom of my bag. Some concern around having them close to the edge - I hope they don’t get broken by a cackhanded, angry bag handler like the crazy guy in Croatia who literally launched mine and Katie’s (and everyone else’s!) bags into the luggage storage space for our bus from Pula to Zagreb. Decided to leave my 3DS, in favour of spending my time more productively – reading, journalling, and hopefully finding an app to edit my Go Pro footage on are on the agenda. Got to the airport with plenty of time to spare despite mum faffing for about 10 minutes whilst I waited at the door. In truth we had left ample time, anyway, and there was no need to worry at all. So thankful to have had mum look after me the last few days, it’s been really nice. And obviously very appreciative of the lift to the airport! No queue for check-in. Minor hiccup at oversized baggage as the belt wasn’t working (I was sent there because my backpack had straps?!), but that was resolved within 2-3 mins. Security was rapid… Unsure why but my shoulder flagged up on the body scanner. He also swabbed my shoes. Bizzarre. Why do they make you get to an airport two hours before your flight if you can pass all of the above within 10 minutes? Still feeling a bit worse for wear I head to the pub (duhhh). This time I’m feeling well enough to have my usual pint 📷 before take off, along with some smashed avocado on a muffin. Tasty. I kill some time talking to Boj about (amongst other things) how aeroplane toilets work. Tho asks me if I remembered my booster seat for the plane. Hilarious. Vicki sends me some Japan tips: -Good luck being veggie outside of Tokyo, but try to use ‘niku wa tabemasen’ (I don’t eat meat). -'Sumimasen’ is 'excuse me’ and can be used when asking for directions in conjunction with a map. -Hyperdia is the best app for trains She also tells me she has friends in Kyoto who we can link up with, and that I should defo go to The Phillipines - specifically El Nido on Palawan. After a quick look on the observation deck 📷 and I’m finally boarding the plane. It’s the most empty plane I’ve ever been on! Almost everyone (with exception of families who are seated together) has 3 seats to themselves 📷 . I get through a fair chunk of my book and listen to some music; I notably listened to The 68’s first album which is decent - raw rock 'n’ roll/indie vibes. Ended up sitting in the middle seat of my three with the seatbelt super loose and lying down across them, with three blankets stacked under my head as a makeshift pillow. Living the dream! Unfortunately the dream did not extend to my vegetarian meal, which was rice, boiled veg and what i presume to be pumpkin? Not. Great. Still, manage to get two glasses of wine, so it’s not all bad. Arrive in Moscow and have quite a few messages to get through… Realise I am being charged £1.50 per mb for data and quickly switch to WiFi. Astrid had messaged me to wish me well for my travels, which I thought was really kind of her, given the conversations we have had recently. Pass the time by having some chats with Iona and Katie as well, with Iona telling me about some sort of Scottish swingers island? Odd, but amusing. I order nachos at the TGI Friday bar, and a pint and get charged the equivalent of £13📷! Board the next plane, thinking it’s gonna be a 5 hour flight but it’s actually more like 9 or so? Not 100% sure. Unfortunately it’s also fully booked, by the looks of things. Sleep a bit, watch Trainspotting 2 -disappointing, frankly. Not much happens, and it has one of those lame endings where it turns out one of the characters wrote the book. Food again. Same meal again. Blegh. Another glass of wine though. Presumably my last of the journey, but hopefully not! The guy next to me says 'cheers!’ and we have a bit of a chat about the purposes of our journeys, and the advantages of eBooks over real books - he says he uses a Netflix style service which costs the price of two books per month, but that he and his wife get through 100 (!!!) books per year. Seems a really nice guy but we both go back to our films. It’s at this point I’m writing this first entry of my journal, which I intend to update every day. It strikes me that Ive written a lot about a relatively boring day. Waffling on, as usual! Hopefully I’ll have more interesting things to add tomorrow, as I’ll be in Toyko! I’m a little bit excited, but it still seems surreal to me. I am a bit nervous about getting public transport to the hotel, but Maddy has sent me instructions of how to do so, and I’ll be picking up my data sim and have airport WiFi to help me navigate, also. Hope I can sleep some more on this flight, but I feel wide awake, and John Wick 2 awaits.

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shinkookiefanfiction · 5 years

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SHE'S MY NOONA

Chapter 12

Jungkook's p.o.v

I finally took her home, i was proud of myself being able to take her home peacefully. She was about to go inside bit she then turned back and came towards me "Jungkook, it has been more than 3 times we crossed over is it..aniyo." she hesitated even if we both knew what it was.

"Noona, i think we are destined." I cried teasing her as she managed to laugh.

It was really cute. "Jungkook, uhm tomorrow are you free?" She asked nervously but as a noona. " aniyo i think I'd be free after sometime." I said to her curiously

"Do you want noona to take you out?" She asked smiling at herself knowing that she was trying to fulfill my promise. I was so happy that i cried happily. "Really!, no postponing?" I made her to promise me as she took my hand and we did a pinky promise with a stamp."pinky promise?" "Pinky swear." She chuckled

She then got a glimpse of my unique bracelet i cherished given by my grandad who was an artist. "That's pretty." She cried with a smile wanting to touch it but i hesitated but i stoped "Mianhaeyo, granddad gave it to me before he died i really cherish it." I said as shejust smiled and understood

"I understand i also don't like people touching my precious stuff like the ones i was given by my omma before she died too." She said sadly but just chuckled and rubbed off her tear from her cheek.

"Yah, noona your ways are still childish you should smile no matter what." I teased her as she tried defending herself and hitting me. "Tomorrow I'll arrange everything so don't get suprised arasso?!" She made a funny face making me more amused.

"Noona if i leave you one day how will you feel?" I asked her with my own reason." But she got mad and teased me still hitting my head. "Yah!, don't say that." She cried "so will you cry for me!?" I cried happily but she interrupted me "don't get your hopes up what if i don't!" She laughed sneakily making me upset.

That's when we bid each other goodnight. She was too precious for me to be with her every moment because that is what i wished for every hour of my life.

End of p.o.v

A/N p.o.v

They didn't realize Cha eun woo and I'm yoona were watching "it seems like you are being too late, Min ah is having guys chasing on her while someone close like you is scared." Yoona said as she stared at the guy leaving the house and Cha eun woo who was furious just decided to get out of the car.

Jungkook walked his way when Eun woo suddenly appeared and started a fight punching him on his face making his lips bleed and strangling him till Jungkook strongly pushed his hand aside. "What do you want!?!"

"I told you to stay away from Min ah!" Eun woo angrily cried making Jungkook just smirk "wae?, is she your property?are you jealous? All you can do is stop me but not fight for her coward!!" "Why are you even trying you are famous you have alot of pretty idols around you why Min ah?! Can't you just leave her?i'm asking this slowly" He cried desperately.

" I'm also saying this slowly that i won't give up on Min ah to me age doesn't matter cause I truly love for the first time in my 15 years.

Eun woo tried to punch him again but he avoided it " Eun woo lets not do this, we aren't children cause Min ah noona is the one to decide at the end.

He then left leaving Cha eun woo more angry." Don't be delusional if you are trying to approach Min ah as her dongsae then your wrong she just sees you that way and nothing else."

Meanwhile

Jungkook arrived back to his home only to find Suga and Jin at home playing chess. "Yah where are the others?" He asked as Suga just smirked "is that really a question you know what the other guys do."

"Ooh hyungs?" Jungkook just cried as he joined his friends "yah!, Jungkook is still young why bring that up!?" Jin cried to suga

"What the heck, he's already grown i even know he has a crush on ahjummah's granddaughter." Suga cried as if it was nothing he saw."Jungkook but what happened to you?, your lips are bleeding." Jin worried "its nothing." He said "let me guess girl problem and having a rival." Suga guessed it correctly with no stress. "It was nothing to me." He said as Jin rubbed and applied some medicine onto his mouth "seeing you like this makes me think you are totally inlove with her." Jin muttered.

Jungkook suddenly just felt his face turn red just thinking he came from there. " for how long did you know?" Jungkook asked him seriously "does it matter, what matters is mpt keeping it as a secret from us cause we are your hyungs." He cried standing up heading to his room.

"Did you ever express your feelings towards her?" He asked before he went to sleep. Jungkook seemed confused but he was ready " aniyo , she just came from breaking up from her boyfriend, i wouldn't even dare." He said as Suga noded "that's good you just need to take things slowly." He cried as he left and a smile drew my face.

"Jin ottokye i'm having a date with noona tomorrow." He cried disturbing Jin to help him since he got all jealous.

"Yah!yah!" Jin cried "but..will you be okay to leave her here have you told her yet it's your last chance still." He asked making Jungkook's mood change.

"I was going to but I'll do it tomorrow."

The next day

That afternoon

Shin min ah's p.o.v

I got all dressed up ready for a date with my super star dongsae. It just felt weird since i had dates for a long time now here i am dressed all nice just for my dongsae. I think i should wear a dress i smiled to myself hurriedly going outside.

I was all ready i got out closing the shop making sure to inform my granny that i was leaving. "Min ah you look pretty where to? On a date with a guy?" One of my usual customers commented on me.

"Aniyo its just like a promise i made to someone not an actual date." I cried as they wished me luck.

I was heading at the park making sure i called him. After i made sure unluckily the guy i never wished to see called me he wanted to meet and finish everything up.

That's right i had to finish every thing up cause our relationship was just a delusional but i couldn't leave Jungkook, I'll just hurry up then.

At the coffee shop

Right this is where we first dated, he was so cruel everything started at this shop now we were going to end it.

I sat opposite from him he looked uneasy and uncomfortable even though it hurt i just had to bear his disgusting heart.

"Mianhaeyo-" he cried as i cut him off "please get straight to the point." I cried " right, lets end it here." He said the words i knew would shutter my heart. "Everything between you and i ended yesterday." I cried painfully.

"Aah neh..then can we still be friends." He asked knowing that still it would hurt me. "Why would i be friends with a betrayal just remember we just ended everything." I cried

"Then i hope you come to our wedding with your friend we saw yesterday. Tell him i invite him and his company to our wedding." He said providing me the wedding card hurting my pride, why did it have to be him now even if i was trying to move on.

Later

I forgot myself that i drank alot getting really drunk..realising i still didn't get over him.....soon before i realised it i blacked out...

Later

ANONYMOUS P.O.V

I watched as she got drunk and passed out. My heart ached, i just realized that even if we were destined to meet we weren't destined to be together.

It was all a waste i knew she didn't get over him. What was i thinking expecting her to be with me who can't always be with her. I sat infront of her as i watched her struggle.

I think i should give up on you. I stood then gave her one of my bracelet i cherished the most. "Goodbye Min ah kumaoh for being my first kiss."

End of p.o.v

The next day

Min ah's p.o.v

I woke up with my head ache. Realising i was still wearing my yesterday's dress. I quickly rinsed my self prepared breakfast ready to visit my granny at the elder's hospital.

I visited granny and she looked fine and healthy but too bad she was suffering from dementia. "She needs to have an operation soon so we can prevent her from the critical one all you need is just 2.1M to do it." The doctor said to me.

We didn't have that much money even the restaurant couldn't get that in a month but i promised to take care of it. "Arasso, I'll look." I said thanking him.

Everything was turning difficult but at last i was free all i needed now was a job for it. I then remembered Jungkook all of a sudden something was wrong he always texts me in the morning but now he isn't perhaps he's busy it's not like i'm missing him already.

I managed to catch up with my friend Go ara on the way who looked sad and tearly obviously she didn't have a life just like i. I decided to comfort her as she started complaning to me.

"Go ara what's wrong your always happy what's wrong?" I asked her "Min ah this can't happen...!!" She cried "why? Did one of your other celebrity leave for military?!" I teased her.

"Min ah how can you make fun of me while BTS are leaving for America for one year today!"she cried.

Just hearing that made me think perhaps it was a joke. Jungkook could have told me "are you joking me!" But Go ara never jokes to things like this. Before I knew it i hurriedly ran to their company still wondering why he didn't tell me.

I reached there but everything was true i saw a lot of fans crying and shouting for BTS sudden leave for debut in America.

My energy drained off there was no need to ask cause they had already left. I scouted as tears flowed from my eyes suddenly remembering what he asked me the day before "noona, if i happen to leave will you cry and miss me?" He asked me.

Why did he think i won't miss him thats why he left, i was only teasing him. That bad person after spending more time with me now he left but why was i crying my heart was beating fast just by the thought of it. "Goodbye Kookie" i looked up in the sky seeing an aeroplane flying.

Meanwhile

In the plane

First class private

The bts and their manager were all celebrating their journey to the us going to debut there. It was really nice for adventures but it hurt leaving the people you love for a year and far away. Everyone bid their parents at the airport.

The young maknae couldn't celebrate knowing he didn't say a proper goodbye to that someone who opened up his heart that has been locked for a long time.

Everyone knew Jungkook had made a hard decision and it was part of life, the hardest choice.

"Yay! Kookie we know you loved her we all do but that had to be the choice and you made the correct one cause it's for her own good." Suga adviced as his hyungs tried to cheer him up.

"So be happy like your usual self and let her suceed on her own now." Jin adviced "yeah you can meet someone better." Tae suddenly blurted out. Making his hyungs glare "but she was better than anyone else." Jungkook muttered.

"You are right i need to forget her and move on too." Jungkook suddenly got up and went to join his hyung to drink but drank more than enough getting drunk. " she broke a promise we made but i still love her. "

This worried his hyungs as they knew it might be hard just to forget her. "That's why i hate one sided love." Tae cried "yah!,don't speak loud you never know." Suga cried.

"By the way i was so happy when he would smile all the time just because of her. "

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aristopathy · 7 years

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92 questions tag

Tagged by @spacefuneral

Answer the questions and tag 20 people.

@bonusdisk @aheartmadeofkyber @seawhorescaptain and any of my followers ofc <3

THE LAST: 1. Drink: red wine 2. Phone call: cpk to schedule an interview 3. Text message: to my mom about toning the yellow outta my hair 4. Song you listened to: in the aeroplane over the sea by neutral milk hotel (accidentally) 5. Time you cried: yesterday? idr what but i cry a lot HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: yes 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: yes all my exes lmao 8. Been cheated on: im pretty sure it happened bt no Evidence 9. Lost someone special: not to death but yeah 10. Been depressed: usually am 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: twice, once by kraken, and secondly by skol vodka LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12. jade green 13. darker blues 14. rusty or burnt orange IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: yes 16. Fallen out of love: nope 17. Laughed until you cried: no 18. Found out someone was talking about you: yes 19. Met someone who changed you: pan my partners cat he has made me Lose Sleep 20. Found out who your friends are: yeah unfortunately ): 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: my fb is Dead r i p GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: all but 2 when i had it 24. Do you want to change your name: yes first and last 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: dinner with some friends then heavy drinking with my good pal and beloved @bonusdisk 26. What time did you wake up: 3am then 5 am then 8 am??? ugh 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: passed out on th couch 28. Name something you can’t wait for: (starting) and finishing grad school applications 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: a few days ago 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: my bpd 31. What are you listening right now: sims background music and noise 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: probably 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: living situation 34. Most visited Website: tumblr or amazon LOST QUESTIONS 35. Mole/s: a lot 36. Mark/s: a couple scars from cuts and burns 37. Childhood dream: sea world orca trainer, marine biologist 38. Haircolour: platinum/white blonde 39. Long or short hair: short short bob 40. Do you have a crush on someone: yes 41. What do you like about yourself: passionate abt good things and sometimes makes cool art 42. Piercings: 5 43. Bloodtype: A+ 44. Nickname: tori 45. Relationship status: relationed w/ @bonusdisk and our children are halloween themed 46. Zodiac: libra 47. Pronouns: she her or they them 48. Favourite TV Show: walking dead or reign 49. Tattoos: 4 and more to come 50. Right or left hand: right 51. Surgery: my wisdom teeth lol 52. Hair dyed in different color: caramel, scarlet red, platinum blonde, purple, dark brown/black, pale orange 53. Sport: swordfighting or martial arts 55. Vacation: mountains 56. Pair of trainers: um what

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: popcorn 58. Drinking: red wine 59. I’m about to: watch reigm w my love 61. Waiting for: tyler to stop playing Sims 62. Want: tattoos and$$$$ 63. Get married: no 64. Career: professor at university hopefully WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: orgasms 66. Lips or eyes: lips 67. Shorter or taller: depends but ive been acclimated to having shorter folk around me over my lifetime 68. Older or younger: prefer a little older 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: arms omgg 71. Sensitive or loud: sensitive 72. Hook up or relationship: relationship im a big Romantic bt i guesss no nm i probably couldnt handle it 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: i am alwways hesitant bt i also make trouble frequently bc i am headstrong HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a stranger: no 75. Drank hard liquor: yes my fave 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: yeah bt i find them 77. Turned someone down: yes often 78. Sex in the first date: no 79. Broken someone’s heart: yeah at least once 80. Had your heart broken: yeah 81. Been arrested: no 82. Cried when someone died: yes my childhood dogs 83. Fallen for a friend: yes! DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: on a good day 85. Miracles: mmmmmm 86. Love at first sight: never happened to me bt maybe 87. Santa Claus: no 88. Kiss on the first date: yeah 89. Angels: no OTHER: 90. Current best friends name: a few bt lauren tyler jess angie eric luck 91. Eyecolour: green w brown bt i guess thats called hazel 92. Favorite movie: spirit: stallion of the cimmaron

#my self #tagged #i finally have a laptoo again and could do this

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itsmosblog · 7 years

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I Don’t BeLIEVE it!!!!

After securing the darling little piglets, we headed off to Edinburgh to pick up Granny and Papa Munro who had been living the dream in their camper van in Europe, but had broken down 200 miles from the ferry in Amsterdam. Papa Munro is not beyond taking an engine out at the side of the road, but there was just a handy wee bit missing and so AA equivalent rescue services had to be called. They relayed them to the nearest campsite and then set about a rather inefficient, 5 day rescue package which involved considerations of 15 days to fix the vehicle (with the handy wee bit, Papa could do it himself in half a day), problems with relaying it across different countries within Europe as they were bordering Luxembourg and Germany and needing to be in Holland and this was causing the insurance company some issues. Eventually they booked them onto a flight out of Frankfurt bound for Edinburgh with a plan for the campervan to follow, and despite omitting to send a hired car or a taxi to get them to the airport, they insisted to Spook that the issue was settled as they were definitely on a plane. When Spook had phoned his parents they were enjoying a nice breakfast in the lovely campsite and no where near an aeroplane. Spook demanded of the company that this be resolved immediately as his parents were very old and vulnerable.....

What we picked up at the airport could never be described as old and vulnerable, but more Hippy, straight off the Silk Route and likely to be drug searched at any minute. They were the healthiest looking individuals, brown as nuts, open toed sandals, sunkissed hair and a tiny rucksack between them. Spook and I looked ancient by comparison having spent the last 2 days fighting piglets.

We got home at 2am, checked the escapees were not escapees,and were reassured by a gentle grunt. Happily, we went to bed and had a long lie.

Something not right, Spook?? You did a good job of creating the Semi-Cooler.

Aaaaaaahhhh. So that’s what’s going on with your face!

This was a little disappointing to say the very very least. We trudged back to the kitchen to make coffee and try to bolster our spirits. The Great Escape is one of Spooks favourite films. Steve McQueen, as The Cooler King, had made 17 escape attempts before the film began and made 4 within the film. Now that Spook was faced with piglets working together he would have to consult his experience of the film. Wilbur just didn’t seem like the right name, now. Not that we had any piglets to name - they had flown the coup. Danny The Tunnel King, played by Charles Bronson, could have broken down to the McQueen equivalent of Bronson. That’s a good, sturdy boy pig kind of name.

Anyway, I had work to do and didn’t know where to start with the pig hunting. We’d just have to wait until someone spotted them trying to board a bus, or something.

And sure enough, the answer came with the mail. The Postie Woman had seen a couple of real cutie piglets up at the neighbours. Lovely and chatty they were, she said. So off I ran with a bucket of feed and Spook went to secure the Cooler - again - and from all angles. But not a pig to be seen next door. There was a light gathering of interested and supportive neighbours, one of whom was getting the boy’s sisters next week. (right - good luck with THAT!) I gave up and went to start work while Spook, having googled how to catch a pig (try a familiar bucket of feed (nope), try speaking in a high pitched and friendly voice (nope), and if desperate, try to grab it’s hind leg (if only one could find a pig, let alone get close enough - so that’s another nope,))) took up the final piece of advice which was to check fence-lines as they do have a liking for them. It wasn’t long before I got the call. One inside the neighbours fence-line and one on the hill-side of it. I could hear the frantic squealing from Bronson/Tunnel King who wanted to be on the hill-side with his brother. I joined Spook and began to work them back towards our own croft. But there was a deeply gouged burn that ran through the hill-side and under the fence, at which point Bronson shot under and Spook howled in despair as we now had the whole of Banavie Hill to try and out-run 2 determined piglets. I knew now for sure that he hated me - it was written all over his face. Venom! But as McQueen and Bronson tried to go uphill in the gorge-like burn (which was only knee deep for us,) they got stuck with Bronson nearest Spook and facing me and MacQueen the opposite. Yet again, I reached down and grabbed his leg. With a flash, Spook dived through the gorse, into the burn and landed on Bronson who was far more Charles Bronson, than Danny The Tunnel King. A fight ensued between Spook and Burly Bronson, while my little piglet knew the game was up with 2 legs off the ground. We’d moved into new movie territory here. More Death Wish - (https://reelrundown.com/movies/The-Death-Wish-Series-Bronson-at-His-Best)

Once Spook got control of the situation, we just looked at each other.....we were stuck in a burn up on the hill-side with 2 truculent, erstwhile piggy movie stars and not a hope of getting them out of the burn by ourselves. This was clearly a crofting issue so he decided to call Calum The Crofter. He didn’t answer his phone. We sweated a bit. Maybe if he could persuade The Boss that the frogs had vacated the hill he might come back out and help. He called him and bless his sports sandals he said he’d be up straight away. Then Calum The Croft called back and said he was cutting down trees and would be up in 15 minutes.

We sat and chatted. I ventured to ask if this could be counted as quality time together, but Spook wasn’t ready to think of this as a romantic encounter. He was too busy pondering his options. He’d asked The Boss and Calum to bring rope. The expression “hog-tied” was beginning to make sense. After what seemed about 2 hours but was probably 25 minutes, help appeared in the shape of Calum and his father who could not keep the grin off his face.......The Boss had gone further up the hill by mistake, but may have seen a frog and diverted course. (He only told us about the previous frog issue once it was all over - perhaps he’d worried that his screams would have scared the pig, or that Spook and I might have become delusional with exhaustion and tackled him to the ground instead of the pig.)

Calum got on with the hog-tying whilst his Dad issued advice from a safe distance. Once both piggies were secured, Calum got Bronson in a bear hug..

whilst Spook got the other into a vice-like grip. The Boss took the anchor........

That way, he could protect Calum from any hoppity dangers.

But with a broken Spook beginning to toil, he took over McQueen and it was The Boss and Calum who got the boys back in the Cooler. ALL the boys were sweating like pigs after the effort. Calum asked Spook how long the pigs would be ‘resting’ on the croft. Spook said “October.”

“Right”, said Calum. “I won’t be answering my phone until October”.

#OCUK #Pigs #Fort William #Lochaber #Scotland #Crofting #West Highlands

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pollaidh · 7 years

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Meta: Final Problem is John’s Dying Brain

In The Final Problem, a dying John is deducing both what happened to Sherlock’s sister, and his own heart.

This is a long scene by scene meta, but it’s taken me from a non-believer (we’ve been betrayed) to fairly convinced we’re going to see something else, a beautiful resolution. I have purposely not studied other people’s meta on this, to see whether we can independently come up with something similar. Plenty of evidence elsewhere that what we are seeing is NOT real.

John’s dying brain

So what do we see in John’s dying brain? It’s a mix of regrets, self-discovery and hope, wish-fulfilment and misunderstanding. In TFP John is deducing both what has happened to Sherlock’s sister (with a healthy dose of film lore - he’s been watching too many films), and also deducing what is happening in his own heart.

He sees Sherlock as in control, incredibly smooth and good-looking, much different from the very messed up, raw Sherlock we see in TLD. Perhaps Sherlock’s rawness and genuine concern is frightening for John.

He sees a Sherlock who values John for his contribution to cases, for being a solider. But he also starts to see the truth about Sherlock - a man who loves, him, Molly, Mycroft even.

He sees a man who has just sacrificed himself (the Governor) to save someone (his clearly loved wife) who dies anyway: Sherlock has sacrificed himself on multiple occasions (from TRF, to HLV, to his near-death experience in TLD), and all for nothing. John’s dying. Euros got them both.

Opening Scene on Plane We open on a doomed aeroplane reminiscent of Bond Air. AKA The flight of the dead. John is the girl, on the plane. There is a girl who wakes up (John returning to sort-of consciousness after gunshot), she tries her mother with no response (John is very much alone - no family that we yet know of, yet). He knows he needs oxygen. The oxygen masks are down, yet the plane seems to be flying smoothly, no signs of an explosion. Everyone else has died from lack of oxygen to the brain, which is what will happen to him soon.

He gets on the phone which is ringing, looking for help. Moriarty is back. Sherlock has never explained why he believes Moriarty is dead, so this is a realistic fear for John. (John is maybe attempting to telephone for help, or contact Sherlock, perhaps Eurus is doing it for him, to make Sherlock suffer.)

John and Sherlock’s Hoax This is all hoax sign-posting. We see Mycroft watching a (fake) film, which has lots of innuendo about an investigator and a young lady. Others have commented already. The dialogue refers to Christianity, Adam and Eve, and the start of all human misery. This may be relevant to the internalised homophobia affecting John. John is trying to get help from Mycroft at this point.

Mycroft tries to escape, trying the doors. (John’s remembrance of Eurus locking the doors, rather obviously in TLD). There follows an insane, nightmare-like sequences of film references which point to not just the hoaxing of Mycroft, but a wider hoax. This is John’s dying brain mixing up his favourite films: Mycroft with a sword, The Shining, clowns, the Bond film tune We have all the time in the world. We get a lot more of this imagery later.

Mycroft’s “Sherlock, help me” Is John in real life asking Sherlock for help for his gunshot wound.

221B and the Drone “Memories can resurface, wounds can re-open, and yours have been waiting a very long time.” (Referring to John’s emotional wound, which has not been fully explored yet.) We see Eurus’ jumper (turns out to be a cardigan) looks identical to a famous John jumper. From this point on we assume John = Eurus. The child checking their muscles could even be John - he did become a doctor. We see John’s memories of things Mycroft has said about Redbeard the dog, also possibly Sherlock’s heart, as well as Sherlock as a pirate. Mycroft has previously used both Redbeard and Sherlock as pirate as ways to demonstrate that Sherlock has a heart. Maybe this is John finally internalising it.

Lady Bracknell - set up for later, and a hint this is not real. Could be John wondering what will happen to his baby Rosie, who he has left with someone, presumably, whilst he goes to therapy. He doesn’t want to abandon her like Earnest was accidentally abandoned.

“Demons beneath the road” - this sounded literary so I google it. No luck. However, if we’re talking about fairy tales (and we are, they are mentioned elsewhere in TFP), a demon beneath the road could be a troll. Trolls are evil creatures which like to hand out below bridges (roads) in fairy tales. What is a troll? Someone who fishes from a line behind the boat, hoping the fish will snatch. Also someone who cleverly, deliberately and secretly upsets people, using fake stories and arguments in order to provoke an emotional response.

The drone bomb is known as the ‘patience bomb’ - because you have to keep still and patient. The Patience DX 707 is also the name of a clinical thermometer. Mycroft mentions he’s authorised the purchase of a few over the years… so I bet has John. At this point John is being treated by paramedics, they’re referring to him as the patient. They’re sticking a thermometer in him. He’s partially aware. He remembers his daughter (Sherlock - He’s got a daughter, might want to phone her. This could be happening in reality.) There’s also a flash of fire. Possibly a defibrillator?

And where do we go next? That’s right…

The Fishing Boat John is remembering how Sherlock always wanted to be a pirate - he’s starting to figure out Sherlock’s heart. He’s surrounded by yellow jackets. Could be emergency services. John’s unconscious here. Sherlock, John and Mycroft are together, no sign of any injury though his brain is trying to tell him it’s not real - he’s in a story (the phone call about Mycroft being in hospital, when he’s on the boat - really they should ALL be in hospital after than explosion). This is such a dream sequence - explosion, then on a fishing boat, no injuries. I wonder if they’re in the same clothes (no time to check). Helicopter - background helicopter could be emergency services. Sherlock’s jump onto the boat, coat flying, is reminiscent of TRF. Sirens, alarms and lights could all be the ambulance/hospital.

Eurus’ Cell Eurus’ cell is a prison within a prison. Eurus’ cell = John’s heart, what he has locked away. Eurus=John=scared child in plane. She gives Sherlock her violin. John knows that if he dies, Sherlock will need a new violin to express his emotions, as his has been destroyed in the (not real) explosion.

John imagines Sherlock playing Irene’s tune (if it really is), and imagines this shows Sherlock has had sex. He’s jealous. He still doesn’t understand.

John starts to deduce (he’s not stupid) how Eurus escaped and he’s struggling to communicate that in real life to Sherlock. He’s dying but he’s trying to keep Sherlock from further danger, and alert him to his own: Vatican Cameos. But his worst nightmare happens - Sherlock ignores Vatican Cameos. That would never happen.

Interestingly Eurus/John admits he had sex - with someone - didn’t know or care if it was a man or a woman. It broke them. John is bi. Not sure how it broke them.

So now Eurus/John is locked in a glass cell, rather like a glass closet - that place in Hollywood where gay actors and gay couples are known by insiders to be gay, but have not officially announced it.

But the glass isn’t real. When Sherlock get close, he finally realises that he can break through the glass wall. Eurus/John can escape his prison. The glass, incidentally, also says “Elephant Glass. Shock Proof”. John (in Eurus’ voice) realises that Sherlock can see a lot, but he has not been able to see the truth about John’s heart.

Then we have Moriarty doing a taunting emergency announcement, naming all sorts of films - hints this is all a creation of John’s mind as he deals with the trauma of dying (rather like Redbeard). The sequence becomes weird and crazy dreamlike. John sinks to a deeper level of unconsciousness, this is where we find Moriarty, like in Sherlock’s dying mind palace, right at the bottom.

John realises finally that Moriarty is gay. Which explains rather a lot about his interactions with Sherlock. Maybe he didn’t pick that up before. We also get the ‘I want to be free’ music sung by the most famous gay rock star in history, a gay anthem about wanting to be free. John/Eurus wants to be free of this cell he/she has voluntarily returned to.

Euros meets Moriarty: John deducing how Eurus escaped?

The Governor We’re at 50% of the screenplay here. This should be a turning-point, or where the story becomes about something else, and I think it is where John starts to figure out love.

There are interesting parallels between John/Mary and the Governor and his wife. Either John or Mycroft have to kill to save the Governor’s wife (Mary). John asks himself, via the Governor, what he would do to get his wife back. John looks extremely uncomfortable, and ultimately will not sacrifice himself (or presumably Sherlock) just to save Mary. He tries and he tries. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing, the Governor is doing the right thing, but he can’t do it. “You’re doing a good thing. So are you.”

The Governor sacrifices himself to save his wife, but to no purpose - Sherlock has sacrificed himself so many times, and all for nothing - John is dying.

Eurus/John: We should have fitted you with a cardiograph… Want to see inside John’s heart, how does he really feel about his wife.

Then Eurus reveals this scene is not about saving Mary/Governor’s wide, but about revealing their hearts and emotions, and their morals. Mary/Governor’s wife dies anyway.

We then flick back to the plane sequence so quickly it’s impossible it could happen in real time, further proof it’s not real. Sherlock is very gentle with the girl/John. I think this is Sherlock talking to a dying John. John also sees now how Sherlock can be gentle when he cares, like at the end of TLD.

Three Garridebs Such a disappointment for all the TJLC fans. The Garridebs were literally left dangling - in other words, they (and we) are being kept in suspense about them, this case, which is the most gay of the stories, and which we have all been waiting for.

The Buffalo Gun links to Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs, and is problematic on its own.

But why are the Garridebs different? In Conan Doyle, the 3 Garridebs is actually a ridiculous, made-up story, as Sherlock notes in canon, full of discrepancies. Garrideb 1 is actually James Winter aka Killer Evans, who killed 3 men in the US. 2nd Garrideb is entirely made up so Killer Evans can get to the hidden forgery fake again equipment under his house. 3rd Garrideb is the only real one. But why do they have different names now? In canon we had Nathan, Howard, and ‘John’. John was the killer. In Sherlock we had Alex, Howard, and Nathan. Alex was the killer.

Sherlock’s deduction of the killer (John/Alex) is similar to his deduction of John being the shooter on their first night together, ASiP.

Euros notes that the case itself doesn’t matter, she just wanted to see how Sherlock reacts to the people around him. John wonders what his position in Sherlock’s life is - he can help with guns, and military deductions. He has value. Interestingly Sherlock glances at John when he mentions being soldiers. Has John finally realised that Sherlock has an attraction to soldiers, that all the nice boys like a… soldier?

Coffin The third problem - this is a complex, absolutely crucial scene.

Sherlock talks gently to girl/John/Eurus, trying to get clues. Mycroft wants to sacrifice the girl/John/Eurus for the greater good. Sherlock won’t.

Eurus/John: “Someone’s about to die.. Tragedy.. So many words unsaid et cetera et cetera.” Holy cow. That’s what John said to his other therapist, when Sherlock ‘died’, it’s what Sherlock was saying before going to his supposed death in the plane. John is realising here that what he and Sherlock have both not managed to say is: I love you.

This is not about Molly. It’s about the fact that John is about to die, and neither he nor Sherlock ever got the guts to tell each other how they really felt.

Everything Sherlock was deducing about the coffin would work for John too (in fact I thought it was, at first, great, double, triple, bluff)” Short, practical about death (army doctor, suicidal), no close relatives, probably not much money, alone, unmarried.

Mycroft: “It’s for somebody who loves Sherlock.”

John is eliminating candidates for Sherlock’s heart - is it Irene? No. Is it Molly? Does Molly become a mirror of John here? Making tea, not having a good day - she looks ill. John’s having a bit of a bad day too. Sherlock’s full of complicated emotions John/Eurus can’t understand.

“I love you.” Sherlock says this to Molly, but also to John as he lies dying. Does John flat-line here?

But it’s all just a game. Real Molly wasn’t in danger. Sherlock refuses to accept he lost, that John is pretty much dead now. He calls it ‘vivisection’, referencing Silence of the Lambs again. John also sees Sherlock understands what he has done to Molly by taunting her and ignoring her over the years.

Empty Room Possibly references The Empty House - the first Canon story after Reichenbach, and The canon Last Problem. John has possibly died.

John/Eurus now asking himself how important he is to Sherlock. He’s getting so close. Is he family or friend? Or both?

Via Mycroft he accepts that Sherlock needs him, John, more than anything in the world, but he still sees himself, via Mycroft, as a stupid little man. He eventually realises that Sherlock loves him whatever, and Sherlock doesn’t really think he’s stupid.

Moriarty is mentioned by Eurus, specifically that he always wanted to see this. John realises that Moriarty always knew what it took John so long to figure out - that John is Sherlock’s heart, the heart that will be burned out go him.

John sees Sherlock ready to sacrifice himself again to save John - and refers to the Governor, who tried to sacrifice himself to save his wife. John realises that if he dies, Sherlock will lose his will to live.

Then Eurus hits them all with tranquilliser darts. Because this is one weird, oxygen-deprived dream. John’s just been anaesthetised for surgery.

Wells and cells We see John/Eurus in their matching jumpers again. Then Sherlock says “Are you there?” to girl in plane, but it’s John (alsoEurus/girl in plane) who answers. John’s in the well - which is all very silence of the lambs again, he’s been unconscious for hours (I suspect he’s been in surgery).

“Are you okay?” says Sherlock, gently, raw, just like in TLD.

John is chained to the bottom of the well, in a scene far too reminiscent of Sherlock’s dying moment, in HLV at the bottom of his tower/stairwell (same shape), where Moriarty was chained at the bottom. But in John’s brain it’s him that’s chained, he can’t his own self that won’t let him escape and rise back out of the well/tower, to living a free, honest life. John is dead.

John discovers the bones of Victor/Redbeard. Does John deduce that the death of a dog wouldn’t have been enough to traumatise Sherlock to the extent that he forgoes love and affection for the next 30 years? John realises that Sherlock’s been held back from allowing himself to feel/declare love due to his childhood trauma, which has made him keep his psyche safe by not allowing love to enter. But he, John, is redbeard, Sherlock’s heart, and looks uncommonly like the little Victor. John has re-awoken Sherlock’s heart? (Not entirely sure on all this.)

Then Sherlock is trying to figure out how to get Eurus/John back. John is dead, drowning in the well - drowning in his own blood, and now floating above them, like in the plane. It’s the 80% structural turning point - the dark night of the soul.

Sherlock literally breaks the 4th wall of his cell.

There’s a few interesting comments I can’t quite figure out - “I am lost, who will find me?” Someone wants to causes trouble after her death (Mary?).

Fake gravestones - more gothic horror, but they, like the story, are not real. “Without your words,” says Eurus. “He will be gone.” Ostensibly referring to Victor, but in reality it’s John realising that only Sherlock saying he loves him can save him?

The Secret Room Sherlock figures out that to save John and the girl, and Eurus, who are all in the same room, he has to find Eurus, John’s locked broken heart, and show it love. The bleeps of the plane could well be medical bleeps as John starts to come back to life.

“I’m going to die,” says John.

In this insane story, John’s mind has created ‘the perfect metaphor’: He is ‘high above, all alone’ - he’s in a coma. But at last he understands everything about his heart and Sherlock’s. The only thing he doesn’t know is how to get back to consciousness from this coma.”You understand everything, except how to land.”

Sherlock: “No, it’s not too late… open your eyes. I’m here.. You’re not lost anymore.”

This refers back to John’s heartbreaking speech to Sherlock’s gravestone after TRF. “I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” And.. “There’s just one more thing… Don’t. Be. Dead.”

The End - John in a coma We don’t find out exactly how John was saved, but I’m assuming it’s the realisation Sherlock loves him. Given that he’s raised from the well, like Sherlock taking the staircase in his death-well, but now his feet are miraculously not chained, I’m assuming John has now thrown off his internal/past wound chains that were keeping him trapped, and can now come out.

Then we return to Eurus’ cell - whether the real Eurus, or John’s hospital room is unclear. Mrs Holmes does her “Alive all these years?” Lady Bracknell impression. Could these be representative of John’s own parents, being found by Sherlock and brought to John’s bedside. Mycroft refers to Uncle Rudi again. Uncle Rudi is a German painting whose purpose was to whisper to German citizens about their own culpability in not challenging Nazism. Are John’s parents homophobic about his sister Harriet, and that stopped John ever coming out? But John’s/Eurus’ parents come through, or perhaps John comes through, for love of Rosie as well. The parents, whoever they are, accept their child, whatever they are (mad, crazy, broken, gay, bi, straight), and say - we love you, whatever.

“I said I’d bring her home.” Not sure whether that’s Sherlock talking about John, to John, about Rosie, or about his real life Eurus sister.

Then we have Sherlock devotedly visiting Sherrinford prison to play the violin to his sister. OR, is he devotedly playing the violin to a comatose John, trying to get through to him by playing a song of love? It’s just John never realised what love ‘Irene’s song’ referred to.

To me the final sequences - Sherlock playing to John (that’s what you do to people in comas, isn’t it), and rebuilding Baker Street - are Sherlock painting the life they’ll have together when/if John recovers. A life of the adventure Sherlock always believed John wanted more than anything (the thing Sherlock believes John sees in him). He’s talking and playing John out of his coma, and, perhaps rebuilding John’s brain, just as they rebuild the battered, burned shell of 221B.

In the final episode, we will see John recover from a coma, the real 3 Garribeds moment (not the one they literally dangled in front of us), and the two of them dealing with Eurus. And as John won’t have actually consciously heard Sherlock’s declaration of love, and there’s still some misunderstandings, they’re both going to have to reveal their hearts.

#tjlc #sherlock #the final problem #johnlock #bbc sherlock #tin foil hat #meta

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