#because both parties exist as an extension of the SAME ARM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years ago

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn��t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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acerace · 3 years ago

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...you have opened my eyes to a vast universe of VintageBeef lore that I was unaware of. I knew about the New Hermit Order, of course, and the UHC invention, and I've watched a few of his CTM things but -- I will take all the info and lore you feel like giving out because Beef is amazing and my knowledge is so small.

Vintagebeef my beloved <3

So the thing is, right, until about 2016 I only watched two (2) youtubers- Vintagebeef for Minecraft and aDrive for Pokemon (and funnily enough both of them are named Dan irl). So I've watched most of Beef's videos over the years and have a general knowledge of most of his stuff, except because it's been like a decade I don't remember where most of the lore comes from XD

The thing with him is that he doesn't do Lore tm the way other mcyters often do lore- he doesn't have an extensive RP series to draw from like Grian, doesn't have a solo world with steadily increasing amounts of lore like Etho or Zisteau, and while he's played on SMPs and been involved in storylines before it's not really the focus of his episodes unlike with Evo or Legacy or Empires

So where does that leave us?

IRL, Beef always has multiple series running at the same time. Often he's playing on an smp while doing a singleplayer, often modded, series as well as a CTM or modpack with a group of friends. For example, right now he's playing on Hermitcraft, doing weekly Pixelmon and Building a Zoo episodes, and a CTM map with Slip. And to me, this translates to one thing: Beef is an adventurer. He travels frequently- he explores a world and when he decides he's done, he leaves for the next one. That's the basis of my personal interpretation of his series and his character for my writing.

Ok so reading this back, this got extremely long and didn't explain much in the way of lore, somehow? If anyone has any additions to add please do so, I am very definitely leaving out a lot and would love to see what other lore people remember and are using for Beef! I didn’t include the Hermitcraft stuff since my memory of season 4 is blurry (his base was themed after the Martian, that much I know, and he and Iskall were buddies :D) and most of the s5 NHO lore is best watched from Bdub’s perspective from what I remember, and the only s6 stuff is a single line in Hermitgang and then the Area 77 arc with its possibility of an NHO reunion which we did not get rip. And s7 of course had the cloning machine and also the Podzol Party as the main lore. So all the original rambling is still below the cut though it is very long, and I'm gonna bullet point the main stuff here instead:

Actual canonical things:

Invented UHC and was the only survivor of the first ever uhc (Mindcrack UHC s1)

Married to an ender dragon (one of the UHCs I think), later father to a different dragon (Mindcrack season 3? I think?)

Might not have legs if you choose to take that joke as canon (Mindcrack s2)

Was a wizard (RAD)

is a zookeeper (Building a Zoo)

Had a wife and kids (Sims in Minecraft)

Part of the Trial of the B Team court case (Mindcrack)

NHO founder, founder of the Podzol Party (Hermitcraft)

Created a cloning machine that sort of works (Hermitcraft)

Played the Forest which is I believe the first time he and Keralis played together (look up the trigger warnings for this one, it's a horror game)

Was the creator/owner of Sourceblock SMP (featuring some familiar faces if you know Legacy, Empires, or MCC) and there is literal magic from a mysterious sourceblock of water that teleports people and summons mobs and probably more stuff that I haven't seen yet since I'm still watching it myself

Things you can infer:

Good with animals (Life in the Woods, Pixelmon, Ark)

Is a car nerd (irl and all of the car games he's played)

Is a highly experienced adventurer who has traveled through dozens of worlds both vanilla and modded, across multiple dimensions (Twilight Forest, the Aether, the Betweenlands, Limbo), completed dozens of monuments, fought in blood sports, survived apocalypse after apocalypse, tamed dinosaurs, and played a lot of prop hunt and golf with your friends

If you're looking for what to watch for lore purposes, I'd say the Mindcrack UHCs and Team Canada's RAD series are pretty good, definitely Sourceblock and HC s5, plus the Diversity CTM maps and Ruins of the Mindcrackers maybe? And Mindcrack Prank Wars for the chaos and the origin of Team Canada. And if you can handle horror than the Forest is fun and if you don't do horror you can watch the Pojkband play golf or prop hunt they're hilarious I love them sm I want a Pojkband reunion So Bad

Beef's first series was a singleplayer series in beta 1.4_01 though he had played the game extensively before that, and was a big fan of Guude, having watched his own Minecraft videos. The series was functionally a hardcore one where if he died Beef would delete the world and start again! I haven't actually Watched this series so idk if he died or how often lmao. When Guude made Mindcrack, which was btw one of the very first Minecraft SMPs, he also hosted a competition for people to join, and Beef submitted a video (which is still viewable on his channel I believe!) and won, and was added to Mindcrack in season 2 :D (fun fact, Guude said that even if Beef hadn’t won he would have added him anyway)

Two running jokes emerged from Mindcrack- pulling a Vintagebeef and Beef doesn't have legs. The first is a reference to Beef dying of fall damage (I believe the exact instance was him trying to jump into his swimming pool and failing spectacularly) and after the incident, every time someone died of fall damage they were pulling a Vintagebeef. The second joke comes from Guude, who joked that the reason Beef wasn't going to a convention was because he didn't have legs, and then he pranked Beef's base by building a giant pair of legs at the entrance to his castle so you had to walk between them to get into the base. This joke has long since died and both Beef and Guude feel pretty bad about it iirc because there were people who genuinely thought Beef was disabled and were emailing him supportive messages and stuff oops. So if you go looking on the Salad or find old Mindcrack fics, you might see references to Beef having prosthetic legs!

Mindcrack also brought about the creation of several Player groups- Team Nancy Drew, Team Canada, and GOB to name a few relevant to Beef. Team Nancy Drew consists of Beef, Pauseunpause, Guude, and Baj, who formed to investigate a prank on one of the members but I forget who. They're named Nancy Drew after the detective! Team Canada also formed in retaliation to pranks, with it consisting of Beef, Etho, and Pause, the three Canadian members on the server (not including Adlington who moved to Canada but never joined the group). There was also a Team America who pranked them with American flags everywhere. GOB is Guude, OMGChad, and Beef, who played stuff like the Ragecraft, Pantheon, and Monstrosity ctms together but that's way down the line lol

Team Nancy Drew is also notable for inventing UHC. It was Beef's brainchild but it was the four of them who first played it! The first UHC had the four of them working to kill the dragon with no natural regen, with everyone dying but Beef, who "won" the UHC. The second uhc was still dragon focused and iirc is where Beef married the dragon? Memories are hazy but they do kill the dragon in this one I think. UHC was then revamped as a pvp event and became a regular Mindcrack game every few months, featuring most of the Mindcrackers and several special guests, including Dinnerbone, who as we know Thanos-snapped Doc's arm out of existence as a result of Doc killing him in one of them

In one of the seasons of Mindcrack, Beef invited swedish Mindcracker and good friend Anderzel to go caving with him and invented ABBA Rules caving, where the winner takes it all. ABBA Rules is a game where each ore (and also dungeon loot like nametags) is assigned a point value and the person with the most points at the end wins and gets to keep all the stuff collected from the game.

In Mindcrack season 3?, Beef punched the ender dragon in an... awkward area, so when the dragon died and left the egg behind, Guude said Beef was the father of the egg XD I don't remember if I watched s3 so I have no idea if anything Happened with this concept but *history of the world voice* you could make lore out of this!

So Team Canada has played a Lot of CTM maps (which fun fact were pretty much invented by another Mindcrack member, Vechs, with his Super Hostile series! Super Hostile has a bunch of things called "Zistonian", which are references to another Mindcrack member Zisteau, who has a very wild singleplayer series with even wilder lore but I digress). In Ruins of the Mindcrackers, they had a running joke that Beef was Etho and Pause's mom, which is a joke we can leave in the past actually /lh. They also played all the Diversity maps, Sky Factory, Terra Restore, Uncharted Territory uhhh and a couple more ctms and adventure maps! Each map kinda has its own story so in Diversity 3 for example they were trapped in a simulation? I think? Team Canada also recently played the Roguelike Adventures and Dungeons modpack, aka RAD, in which Beef was a wizard with a magic staff that could do anything from summon lightning to control hostile mobs.

Sourceblock SMP is a vanilla survival 1.14 series that ran for one season and the series starts with each of the Players being drawn to a strange sparkling water source that, once they touch it, brings them to the Sourceblock world. It also summons a giant zombie at one point. There's probably more lore for this series but like I said I haven't watched it all the way through yet

He has a Patreon server called VintageCraft and has done a series or two on there as well, and played a few UHCs with them, so lore that how you will!

Beef also played a few popular mods, notably Pixelmon, Life in the Woods, and Feed the Beast, with LitW being singleplayer and the other multiplayer. He's also recently played the Zoo and Wild Animals mod a lot. He did a short series with the Minecraft Comes Alive mod where he married one of the villagers and had two children, so that's canon now :D he’s played a Lot of Pixelmon starting when the mod first came out iirc (he chose Turtwig in his first series and built a Grass gym, then made a Normal gym in another series in uhh 2016) and he still plays to this day. Quite a few Hermits played on his Pixelmon servers with him, like Wels, Etho, Iskall, Stress, Slip, Zueljin, and also Guude and Phedran (a Mindcrack adjacent player and creator of the LitW modpack) and a few Mindcrackers on the older servers

Mindcrack and friends played a lot of other games too- 7 Days to Die, Ark Survival Evolved, Unturned, to name a few, so you can pull a lot of lore out of these as well. Speaking of friends and non-Minecraft games, Beef teamed up with Pause, Keralis, and Slip (a former Hermit) to play the horror game the Forest, which saw them stuck on an island trying to survive against terrifying mutated human... things. They played it a few times as the game updated but as afaik it's the first time Beef played with Keralis and possibly Slip and since the game starts with the Player's airplane crashing, that could totally be how Beef first met them in-universe

I... think? that’s everything I mentioned in the tags? There is probably way more stuff I’ve forgotten that stems from inside jokes and things that happen within each series, but I hope that was a) helpful and b) at least somewhat comprehensible lmao

#hermitcraft #mindcrack #vintagebeef #mcyt #long post #asks #redwinterrises #that was so many words #kudos to anyone who reads the whole thing lmao

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laora-ryn · 3 years ago

Text

why lichtendahl tsery is the coolest character in gundam 00

Or, in which Laura thinks a lot about Lichty's prosthetics. Probably even more than the production team did

look i just love lichty a lot okay

---

me, last night: i can't write this post, i have a horrific headache and laundry to fold

me, four hours and almost 4k words later: oops

laundry did not get folded

---

so i'm gonna preface this with, while i have two degrees in bioengineering, it's been about 3 years since I was in school, and nowadays I do more assistive tech and hardly any prosthetics. so, pls don't take my word as god or anything, I'm just here with feelings and science that is (hopefully) at least 75% correct

uhh slight content warnings for show screencaps with blood/dying in them?? and discussions of things that would probably be considered body horror

it is under the cut because holy GOD it got long

first of all, i would like to put out that i am so upset that we literally only find out about his prostheses when he's dying. it makes sense for the story and for his character, it just makes me really sad that it isn't explored any further. like, even prosthetic limbs or systems in general are barely touched on after this

Louise has a prosthetic arm in s2, and we see the surgical scars briefly during the party scene, where she's talking with Setsuna, but she turns the subject quickly. So like, all we know canonically about in-universe prosthetics is that they exist, and that they work well enough, and look close enough to real limbs, that they pass to people who aren't looking closely.

But at this point in 2308, Louise having a prosthetic arm is considered the last-ditch effort. The way Saji talks, the idea of regrowing her arm in a regen pod isn't out of the question, if it weren't for her particle poisoning. (I have another soapbox here about the pods, lol) So I feel like most likely, by this point prosthetic systems have kind of fallen out of favor, and the favored med tech is regrowth (so long as you have the $$$$$$$$).

Which begs the question of: how long ago was Lichty injured?

"My parents cashed in their chips in the solar wars," and he was injured in the same explosion. Setsuna's scene at the start of ep1, which we're led to believe is the twilight of the wars - at least in Krugis - is in 2301. So, as a guess, he was injured in the late 90's. He's 21 in 2307, born in 2286, so - 11-13. Prepubescent, or barely starting puberty, when he's caught up in an explosion that blows away half his body.

His parents were elevator engineers, but I have to assume that they were working within the atmosphere, possibly at the base, because catastrophic injuries like this + the vacuum = no chance of survival, definitely not long enough for someone to find him and get him medical help. So, he must've been on the surface. Still, it's a miracle he survived at all

The wiki makes it sound like his entire body is mechanical, and "only his mind" remained (???). Personally, that, uh, makes no sense to me, so here's my personal headcanon on how much of his body survived:

Obviously his right side was blown away, we see that in ep 24. But I imagine for him to have any sort of chance of survival, his heart must've been spared?? Which guided my thought process there. So, he's got a little more than half his chest, a little residual abdomen that probably got swapped out for prosthetics anyway, + his left arm.

Which...leaves us with a 12ish year old kid on extensive life support, who needs a new lung, a new arm, two new legs, a new diaphragm with which to use that new lung, and all new viscera, as well as a body cavity that will support all of those shiny new organs, both in gravity and without.

I headcanon that Lichty's got one of - if not the - most extensive prosthetic systems in the world. That his parents knew they were going into the job with risks, knew they were bringing Lichty (and the siblings I headcanon he had, who didn't survive the attack) into the potential crossfire of the war. So, his parents probably had it written into their contract that if anything happens to their kids while they're on the job, they get all their medical care paid for by the company, and they get the best care available.

I headcanon he's Ukrainian, ie HRL, which doesn't seem like the bloc to pull out all the stops to save a single nobody-kid. But assuming he has extended family who assumed guardianship, they would've been able to call in the contract and get Lichty put back together. (Sounds like a long shot to me, tbh, but obviously he survived somehow.)

So this kid's on life support in a trauma center somewhere, probably in Indonesia or maybe China, considering the HRL's elevator is in the middle of the Pacific. He's got an artificial digestive system feeding the parts of him that are left, he's on a ventilator, he's on dialysis, he's got so many tubes and wires coming out of him that he's half-hidden behind them in the hospital bed.

He's in an induced coma for months before he's anywhere close to stable and the doctors feel comfortable waking him up. And even once he's awake, he's kept in a sterile room because half his surface area is still open wounds and they can't risk infection. Everyone he sees, for months and months and months, is either on the other end of a video or in a hazmat suit.

And of course, even once he's mostly stable with machines substituting for the organs he's missing, there's the matter of rebuilding them.

We've got just a couple shots of his prosthetics - honestly, not a lot to go on, but here's the three I'm looking at:

(last image from this post by pwryyynce)

So, what I'm seeing here is that his musculature and bone structure are all made of metal, and probably whatever other structural parts were needed beyond his ribs/synthetic spine. They're covered by what looks like real skin, considering all the blood. I think it's reasonable to assume that they took skin samples and grew duplicate swathes in the lab in the early stages of his treatment, so they wouldn't need to worry about rejection when they grafted it onto him. They probably made or simulated subcutaneous tissue also, so that his arm doesn't look (and feel!!) like skin stretched over a bunch of metal. I feel like probably, people would say something if Lasse threw an arm around his shoulders and ended up with a bruised forearm lmao

What I'm really wondering about is his organs. It's been way too long since I took a biomaterials class, and there would be enough innovation 300 years down the line that all the stuff we use now would be moot anyway, but I wonder how many of his organs were grown or transplanted, and how many were just substituted with mechanical systems that do the same thing.

This is a part I'm really no expert in, but I feel like just putting in filtering systems to replace his kidneys would probably be a lot easier than growing him new ones. They'd make him a functioning urinary system to connect the filters to, but tbh that whole system would probably be easier/simpler to just re-engineer.

I feel like his lung would need to be organic to deal with expansion and just. All that oxygen exchange? But it's entirely possible that a synthetic lung exists 300 years in the future that they could install. Pulmonology isn't my strong suit Px

Digestive system would need to be completely rebuilt, and I've always imagined it as synthetic, just his intestines replaced by a mess of tubing, possibly engineered to increase their overall surface area, reducing the length of intestine needed and leaving room for other systems around them. His esophagus would still be there, at least part of it, so they'd just integrate that into an artificial stomach

What's REALLY tripping me up is his circulatory system. Like, okay, he has a heart, and re-creating the major veins and arteries would be doable, but - interfacing them with the lung so the blood can pick up oxygen?? Interfacing them with the stomach and kidneys and liver properly?? Like, I do not know how you would functionally recreate a capillary bed and that sounds like a job for Future Bioengineers lmao. But I just.

You'd think at first that he wouldn't have as much blood because of all the mechanical systems, and I think he'd probably have less than average, but most of your viscera is involved with processing energy to keep your brain going, right? So your blood still needs to go down to your intestines to get those nutrients in order to bring back up. And, on top of that, his skin - which presumably covers the majority of his body, and definitely covers his limbs and upper chest - is vascularized and needs blood, too.

So, he still needs a decent chunk of blood for his body to run properly, which is great and A+, except for the fact that blood is made in your bone marrow, and guess what he doesn't have a whole lot of, anymore?

I don't know if they'd be able to like, create some kind of system that approximates bone marrow, or somehow supplement the stuff he has left in his left arm and remaining ribcage/breastbone/spine, but this would also significantly impact his immune system since bone marrow is also where your white blood cells come from. So like...that would be a serious issue they would need to address, maybe they'd somehow put bone marrow in his prosthetic long bones, with enough of the hormones/stuff that tells it to keep production of BM up, since it's constantly reproducing itself? Or else just have a whole extra box in his abdomen that's like "no, you make blood now" idk like I said, this is not My Thing

Again his immune system would be fucked, so the Bone Marrow Box would also need to replenish white blood cells, which would not at all help with replacing his lymphatic system. His thymus would probably have survived since it's over the heart, but his spleen is gone and - yeah, I'm not qualified to talk about this lmao

tbh I don't understand the liver or pancreas or gallbladder at all, and at this point I'm too afraid to ask

But! His nervous system! is something i am qualified to talk about, buckle up kids we're going for a ride

because his brain/brainstem/spine to T9 ish, probably, would have survived. Which means his use of his left arm would be 100% intact. Tbh after all this he's almost definitely left hand dominant, even once he gets a functioning right arm again, for reasons I will get into in probably a few paragraphs

For the mechanics of a prosthetic arm, tbh in the 24th century they've probably perfected it. We've come a long way now (well, as of 2018, when I wrote my thesis) in making a hand that can physically move in the ways a real one can. the real problem with fancy stuff like this is controlling it.

Lichty would functionally be a shoulder disarticulation amputee (where your ball and socket joint is disconnected), which is. about as high as you get. Your major nerves to the arm are the radial (back of your arm/hand), median (thumb half of your arm/hand), and ulnar (pinky half of your arm/hand). Those three kind of thread around your collarbone before dipping down into your arm, splitting up gradually into smaller nerves that innervate different parts of your arm and hand.

Sounds great and neat and simple, right? You just follow the nerves and make new wires and attach them to the prosthetic, right?

(((((((:

nerves are a FUCK, and yeah, none of that is how it works, and tbh I feel like evolution just made it overly complicated on purpose, just to frustrate people because oh my god

To slightly oversimplify, you have two different kinds of neurons making up your nerves: sensory and motor. Sensory takes inputs from the endpoints (your skin, typically) and sends them back up the spinal cord to your brain. Motor takes inputs from your brain and sends them down to the peripheral nerves to create a result (typically, muscle contractions). These are not sorted into neat sections within the larger nerves, and aren't especially easy to differentiate, especially if you're just trying to zap a whole nerve with electricity to make the muscle go. you're gonna hit all sorts of muscles, and all sorts of sensory inputs, and it's a mess.

Here's a basic diagram of a nerve for reference:

Basically, what you need to know is that every axon (neuron) is going to innervate a particular muscle fiber, or send a particular type of sensory input for a particular patch of skin. These axons are not sorted neatly by type of neuron or area of the arm/hand. They regularly jump between fascicles throughout the length of the nerve, and fascicles aren't neatly sorted, either. So, trying to target a particular fascicle, for example, is usually a lost cause. (without putting an electrode INTO the nerve, which is a Whole Other Thing that's being studied, but urgh)

Currently, myoelectric prostheses are the 'state of the art,' where there are sensors on the inside of the socket that read muscle activity in the residual limb and use it to power the prosthetic. This...wouldn't work for Lichty for a variety of reasons, and is generally not super well received by patients today, anyway. Typically, if you're lucky, you get 4 electrode sites, so for example, you would be able to flex/extend your elbow, and open/close your hand. Not exactly 27 degrees of freedom, yeah?

A process that tbh could work well in conjunction with future!prosthetic arms is something called targeted muscle reinnervation (TMR), where they basically say 'hey Lichty, try and flex your right elbow,' they record which nerve endings in his residual shoulder light up, and then they attach those to the mechanism that flexes his elbow. (Typically they deal with fascicles, if I remember right, but tbh in 300 years I wouldn't be surprised if they could go more specific.) It wasn't the focus of my research - our lab did hands primarily, and TMR is usually reserved for high level amputees, and it's a SUPER invasive surgery, so not a lot of people go for it. But lichty's just about as invasive as you can get lmao, so

TMR can also do some limited sensory feedback! basically, they stimulate different nerve endings and ask him what he feels and where. That's where a phantom limb map comes into play big time. Depending on how complete it is, he could say "yeah it's upper arm, vaguely pressure?" or "yeah it's the back of my upper arm but sort of to the side, and about halfway down, and it's sharp poking." Both the motor and sensory stuff are kind of hunt and peck searching but they kind of have all the time in the world to work with him on this, so I think it'd be a really good option for him!

So, google targeted muscle reinnervation if you wanna learn more! It's cool as fuck, and it's the thing that I think is probably most viable for Lichty to get use of his right arm back! I don't know that it'd give him full movement and full sensation, but it'd be enough to go on - especially since they'd definitely prioritize getting the most common sensations and motions working. A couple people in my lab were looking at combining different movements to reduce the number of movements you'd need for prosthetics in general - moving your wrist at a certain angle to approximate both radial deviation and wrist extension, for example.

Now legs, I am less qualified to talk about. TMR also works for them as far as I know, though balance and gait would be a Whole Thing, he'd have to relearn how to walk, not just because he's been bedbound for so long, but because he has to learn how his new legs operate, and where his new center of gravity is, and just...yeah.

I imagine probably, legs are the last thing they get him working on - they get his torso finished and operational and closed up, and at this point he wouldn't need to be quarantined/sterile anymore. If he really wanted to be up and about at this point, they could get him a power wheelchair, or a one-arm-propel manual chair would work too. Then they'd get him an arm and start him with therapy for that, and skin grafts. Once he's recovered from the arm surgeries and doing well enough they'd probably start talking about prosthetic legs.

Depending on how well TMR works 300 years from now, he'd have to re-learn grip strength, pressure, heat, like he'd have all new baselines for his new limbs which would in particular impact his hand. That'd be a looooot of PT and OT to make sure he doesn't drop or crush stuff on accident. He also may need to learn to operate without proprioception, depending on whether his phantom map included that. Proprioception is knowing where your limb is in space without looking at it - so like, if he didn't have it, he couldn't just like reach over and grab something, or type on a keyboard, without watching his hand as he did it - at least without a lot of practice and trial and error.

also your nervous system does sympathetic and parasympathetic stuff which is like, the automatic 'tells your organs to do their job' except i know next to nothing about that. so uhhhhh I think it'd be reasonable to assume that all the mechanical replacements for organs have their own like, 'battery' and 'brain' in them that keep them going properly and that's all i'm gonna say about that

holy jesus god this nervous system section is like as long as the rest of it combined i'm so sorry

His ribcage would need to be rebuilt in metal, which we can see in the pics. His spine would also need to be, if only to connect his ribs to his new pelvis lmao, but I guess it looks like they built in more metal around his abdomen too, so the spine would be slightly less structural than in the normal body. but - yeah, there would definitely be a lot of work going into into 'printing parts that will keep all these obscenely expensive organs in place and connected to the right things'

(oh that's another thing!! I headcanon that all these custom parts are 3d printed to his specs, in whatever material is best for that particular job. Presumably the material options are a lot more than we have now, and esp the metal structural parts, I think would make a lot of sense to print)

In terms of skin coverage!! Pictures are inconclusive whether he has skin covering his abdomen, or just his upper chest and limbs!! We can see skin on his hip and shoulder, but none in between, but I can't tell whether that's because his side was damaged worse, or if there's no skin there to begin with. Personally I think grafting skin to metal would create all sorts of New Issues that would be more effort than it's worth, but shrug, and also, leaving it open, with just a brace to go around his abdomen as extra support, would give him/his doctors easier access if anything were to go wrong. In my fics I go with the brace solution, because angst, but YMMV

skin coverage brings up all sorts of angst that his silly swimsuit just cracks the surface of. he's def wearing that suit for at the VERY least the skin graft scars, and also probably because he doesn't have skin on his abdomen sdlfkjsodfjsl

The other fun thing that would need to be taken into account for lichty! Is that! He's twelve (ish) when this happens! And twelve year olds! Aren't done growing! Lichty's pretty tall, 5'11" ish if I remember right, so it's not like they just stunted his growth permanently.

If he's 12 when he's injured, I'd guess he's probably 14 ish once he starts looking at getting prosthetic limbs. 14 yo boys aren't done growing either, so they'd either have to make him Weirdly Long for a teenager before he grows into his prosthetics, or make his limbs and torso designs growable to match what they think his height and weight would've been.

Growable limbs would be Really Difficult but probably doable? he'd just have to come in every several months after he's discharged to get Stretched (lol). On the other hand, he's probably actually pushing 17 by the time he's discharged, by which point most teenaged boys are done growing. So, it would make sense for them to make him Long while he's an inpatient, since that last year of therapy would be the most intense/functional, and also when he'd be roughly his adult size. So, he'd be a little disproportionate for a few years, but theyre years that he spends largely in a hospital bed anyway, so it wouldn't be that big of a Thing?

Then, they'd be able to discharge him when he's ready, without any plans to bring him back unless something goes wrong

They would've just estimated what his limb lengths would've been, with some growth room in the size of his chest and his right shoulder. His remaining chest would still be scrawny as a 14 year old, when his torso's closed up, but on the off chance he turned barrel chested by the time he hits 17 lol they'd need a plan for that. Luckily, adult!lichty is scrawny af, so there was probably minimal adjusting that needed to happen there.

The other other thing is, he hasn't gone through puberty yet! And while some of the puberty hormones would still kick in on time, ie the ones that come from his brain, he's also now missing all his reproductive organs. so, he'd need to get injections for the hormones he's missing, probably, because he looks and sounds like he did, indeed, go through puberty

(it's my headcanon that he's infertile even though he desperately loves kids. He and Chris adopt a small horde once they retire peacefully from the job they definitely didn't die doing)

This kid definitely has chronic pain - phantom pain and otherwise - especially when he's in gravity. he definitely has sensory and motor deficits that he gets really good at hiding. he definitely prefers to stay in space because it lessens the pain, and also because it means he doesn't have to walk around, which reduces pain even more. He's probably got a backup cane and/or wheelchair stashed in the back of his closet for bad days on the surface. he probably goes to see dr moreno more than anyone else, which causes lasse and feldt and chris to constantly ask if he's okay, as well as they can around the secrecy rules. he's definitely left handed, and sometimes his right hand is next to useless depending on the day, so he's gotten really good at typing one handed, and maybe even prefers the one handed keyboard he learned to QWERTY or standard DVORAK or whatever they use on the ptolemy lol

uhhh he weighs more than a normal person his size, most probably, because of the metal parts. the blood flow means his arm and legs would be warm, and the skin has nails and hair and wrinkles that make it a convincing enough arm, but if you hold it too tightly or look at it too closely it looks a little off in a way you can't place

he's definitely got a Thing about people touching his abdomen or chest, not even like because he's touch-sensitive like setsuna, just because his stomach isn't gonna squish like everyone else's and that'd lead to way more questions than he's willing or able to answer

an artistic rendition:

lasse: when the FUCK did you get abs like this oh my god???

lichty: nervous sweating

but yea tldr is 'this kid definitely shouldn't be alive, but he is, so laura got to geek out about biotech and uh also his rehab would have taken literal years after the literal years of surgery to put him back together.' in other words he was probably recruited to CB like. Barely a few months after he left the hospital for good

((also, as an aside, i would like to make you all very sad and remind you that lichty's backstory is actually really similar to lockon's, he lost his family in a terrorist bombing as a kid, and was horrifically injured by it to boot. but so far as we can tell, he basically took the exact opposite approach to neil. like yeah, his cheeriness is probably a front at least part of the time, but like, he didn't go off the deep end, and join CB for revenge. he joined to make the world a better place, and never once talked to anyone at all about the stuff he went through as a kid, and never - so far as we can tell - blamed anyone for it))

((like idk guys just. lichty going through the same thing, only worse as lockon, and coming out the other end as an objectively happier and arguably better person, gives me a lot of emotions that i'm struggling to articulate sldkfjaosdjflad))

((also I definitely headcanon that the kpsa did the bombing that killed lichty's family too just because it hurts a lot, especially since lichty's bomb would've been roughly a year after Neil's))

I uh don't really have a conclusion here so. Have 4k words of science dump, thank u all for encouraging me yesterday to write it!!!

#gundam 00 #lichty tsery #lichtendahl tsery #fuck i love this kid so much i would die for him tbh #g00 #reference #mine #image ids in alt text #I am so sorry for the excessive run on sentences I tried #When I get like this I get very stream of consciousness #And editing can only do so much without having to rewrite the whole thing 😭

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wornoutmouse · 4 years ago

Text

Im making this gender neutral cause I feel like I did pretty damn good here. And it had a bit of a fairytale ending but I couldn't figure how else to tie it up prettily

Also tried of tumbler adding gaps to all the paragraphs when i copy and paste from docs to here so y'all just gonna have to deal. this fic is way too damn long for me to fix it like i normally do

Also i went over the aparent limit so just look for the words "pt2" in green for the extension

Letting go is one of the hardest things one can do. But understanding why you had to let go is harder.

You and Izuku knew each other for the longest time. Hell you were the one that lifted him back up when Bakugou knocked him down. So why…. Why after all that were you not good enough?

He never said you weren't, he'd never do that. But the worthlessness you felt as you watched her hand him a love letter. You thought, he won't accept, afterall she's one of the many girls and guys that had confessed since the beginning of U.A. Hell you were surprised Ochaco even had the guts to confess.

But the small blush and smile that overcame his face as he finished reading the letter, was one you've never seen before. In that moment you wished you'd decline coming with him for support.

The sick feeling in your stomach grew larger as they hugged each other tightly. That sickness translated into a smile when he looked back at you.

From then on, your sunny disposition was a fabrication of what once was. You didn't hate her, you even saw the appeal, having the slightest crush on her as well. You just hated that he chose her. Was the years of companionship worthless?

As the two grew closer, you grew farther and buried yourself in training and school work. Days went by, months, and by the time graduation came, you were all 3rd years. You and Deku had become nothing more than aquaintences.

The others tried to stop your descent into isolation, Including you in everything they did, ut it wasn't the same.

"Hey Y/n." You wiped your sweat with the towel around your neck. You'd been at it for most of the day and had shed most of your clothes. Izuku was dressed casual for once and looked gorgeous in the setting sun.

"Yes Midoriya?" Ouch. When did you start calling him that? You couldn't quite remember. Deku looked over the trees, green hair blowing with fall wind. "You know we haven't hung out in a while." You took a drink of water as you sat on a fallen log. "Oh really?"

That came out harsher than needed and you both knew it. "Since we are graduating tomorrow, I was wondering if you would join us for once as a last farewell.

You didn't miss the undertone in the last comment. Deku watched in silence as you put your tank top back on. "I don't think I can make it."

Izuku's fists clenched as he glared at the floor. "Why?" You eyed his fists,"I have other things to do." Deku scoffed, "Give me a break, school is over what more do you have to do?!" "More important stuff than partying."

There was a change in the air and at the last minute, you jumped back as Deku's foot slammed down in the floor causing a sizable crater. "Stop lying Y/N! What could you possibly have to do that's more important than hanging out with your friends?! Don't you understand that this is the last time we'll have this much free time to see each other!?"

A small smirk crawled onto your face. 'Still a crybaby huh?' tears trailed down Deku's face as he looked at you, "We haven't talked in years y/n." You would not break, this was for the best, you would not fall back into this cycle. "We talked this morning." "Hello is not a conversation y/n"

"What do you want me to do then Izuku?"

Nothing, just like you expected. "Listen Deku, Sometimes, people grow apart and..." You have to take a deep breath, cause if you don't you'd break all over again. "Sometimes we just have to accept it."

Izuku says nothing more and leaves, heartheavy. During the party, Izuku spent his time with Uraraka, both day-dreaming about their future, though Izuku wasn't as engaged as he usually was. You sat alone in the common room, looking down at the feastivities below. Mr. Aizawa was the only one who noticed.

As a pro hero you stayed in a moderate range in regards to popularity. About the same level that Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods used to be.

Watching Bakugou and Midoriya's ranking teeter back and forth like hot potato was amusing as the fiery blond would call you to complain since he knew you would simply listen.

Your love life was non-existent besides the occasional fling with a cute chick at a bar or a himbo™ at the local gym. You weren't looking for anything sold anyways and that was not only due to your hero work, but because no one peaks your interests.

The gang of course flocked together in regards to their love lives. Kaminari and Jiro were finally a thing. Momo and Todoroki were dropping hints to each other but they are both a bunch of oblivious bimbos and that is not going to change anytime soon.

Tsu and surprisingly Mineta prefered the bachelor life and worked hard on building their teams. You were greatly surprised when Mineta asked you to come to his house and genuinely asked your opinion on trainees.

Unlike the rest, Mina, Kirishima and Bakugou, were trying to figure out the ins and outs of a poly relationship. Bakgou of course being the word if reason as the other two goofed around.

All was in its place as you all conformed to your new adult lives. You had no faint clue where the other boys were besides Kouji's and Satou's engagement.

It was a Thursday evening when you walked into your condo, shuffling through your mail until a white envelope with gold trimming for your attention.

You are invited….

Of course how could you forget Deku and Uraraka. When was the last time you saw those two? Most likely the last day of school. How the hell did they get your address?

You tossed the envelope on the couch and walked to your kitchen to get a bottle of wine. You spent that evening drinking the petty thoughts away, altering between cursing Ochako, to reminiscing on how they were truly a match made in heaven.

By 4 in the evening, you were beyond tipsy and could barely stand to answer the door when the bell rung.

"Whatdoya want Midoriya?" You said, leaning a little too far to the left. Deku looked at you with concerned eyes. "Are you drunk y/n?" Your roll your eyes and turn around, walking back into your home. "What does it look like?"

You slump on the couch as Deku walks throughout your home. He was alot bigger than you remembered. His curly green hair was almost touching your ceiling as he looked at your disheveled body.

"I'm just here to make sure you got my invitation." You tug the envelope from where it fell between the cushion and wavs it in front of your face. Izuku acknowledged it as he sat down, "Well are you coming?"

You shrugged your shoulders as you reach for your glass. Izuku tried to take it away and you smack his hand. Even though you could taste the unresolved tension, you wanted to make things a bit lighter. "I don't know deku, what's the theme? If it's green then I can't come, you know that clashes with my complexion."

He doesn't laugh, not even a smile. Oh well not your problem. The bottle is empty much to your disappointment as you held the opening over your mouth. Deku sits there, fists on his knees as he makes a conflicted face. "How many bottles have you drunk?"

You slap his back, slightly impressed that his solid form didn't move. "Oh calm down worry wort!" A lazy grin comes over your face and a teasing tone slips into your voice. "I'm not an alcoholic...mmm, yet."

You both sat in silence, Deku swirling in his own emotions for seeing you this way. You looked completely fine on the surface but he knew you better. They all knew you better. Bakugou's weekly gossip visits were nothing more than a check on your personal health. Even Mineta had to pitch in.

"Hey Deku?" You looked off into thin air as you spoke but Izuku hung off your every word.

"Can you kiss me?"

Deku didn't mean to stand up the way he did. You didn't react, you expected it if anything. "Y/n, you know I can't do that. Why would you even ask!?" You rubbed your eyes to rid yourself of the smallest threat of tears. You weren't an emotional drunk and you weren't going to start being one now.

"Mm just thought that if you did, maybe I could get over this fuzzy feeling in ma'chest." Deku blushed, from what you. didn't know, but you did notice how he sat back next to you, closer than before. "If I do…..will you come?"

I was going to come either way idiot

"I'll think about it."

Your lidded eyes picked up on the smallest movements and you shivered as Izuku held your chin between his fingers. The kiss was gentle and nothing more than a simple press. You would have been fine with that, that's all you wanted. What you weren't expecting was for Deku to continue.

You could feel your chest flair with the familiar discomfort of things being out of your control. His rough hands came home to your face as he deepened the kiss. You couldn't help but let out a small whimper as his tongue swiped against your bottom lip and he took that chance to delve deeper.

You pushed him away and stood. You both looked at each other, darkened eyes and veins fluttering with adrenaline. "Why?" you whispered, voice betraying you as it cracked. Izuku held his fist over his heart where you pushed him. "I..I did what you asked." You shook your head.

No, no this is wrong

Izuku stands up and tries to console you. The words that left his lips unrecognizable.

It's over isn't it?

"Y/n calm down please and let's talk." You put your hands over your ears. "You're so selfish." You wheezed. Why was the room getting darker?

It's over isn't it?

Strong hands grip your arms and you scrape them off. "Get out."

You won and he chose you

As a last resort, Deku tries to kiss you again, holding you close back your lower back, even daring to nibble your lips as he pulls away. "Y/n can you please focus!?" Why was he making it worse? You are not a home wrecker!!

And he loves you so he's gone

Izuku helplessly watched you fall into your own thoughts as you gripped the wall so hard your knuckles turned white.

It's over isn't it?

You blindly stumble into your room and close the door, falling against it.

Why can't I move on?

Izuku tested his forehead against the door, trying to listen for any sign of life, even a heart beat. On the other side you fall into a dreamless sleep.

War and Glory

It rained on their wedding day. And in the worst way possible or made the ceremony even more beautiful as light drops of water tangled itself in Uraraka's veil.

The pictures were to die for and so was the food. "Y/n come on, take a picture with me!" You sip some champagne and prepare yourself for your sin free facade as you walk over to the new bride.

Her dress was gorgeous yet modest, one would confuse this gathering for a party since you were forced to wear white with her and Deku despite you explaining how weddings worked.

You kneeled to adjust to her height as she held the camera the highest she could. "You want me to do it?" You took the phone and held it above you. Ochaco pouted as you dwarfed her and gripped her small hands on the front of your clothes.

She smelt of strawberry's and soap.

Reinvention

Before you could pull away, she tugged your down as she came to whisper in your ear. "I know." She pulled away with the same small smile she wore since the day began. Your face mirrored one of fright and she quickly noticed.

She raised her hands in surrender as she tried to calm you down. "Hey what's that face for, it's fin-" you flinched as she reached out to touch you. Backing up, you ran into Deku who quickly held onto you to prevent you from falling.

You do your best to calmly untangle yourself from him, but subsequently jumping away as if you were on fire. The newly weds shared a look and you shivered as they both narrowed their eyes at you. Focused the same way they were when on a mission.

Fusion

Walking through the crowd of fans and distant family was no hard feat as you headed to the hotel the wedding was taking place behind. The two followed you and you tried your damnedest not to simply run.

You had almost made it out conservation free but Deku's hand quickly slapped on the side of the door before you could close it and he forced his way in as a limping Ochaco followed behind. "Come on Y/N, these heels are uncomfortable!"

You could feel tears falling down your face as you backed away from the two. It wasn't out of fear, but shame. Shame that you had feelings for your friend. Shame that you kissed a taken and engaged man. Shame that his wife knew.

"Y/n calm down it's fine, I don't mind!" You looked at her with confusion and bristled as Deku came closer. "I told her the day after it happened." You focus on Ochaco, preparing yourself for any physical attacks the small woman might deem necessary. "I'm sorry Ochaco, I-I didn't mean for it t-to happen."

Anger at the memory filled your brain and you almost didn't notice small hands taking hold of yours.

Her attention

"It's okay Y/N." Ochaco smiled warmly at you, bringing your hands to her lips as she kissed them gently. "I don't mind, infact this was the goal for a long time." You look at Deku for some coherent conversation, "What is she talking about."

Izuku blushed, "We've been trying to get your attention since highschool. We knew how you felt and didn't mind you joining us like Kachan, Kiri, and Mina." A steely gaze with the power of Aizawa's death glare, casted over Izuku's face, "But you kept running."

Ochaco waved her hands to divert the sudden hostile energy. "Anyways, we were planning on announcing it at the flower toss." Ochaco reached into her bussom and pulled out a small jewelry case. Inside it held a silver ring, strikingly similar to the one she now wore on her left hand.

"I know we really haven't got to get to know each other that well. And I know your feelings don't lie for me but, if you would like…" Deku gingerly plucked the ring from Uraraka's hands and the both lowered to their knees. (Ochaco with more effort as the fluff of her dress almost tipped her over)

Oop looks like i went over the limit?

#black y/n #blackreader #bnha headcanons #mha #bnha x black reader #bnha #deku x reader #deku x ochako #bnha ochaco #ochaco x reader #gn reader #mha x male reader #x male reader #poc male reader #male y/n #gender nuetral reader #poly love #mha angst #bnha angst

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sarcasmandships · 4 years ago

Text

how to save a life ︱spencer reid

word count: 8.3k

spencer reid x slight oc

spencer and veronica argue over him keeping their relationship from the team, but when spencer sustains a life-threatening gun shot wound it puts everything into perspective

angst + hurt/comfort with an eventual happy ending

this is not an x reader because i hate writing y/n in place of a character name and it often forces you into writing in second person which i also hate - however I have avoided giving specific descriptions of hair/eye/skin colour, height and body shape so feel free to imagine it like an x reader

this is also heavily inspired by greys anatomy and ive taken characters from the show to be side characters, however you do not need to have watched a single episode of greys to follow the story

warnings: mention of rape, mentions of past drug use, spencer being shot, descriptions of blood, spencer being a bit of a dick in part 1??

Veronica groaned and rolled onto her stomach, shielding her eyes from the dull light illuminating the room. Her body was stiff as she twisted to find a more comfortable position, but the glare from the lamp was still too bright, so she huffed and forced herself to sit upright.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Spencer whispered.

Veronica was still groggy and had to squint her eyes to focus on him. He was stood on the other side of her bedroom, half dressed in a pair of tight grey trousers and an unbuttoned pale blue shirt. Her eyes raked over his exposed skin.

She grumbled and flopped back down on the bed, “you’re lucky you’re pretty, waking me up at 5am on a Saturday.”

He frowned, “it’s an emergency – we just got called in on a case.”

“Is this your way of telling me you can’t come tonight?” she snorted, looking up at him lazily as her head rested on her pillow.

“The fundraising gala – right,” he said stiffly, slowly doing up his buttons, “it’s a local one, so we won’t be flying out, but I can’t justify sneaking off to a party while we’re working a case.”

“Its not a party,” Veronica said through gritted teeth, “parties are fun. This is a stupid campaign that Jackson organized to raise funds for the hospital. Where I’m expected to go and charm rich, old, white men into giving us money, and whichever department raises the most money gets a bonus-”

“And you think I’d have been a valuable addition to your efforts because?” Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because, you have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187 – that impresses everyone, and maybe it could’ve impressed some hedge fund manager enough to give me, and my department, the big bucks.”

“You flatter me.”

“Yeah, remember this feeling – cos’ you won’t be getting any more nice words from me for a while,” Veronica grumbled into her pillow; she pulled the duvet tighter around her body and screwed her eyes shut, they still hadn’t adjusted to the glow from the lamp.

Spencer had finished getting dressed, and he sighed deeply as he crept over to the bed. He crawled on top of the duvet and wrapped his arms around Veronica’s body.

“You know I would rather be with you, but if I don’t go to work, people die,” he whispered in her ear.

Veronica twisted her torso to face him, “Spencer I get it – if I don’t go to work people die too, I just hate your job when it means we can’t do things together. That gala just going to be full of dull, sleazy men – you would’ve kept me sane.”

He wrapped his arms around her, tighter, “I know, I hate it too. I just can’t leave in the middle of a serial case like this, plus even if I tried to the team would have too many questions because-”

Veronica’s body stiffened, and she unconsciously shifted away from him, “because you still haven’t told them about us, even though we’ve been together for years, and you know all my friends, and we go to work events together for my job. But we can’t for yours because you still haven’t told your team, who you consider family. I’m well aware of that fact, Spencer.”

“Veronica, you know it’s nothing to do with you. There are just some things I like to keep private from them-”

“I’m not a thing! I’m a person, and you’re not keeping it private, you’re keeping it secret. Private would be if they knew I existed but didn’t know all the details of our relationship, but that’s not what’s happening here,” she snapped.

“V, don’t be like that-”

“You should just go; you’ll be late for work. Wouldn’t want to let down your team like that.”

Spencer sighed and let go of her, he shuffled around the room gathering up his bag and coat before heading to the door.

“Goodbye, good luck at the fundraiser. Hopefully I’ll be home tonight, otherwise I’ll call you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” she grumbled.

“I love you,” he said uncertainly.

Veronica couldn’t fight the smile that crept onto her face at his words, “I love you too,” she whispered back.

She stretched her arms out to Spencer’s side of the bed as she heard the front door click shut. The pillow and mattress were already cool from the absence of his body, Veronica let her heavy eyes fall shut and drifted off to sleep again.

She didn’t wake up again until hours later, when the sunlight crept through the gaps in the curtains and shone onto her face. Veronica unwilling pried her eyes open for the second time that day and fumbled for her phone on the bedside table to see if Spencer had texted her.

He hadn’t. Veronica’s heart sunk and her chest, he always texted her when he arrived at work. The only thing the glaring, bright screen of her phone informed her was that it was 11.57am, she had significantly overslept.

She quickly attributed it to the 17-hour spinal-cord tumour resection she had worked on yesterday and pulling the charger out of her phone she rolled over. Unlocking her phone, she sent a quick text to Spencer, reminding him that he needed to keep her updated when he was on a case or she’d assume he was dead.

But when she clicked ‘delivered’, there was a buzz from Spencer’s bedside table and Veronica strained her neck only to see that his phone was still there. She frowned, Spencer wasn’t a fan of his phone, but he never went to work without it, could he really have been so flustered from their spat that he’d forgotten it?

Whatever the reason, Veronica groaned, she wouldn’t relax all day without his periodic updates telling her that he was still alive, and she doubted he would trek all the way back to her apartment to get it.

She crawled out of bed and searched around for the first clothes she could find; a pair of dark running shorts, and her red ‘Harvard Med’ sweatshirt. Flinging them on, she quickly sprayed herself with deodorant and grabbed her bag, keys, and Spencer’s phone before dashing out the door.

Veronica cursed Spencer as she thudded down the stairs of her apartment building, because of course, the lift was still broken. Dr. Spencer Reid was supposed to have an eidetic memory, and he forgets his phone? Idiot.

A wave of heat hit her as she stepped outside, rummaging around her bag for a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes as she made her way over to her car. Veronica contemplated how to get the phone to Spencer as she drove, she obviously couldn’t call him to let him know she had it, and she didn’t have the extension for his desk phone.

She could hand it into someone at reception and ask them to take it up or ask them to call him down. But then she would have to talk to him again and Veronica wasn’t sure if she wanted to do that.

She knew it wasn’t his fault, she knew that he couldn’t control when serial killers decided to act out, she knew that he was out there saving lives.

But it was still frustrating they couldn’t go places like normal couples, if there wasn’t a serial killer terrorising some small town then she was being pulled in on an emergency surgery. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t know how much longer their relationship could go on like this.

At least they were in the same state this time, and they would hopefully get to sleep in the same bed whilst he worked on this case, she thought optimistically to herself as she parked her car on a side street near the FBI building.

Veronica was still debating whether to leave Spencer’s phone with the receptionist or have them call him down as she strolled across the street. But that decision was quickly made for her when she saw Spencer leaving the building, accompanied by a tall, bald man with dark skin and a short blonde woman, wearing an eccentric, neon dress.

They were laughing amongst themselves; Spencer ran a hand through his messy hair as he chuckled at something Veronica was too far away to hear. He looked so happy. She was about to turn around and sneak back to her car when Spencer clocked her, they made eye-contact and he stopped in his tracks.

His friends stopped to and after noticing that Spencer was staring at something, turned to look at her too. The man nudged him, but Spencer stood frozen his tracks. Veronica huffed, if he weren’t going to come to her, she would have to go to him.

“Spencer,” she said, as she approached them briskly.

“Veronica! We’re just going to grab lunch for the team, I…I was going to text you, but I-”

“Left your phone at my apartment,” she finished for him, holding out his phone, which he took gingerly, “hi! I’m Veronica,” she said brightly, turning to face the man and woman who were staring at her, dumbfounded.

“H-hi, I’m Penelope Garcia,” the woman finally spoke.

“Derek Morgan,” the man added, with a small wave.

They both lingered hesitantly a few steps away from Veronica and Spencer, evidently sensing the tension between them. Spencer wouldn’t make eye contact with her, he stared down at his feet, but Veronica stood her ground firmly.

“I’m literally standing right in front of them Spencer, are you still going to try and keep me a secret?” she seethed.

“I-I didn’t want it to happen like this,” he stammered.

“Right. You didn’t want it to happen, at all,” she said, turning on her heel to leave but Spencer lurched forward and grabbed her wrist, pulling her close into him.

“V, please don’t be like that – I wasn’t expecting you to show up at my job like this, I just needed a minute to process-”

“Process what? Your girlfriend doing you a favour? You’ve had a minute, and you clearly don’t want your friends to know me so just forget it Spencer,” she snapped, pulling her arm free from his grip.

“Veronica, please. I will introduce you properly later, just not right now,” he whispered, throwing an anxious glance back at Derek and Garcia.

Veronica rolled her eyes, they weren’t even in earshot anymore and he was still whispering so they wouldn’t overhear.

“Why not right now? You aren’t tracking down an unsub right at this moment, you’re going to get lunch – is a sandwich really more important to you than me?”

“That isn’t what I said!”

“You didn’t have to say anything, Spence,” she smiled sadly, “I don’t understand why you don’t want the people closest to you to know that you’ve had a girlfriend for the past three years. I mean we basically live together, it’s a serious relationship, they should at least know I exist.”

“It’s more complicated than that-”

“No, it isn’t!” she cried, her voice louder and shriller than she intended, causing Derek and Garcia to step forward but Spencer waved them off, “are you embarrassed of me or something?” she asked, her eyes flickering between Spencer’s twisted expression and his friends.

“Of course not, don’t be stupid,” he snorted.

“I’m not being stupid,” she snapped, “but I can’t think of any other reason why you wouldn’t want them to know me. Not that you should have any reason to be embarrassed cos’ I’m a hot neurosurgeon, but maybe that’s not good enough for the sacred BAU,” she spat.

Garcia and Derek whispered amongst themselves as they gave the couple concerned looks.

“Veronica, please-”

“No, don’t,” she said firmly despite the tears burning in her eyes, “you’ve made it very clear where you stand. I have to go; I’m meeting April for lunch and then to get our hair done for this stupid gala. Text me to let me know you’re alive, otherwise don’t contact me,” Veronica turned to leave but Spencer gripped her arm again.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Veronica shook her head, “no, Spencer you could literally stab me through the heart, and I wouldn’t leave you. That’s the problem, I think I love you more than you love me – I just need some space.”

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Morgan and Garcia, y-you can join us all for lunch,” he said desperately, trying to tug her towards them but Veronica pulled her arm away again.

“Too late Spence,” she sighed, “I meant what I said, still let me know you’re okay every few hours or I’ll worry. But please just leave me alone till you decide if you really want to be in this relationship.”

“Of course, I do Veronica! I lov-”

“Bye Spencer,” she said, kissing him softly on the cheek, “be safe.”

Veronica turned and dashed away from him, desperate not to let him see the tears threatening to spill over.

“Love you…” Spencer finished as he watched her disappear around a corner.

He was frozen for several moments as he stared longingly after her, but she would be in her car and long gone now. He tightened his grip on the phone she had handed him just moments before, the screen lit up and showed a text she must’ve sent before realizing he didn’t have his phone. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and turned on his heel to head back inside, but Derek was quick to grab his arm and pull him back.

“Hey, hey, hey, and just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Inside,” Spencer snapped, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Derek gave him a pointed look, “I don’t think so kid, I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen – we’re gonna get in the car and go pick up lunch for everyone, it’ll take about 20 minutes, tops. That’s how long you have to explain whoever that was and why you’ve been acting so weird this morning, sound good?”

Spencer wrestled his arm out of Derek’ grip, “I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said sharply.

“Well see yeah you do pretty boy, cos’ that’s the second time you’ve snapped at me in under a minute so somethings obviously going on and I’m willing to bet it’s got something to do with Miss Harvard Med, who’s apartment you were in this morning,” he said with a knowing look, “now come on, cars this way,” he pointed to the left on the street and began to saunter off.

Spencer gave Garcia a desperate look, “Penelope, have my back here, I-”

She raised a hand up to silence him, “it doesn’t take a profiler to figure out that you’ve been acting weird all morning,” she shifted closer to him and took his large hand in hers, “I know you like to keep things to yourself Spencer, but you and I also both know that you keeping secrets doesn’t always end well, we aren’t asking you to give us every detail we just want to know what’s going on.”

Spencer huffed but didn’t disagree with her, he even let her tug his arm and lead him down the street after Derek, who was already waiting for them at the car.

“About time,” he said, lifting himself from his position leaning against the dark SVU to unlock it.

He climbed in the front seat and Garcia moved round to get in the passenger’s side, leaving Spencer to stand for a few seconds outside the car. He debated running back to the office for a few seconds, but Derek would definitely run after him, and he was a lot faster. Deciding he didn’t want to be tackled to the ground today, he grumbled and crawled into the back seat, slamming the door behind him.

“You gonna tell us why you’ve got such an attitude today now, kid?” Derek said as he turned the keys in the ignition and pulled away from the kerb.

“And who that girl was?” Garcia added.

“That was Veronica,” he shrugged, twirling the end of his tie in his hands.

“Yeah, she told us that much,” Derek sighed, “we mean who is she?”

“She’s a neurosurgeon at Stafford Grace Mercy West hospital,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“A neurosurgeon!” Garcia gasped, clapping her hands together, “our Doctor Reid found himself a doctor of his own,” she giggled.

“What? No! I just said she was a doctor; I didn’t say there was anything-”

Derek had his eyes focused on the road, but Spencer could picture the look on his face as he spoke, “I didn’t think neurosurgeons usually ran a drop-in clinic from their apartments, but y’know I’m not the one with an IQ of 187, so maybe I’m wrong.”

He gave Garcia a look and her face dropped.

Spencer swore under his breath and folded his arms tightly across his chest. He shifted uncomfortably in the back seat as Derek pulled up to the drive-thru and gave a shrug and a mumble when he asked him what he wanted to eat.

“Thank you very much ma’am,” Derek flirted with the woman in the window as she handed the paper bag of food through to him, he gave it to Garcia as he drove away, allowing her to pick through everyone’s fries.

“Y’know kid, we’ll be back at the office in 10 minutes or so and you can either tell me what’s going on now or back there, in front of everyone else.”

“It’s none of your business!” Spencer spluttered.

“You’ve not been able to focus at work all morning, every time someone has asked a question you’ve been tugging on your tie instead of giving us some long-winded statistic, then some girl we’ve never seen before shows up and you both start fighting-”

“We weren’t fighting,” Spencer grumbled, running a hand through his hair, “just a difference of opinion, that’s all.”

“A difference of opinion made her storm off like that, huh?” Derek mused.

Spencer balled his fists, why couldn’t Derek just leave it alone?

“We just want to make sure there’s nothing bad going on, Spencer,” Garcia said kindly, a handful of Emily’s fries in her mouth.

“Why do you think anything bad would be going on?”

Derek and Garcia exchanged looks.

“Hey! Why are you looking each other like that?”

Garcia twisted in her seat to face him, “we just noticed that recently you’ve not been coming out with us, you’re always rushing home after work, some days you’re really happy – and I love those days! – but other times you’re…irritable-”

“Like today,” Derek interjected.

“Right, and now this girl who just happens to be a doctor with a prescription pad shows up, and if she’s not your girlfriend then-”

“You think she’s my drug dealer?” Spencer snorted.

“Is she?” Garcia asked, alarmed.

“No!” he snapped, “fine! She’s my girlfriend, is that what you wanted to hear? Congratulations guys, you’ve finally gotten me to admit the one thing I didn’t want to tell you, whilst simultaneously accusing me of taking drugs again, and Veronica of abusing her medical license to sell drugs!”

“Hey! Kid I get if you’re upset but don’t raise your voice at Garcia like that, we suspected you were using again before Veronica ever showed up, her being a doctor just fit into the puzzle,” Derek said firmly, “I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell us she was your girlfriend and we could’ve moved on, you being so secretive about her is what made us think that there was something bad going on.”

“Well, there isn’t, except I have a pissed off girlfriend and a serial killer slashing women’s throats open, I don’t have time to pander to your feelings as well,” Spencer grumbled as Derek pulled up near the office again, he flung the door open and high-tailed out of the car, leaving Derek and Garcia in their seats gaping at each other.

He had dashed back inside the building; he couldn’t tell how close Derek and Garcia were behind him, but he was grateful they were far away enough to not catch the lift with him.

“Hey Reid,” Emily greeted him as he sulked back into the office, “where are Garcia and Morgan?”

Spencer shrugged, “they’re coming up now, they’ve got everyone’s food,” he mumbled, shuffling away to his desk.

“Okay…” Emily said, and shot JJ a concerned look.

Spencer sat down and stared blankly at the map in front of him. He was supposed to be working on the geographical profile, but his eyes blurred as he stared at the contour lines and he couldn’t make them refocus.

Derek and Garcia burst through the door minutes later.

“Lunchtime,” he called, as Garcia held the bag up above her head.

“Finally, I’m starving,” Emily groaned, making her way over to Derek to collect her lunch, “what’s going on with the good doctor?” she whispered under her breath, motioning with her head over to Spencer, slumped in his chair.

Derek hesitated, “we’re not entirely sure yet, I’ll let you know when I know,” he whispered back.

Emily nodded apprehensively and took her food from Garcia.

“I promise I didn’t eat all your fries,” she chirped, and Emily rolled her eyes.

The other team members came to collect their orders from Morgan and Garcia, all of them shooting concerned looks at Spencer. He dug his nails into his palms, the sharp twinge distracted him from everyone’s stares.

Spencer didn’t show any intention of coming to get his lunch, so Derek took the bag from Garcia and strolled over to Spencer’s desk. He dropped the bag down on top of the map.

“You wouldn’t answer me when I asked what you wanted, so I picked for you.”

Spencer didn’t look up, “hmm not hungry,” he said, twirling a pen in his hand.

“C’mon kid, I’m sorry Garcia and I implied that you were using again, but we’ve noticed you acting weird for a while and we thought that was the most plausible-”

“So, you thought it was more likely I was shooting myself up with dilaudid than it was that I had a girlfriend? Cos’ who would want to date me right?” he snorted.

“Spencer, you know that’s not what I meant, but you never gave any indication you were seeing someone, I thought if you were then you’d have mentioned it to at least one of us.”

Spencer curled his lip.

“So…why didn’t you mention anything?”

“Because…because we spend so much time together, and you all know so much about me I just wanted to have something that was my own,” he said hastily.

“Okay, I can understand that, so I won’t ask too many questions – I just want to know: does she treat you good? Does she make you happy?”

“Yes,” Spencer murmured.

“That all I’m gonna get, pretty boy?”

Spencer nodded stiffly, “for now.”

“Am I gonna get to meet her?” Derek asked softly.

“You did meet her.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “I mean properly, I would like to introduce myself as the guy who saves your ass on the daily,” he said, nudging Spencer’s shoulder gently.

He tried to fight the smile creeping onto his face, but failed, “you’re getting nowhere near her if you’re gonna lie like that.”

Derek chuckled and held up his hands, “okay, okay I get it – pretty boy’s gotta protect his reputation in front of his girl.”

Spencer gave him a tight-lipped smile and nodded, he continued to twirl the pen in his hand, “something like that.”

“Guys, I think we might have something,” Hotch said, stepping out of the conference room with Garcia and Rossi close behind him.

JJ and Emily nodded, standing up from their desks to join him. Derek moved to follow but Spencer grabbed his arm quickly.

“You won’t say anything will you?” he asked nervously, “not until I’ve had a chance to talk to Veronica, at least. She’s got this fundraising gala for work tonight, and I don’t know when we’ll get home. We’re in the same state and we probably won’t get a chance to talk till this case is over,” he said miserably.

Derek nodded, “your secrets safe with me, pretty boy,” he said, clapping Spencer on the bag before sauntered away and up the stairs.

Spencer smiled, grabbed his lunch from his desk and followed.

***

Veronica drummed her nails against the table as they waited for their waitress to return with their drinks.

“You know I was going to say that it’s a bit early for the wine you just ordered but now I think you should’ve gotten a large,” April commented, watching how Veronica fidgeted in her seat.

“Yeah, well I figured I should start preparing early for this stupid gala,” she mumbled.

“Hey! Jackson has worked really hard organizing this, I think it’ll be fun!”

Veronica rolled her eyes, “you think going to the DMV is fun, so you don’t get much of an opinion here, Kepner.”

“It is fun!” April began but Veronica gave her a pointed look, “right...not about me. Veronica, what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird since you got to my apartment, and I know you’re not looking forward to the gala, but I don’t think that’s what’s on your mind.”

Veronica shrugged, “it’s Spencer, he-”

She was interrupted as their waitress returned, “okay! Diet coke for you, and a pinot griot for you,” she said, placing their respective drinks down in front of them, “are you ladies ready to order?” she chirped, Veronica wanted to roll her eyes at the perkiness radiating off of her, but reminded herself that she was just doing her job.

“I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad please!” April responded, matching the waitresses bright and bubbly demeanour.

Veronica tapped her foot against the floor, “I’ll have the double bacon cheeseburger with Cajun fries please,” she said, giving her best attempt at a smile.

“Excellent!” she said, taking their menus, “I’ll get that out to you soon as its ready.”

“Thank you!” April said, her voice sweet and sing-song-like, until the waitress had disappeared out of sight and she turned to glare at Veronica, “double bacon cheeseburger! You have a tight dress to wear tonight, do you want to be bloated?”

“April, I really don’t care,” Veronica said flatly, taking a large swig of wine from her glass.

April gaped at her lie a fish but quickly composed herself, “what did Spencer do that’s so bad he’s got you comfort eating and drinking?”

Veronica paused to take another gulp of wine before she answered, “it’s not what he did it’s what he didn’t do. First of all, he was supposed to come to the gala with me tonight and keep me from punching one of those rich, old, pervs in the throat but then he got called into work on a case – which sucks, and I’m upset he can’t come but like I can live with that, we get pulled into emergency surgeries all the time, so I get it,” she ranted, taking another sip of wine.

“But?” April prompted.

“But everything comes back to the same issues with us, he refuses to even tell his team about me. And these guys, April, they’re like his family! But they have no clue I even exist; he always says it’s because he’s a private person and he shares so much with them that he just wants to having something to himself…but more and more it just feels like he’s embarrassed by me.”

“Oh, Veronica,” April gushed, her voice dripping with sympathy, “I’m sure that’s not true, but it’s so easy to get in your own head about things like this, when Jackson and I were sneaking around I felt the same way.”

“Yeah, and then you got married,” she snorted.

“And then we got divorced.”

“Is this your way of telling me I should break up with Spencer?” Veronica asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” April said quickly, “I’m just saying that Jackson and I didn’t work out because we had too many fundamental differences, but you and Spencer aren’t like that, your problems are coming from external factors and they’re far easier to fix than internal ones. If you gave him an ultimatum, you introduce me to your team or it’s over, then I really doubt that he’s going to let you walk away.”

Veronica shook her head, “he’d know that’s an empty threat, I already told him I would never leave him.”

“When did you tell him that?” April demanded.

“About 20 minutes before I showed up at your place, he left his phone at my apartment, so I went to drop it off at his work but when I got there, he was coming out with two of his friends – I was right in front of them and he still didn’t want to introduce me. And I told him that I couldn’t break up with him, but I thought I love him more than he loves me.”

“And what did he say?”

“Well, then he said I should come to lunch with them, but it was so obvious that he didn’t really want that, he was just trying to cover his own ass,” she shrugged, “so I told him it was too late and then I left.”

“Why didn’t you go with them? Then you would have met them, and this would all be resolved,” April gaped at her.

“Because he didn’t want me there! Besides they don’t even get a proper lunch break, they were just going to pick up food for everyone else. I don’t want to meet my boyfriend’s closest friends in the 20-minute drive to Burger King and back,” she huffed, sitting back lazily, and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Have you tried explaining to him how he’s making you feel by doing this?”

“Only every time we fight, I say I’m sick of him not taking me to parties with his work friends cos’ he doesn’t want them to know about me, but the rest of the team has their partners there, so he just stopped going out with them all together. He would rather not see his friends outside of work than take me with him, you can’t try and tell me that’s not weird.”

April shook her head hesitantly, “no, I agree that its strange, but I’ve also met Spencer and I’ve seen first-hand how much he adores you, whatever is going on, I don’t think it’s because he’s ashamed of you.”

Veronica didn’t answer her. She didn’t have the energy to argue back, if there was another reason as to why Spencer was hiding her, she couldn’t figure it out.

Thankfully, the waitress returned with their food and interrupted April, who Veronica could tell was about to launch into some motivational speech. She took a huge bite from her burger, savouring the salty bacon and tangy tomato relish that made her feel instantaneously better.

April gave her a disapproving look as she delicately tucked into her salad, “I was going to say you need to eat quickly or we’ll miss our appointment, but I see you’re doing that all on your own.”

“We’ve still got another hour, chill out, Kepner.”

April rolled her eyes, “you’ve forgotten the plan, already haven’t you?”

Veronica froze, with a handful of spicy, Cajun fries in her mouth, “plan?” she questioned, her voice muffled.

“I told you yesterday, Veronica!” she whined, “we were going to get our hair done at the salon but now she’s going to come to Cristina’s apartment since its way closer to where the gala will be – so we need to drive back to your apartment to pick up your dress and makeup and then we’ll head to Cristina’s to get ready there.”

“Don’t we need to pick up your stuff too then?”

“No, because I was organized and put mine in the back of the car,” she said with a glare, “you did pick up your dress, right?”

“Yes, have some faith in me,” Veronica grumbled.

“You didn’t remember the plan! You could’ve just as easily forgotten to get a dress.”

“I’m pretty sure you never told me about the plan,” Veronica teased.

“I did!”

“When?”

“Yesterday, after you came out of surgery.”

“You told me after my 17-hour spinal cord tumour resection, and actually expected me to remember a word that you’d said?”

“Shut up and eat your burger,” April huffed, and Veronica chuckled as she took another large bite.

***

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat of the SVU, he was irritated. They had been chasing a lead since lunch and it hadn’t panned out, he and Derek were on their way back to the office now.

He turned down the radio; the music was so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. It was getting dark outside now, and the streetlights reflected off of the window he stared out of, the glare hurt his eyes. Spencer re-adjusted his bulletproof vest; it was tight and digging into his chest. He flicked on the AC; the car was too hot.

“Hey kid, you wanna sit still for 5 minutes?” Derek mused.

“I’m just frustrated, I really thought we got him,” he grunted.

“I know me too, but everyone’s doing everything they can to catch him-”

“He’s escalating! He’s raped, killed and dumped two women since lunch, in broad daylight – everyone might be doing everything he can but that isn’t enough.”

“I know this isn’t an easy case, but we’ve dealt with things like this before and you never act out like this, so what’s going on? Is this about your fight with Veronica?”

“No! I mean…” Spencer dragged his hand through his hair, “it’s not about the fight but it is about her, all the women he’s killed so far sort of look like her – same hair and eye colour, same height and body type….”

“Spencer, we know he’s taking these women as surrogates for a Linda Johnson, it doesn’t have anything to do with her-”

“But he could take her, she’s with her friends right now, getting ready for this work thing. The second victim was at a party with friends when he took her, and she looked exactly like Veronica – they could’ve been sisters.”

Derek pulled the car over to the side of the road.

“W-what are you doing?” Spencer stuttered, “Hotch said he wants everyone back ASAP.”

“Hotch can wait,” Derek said sharply, “now listen to me kid, Veronica is gonna be just fine, she’s gonna be at some fancy, little party full of other doctors. We profiled that the unsub wouldn’t be able to blend into an environment like that, that’s why all his other victims were taken in nightclubs or back alleys. She will be fine, okay?”

Spencer didn’t answer.

“Kid, I need you to answer me so I know you’re still in there,” Derek said, nudging him, “I can see that brain of yours going into overdrive.”

“We profiled that the unsub wouldn’t be able to fit in with educated or upper-class groups because of poor social skills and lack of education…” Spencer began slowly.

“Right,” Derek agreed with him.

“And that’s why we went to Tommy Jones’ house, because he fits the profile, but his alibi checks out….”

“What are you getting at here, Reid?”

“It doesn’t make sense, all the women were taken from dive bars or dangerous areas, but they were all also upper class, well educated women – they wouldn’t just go off with someone who they thought was a threat….”

Derek nodded slowly, “…and we know he used some kind of a ruse to get them in his van because all of the victims had minimal defensive wounds.”

“Right, so our unsub would have to be someone these women would trust, and the psychology of implicit bias show that we are consciously and unconsciously more trusting of members of our perceived in-group,” Spencer added, “so what if our unsub is someone connected to Linda Johnson but from the same rich, ivy-league educated background as her.”

“Okay, but we already vetted all of Linda’s male family members, friends and boyfriends of friends – they’re all clear. And she’s still with her high-school boyfriend who’s been in California all week….”

“Call Hotch, Linda should still be at the office, maybe he can find a male from the same financial and educational background as Lisa who has since lost social status and lost touch with her, our unsub could be someone who has lost access to that kind of lifestyle and blames Lisa for it.”

“Okay kid, whatever you say,” Derek said, he grabbed his phone and dialled Hotch’s number, “hey Hotch, Reid thinks the unsub is someone who came from the same background as Lisa but has lost some kind of status and blames her for it, can you ask if anyone fits that description?”

Spencer looked on in anticipation, his heart hammering in his chest. Derek switched his phone to speaker-mode as Hotch came back.

“Morgan, I think we got something. Linda says her high school had a tutoring program, a boy called Phillip Davis used to help her with biology and chemistry, she always suspected he had a bit of a crush on her, but she never returned the feelings. He left the school when his father went bankrupt and he lost all their money, they haven’t spoken in years that’s why she never mentioned him.”

“Linda posted on Facebook that she’d been accepted for a master’s degree in biochemical sciences the day before the killings started, that could be the trigger if Davis feels he helped her enough with her studies to get into a master’s program, but she never showed any appreciation,” Spencer said nodding.

“And if he went to the same private school as Linda, he would have the social skills to fit in with other upper-class women,” Derek said.

“Good work Reid,” Hotch said, “you two are closet to his home address, Garcia’s already sent it to your phones, I’ll meet you there – JJ and Prentiss will check out his work address.”

“You got it Hotch,” Derek said before he hung up the phone and drove off again, “we’re gonna get him kid, don’t you worry.”

Spencer nodded, “I know, just I’ll relax better when he’s in handcuffs.”

“He will be soon.”

Spencer didn’t say anything as Derek raced along side-streets. He had flicked the sirens on as they overtook other cars, and they blared in Spencer’s ears. He switched them off when they pulled up outside Philip Davis’ house, he stared up at the dimly lit house for a second before he followed Derek in exiting the car.

His ears were ringing.

Derek was on the phone again, “yeah Hotch, we just got here.”

Spencer’s heart hammered against his ribcage. He yanked down his bulletproof vest again; it was really uncomfortable.

“Hotch says they’re five minutes out, he wants us to wait until they get here to go in,” Derek said and leant against the exterior of the car.

Spencer nodded but his heart seized in his chest; he didn’t think he could wait five whole minutes outside. He tapped his foot against the uneven concrete and peered up at the house.

A light flicked on in one of the upstairs windows.

“Morgan!” he hissed, “do you see that? He’s definitely in there.”

“I know kid, but Hotch says Lina told him that this guy is really aggressive, and Garcia confirmed he owns a whole arsenal of firearms. He just wants us to have backup before we go in, he’s bringing S.W.A.T as well.”

Spencer huffed, “why does it feel like we’re always just standing around waiting for S.W.A.T to show up?”

“Tell me about it, pretty boy,” Derek grinned, “they wouldn’t know how to be on time if-”

He was interrupted by a piercing scream that came from inside the house, Derek and Spencer instinctively grabbed their guns.

“That was definitely a woman,” Derek whispered, “but he didn’t bring any of the other victims back to his house, why her?”

“We’ve amped up the police presence all over the city and set up roadblocks, maybe he was starting to feel cornered, and didn’t want to be caught in the act – we can’t wait for backup any longer, we have to go in.”

“Yeah, I know,” Derek said, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text to Hotch, “okay kid, lets go,” he nodded at Spencer and began to advance towards the house, his gun held out defensively in front of him.

Spencer took a deep breath and followed him. He really wanted to text Veronica and let her know that he was okay for now, but that he and Derek were about to burst into an unsub’s house. Who apparently happened to a violent, gun fanatic.

Derek had kicked the door down, “Kevin Davis, FBI! Come down with your hands up.”

There was no response.

Derek silently motioned to the stairs and Spencer nodded, he followed as they crept across the hall. Derek looked back at him for approval before he began to slowly climb the stairs, Spencer readjusted his vest again before he followed.

The stairs creaked slightly under their feet; the house was a mess and they carefully stepped over clutter as they made their ascent. Derek had made it safely to the top landing when the first gunshots were fired.

He shouted something but Spencer couldn’t hear him, his voice overshadowed by the pulsing of blood in his ears. He was still stood on the top step; he didn’t have the clear view that Derek had of Kevin Davis emerging from a room with an assault rifle in hand.

Spencer’s ears were stilling ringing from the first round of warning shots.

“Kevin Davis, FBI – put the gun down,” Derek ordered, his own gun firmly fixed at the unsub, who only gave a twisted grin in response.

It all happened so fast.

The unsub was in the doorway to a bedroom when a young, disheveled woman burst out of it and sprinted past him and Derek to reach the staircase.

She was screaming the entire time.

And then the unsub was roaring curses after her.

She reached the top of the stairs where Spencer stood, he reached out a hand to help her, but she recoiled away from his touch and shoved him out of his way.

Derek was yelling something.

But Spencer couldn’t make it out because he was suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, his body ached, and he couldn’t discern the screams from the woman from the sirens in the distance. Or Derek’s words from the unsub’s.

His ears were ringing, and his abdomen hurt.

The vest was digging into his chest again and he gasped for air; why couldn’t he breathe?

He grabbed his gun, which was only a few feet away from him and crawled onto his knees. Every shaky intake of breath left him with a sharp, stabbing pain in his side.

He tugged at his vest again.

Spencer gripped onto the banister of the staircase and used it as a support as he began to pull himself up. He hadn’t even fully unbent his knees when there was another loud gunshot, it echoed around the hall.

After that, everything started spinning and the ground swayed under Spencer’s feet.

There were more muffled yells from upstairs, and the wailing sirens were getting louder.

“The pitch of the sirens…its getting higher,” Spencer mumbled, to no one in particular, “it means they’re getting closer…the Doppler effect…” Spencer gasped for a breath and collapsed to his knees.

He didn’t wince as his kneecaps smashed against the hard tiles.

He couldn’t breathe, the stupid vest.

He was vaguely aware of black shapes moving around him as he lifted his hands to readjust his vest, when he pulled his hand away his fingers were slick with blood.

One of the black shapes was dragging him, away from the stairs.

Kevin Davis was in handcuffs, screaming as he was hauled past Spencer.

“Reid!” a voice called.

Spencer looked around, dazed. He couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

Someone was taking his vest off, he wanted to thank them, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He looked down at himself, and saw his pale, blue shirt soaked in blood.

Blood.

Spencer didn’t mind it in crime scenes, he had to stare at mutilated corpses all day and didn’t mind their blood.

This was his blood.

Something acidic was rising in his throat.

And something was lifting him, heaving him outside. When the cool air hit Spencer, he felt it more than he had felt the bullet when it tore through his chest.

Derek was hovering over Spencer; he waved a hand in front of his face, but his eyes were still glassy and unfocused. He was laid against the rough concrete; it was uncomfortable, and his spine dug into the hard surface. He could feel that dull ache in his side again.

“Adrenaline…” he choked.

“What are you talking about, kid?” Derek asked frantically.

“Adrenaline, when the sympathetic nervous system is activated adrenaline kicks in and stops you from feeling pain,” he gasped.

“Reid, save your energy okay – now isn’t the time for you to give me a fun science fact,” Derek said with a forced chuckle and sad smile.

Spencer tried to shake his head, but he only succeeded in scrapping his scalp against the tarmac, “I’m telling you…because the adrenaline in my body is wearing off…it hurts,” he whimpered, screwing his eyes shut.

“Spencer! Spencer! You need to stay awake,” Derek was begging, “the ambulance will be here soon, I know it hurts but you gotta stay awake for a bit longer.”

Spencer managed to muster up the strength to speak, “Derek?”

“I’m right here, kid. We got him, we got the unsub – Hotch is taking him down to the station right now, and then he’s gonna meet us at the hospital with Emily, and JJ, and Rossi…so you gotta hold on, okay?”

“Okay…” Spencer whispered; he was on his back staring up at the sky.

The stars especially bright tonight.

“Come on kid stay with me,” Derek pleaded as he held pressure on Spencer’s chest, “the ambulance is almost here, and we’re so close to the hospital - just hold on a bit longer.”

Stars…that meant something to him, his brain was too foggy to recall what.

“Did you know, that astronomers estimate that in our Milky Way galaxy alone, there are about 300 billion stars,” Spencer rambled as they walked along the street.

It was dark, and stars sparkled like diamonds against the deep, velvety sky.

“I didn’t know that, but I suppose you are the genius here for a reason,” Veronica grinned, his hand was wrapped around hers as she tugged him along.

Spencer wasn’t looking at the stars anymore, he stopped in his tracks which caused Veronica to stop two steps ahead of him. He gently pulled her close to him, so she was pressed against his chest .

“Veronica, I…I think that I’m in lo-”

Veronica.

Spencer wriggled his arm as he tried to guide his hand to his pocket.

“Hey, hey, hey don’t move,” Derek said, panicked, “you bleed more when you move!”

Spencer fumbled around his pocket for his phone, he eventually managed to pull it out and held it out for Derek to take. The screen was decorated with droplets of blood which had transferred from his hand.

Spencer couldn’t look at it; blood, its just blood, he told himself.

“Veronica...” he gasped through short, jagged breaths, “call Veronica...” he said, his hand trembling from the strain of hold his arm up.

Derek took the phone from him and shoved it in his own pocket, “okay, okay, when we’re in the ambulance I’ll call her,” he said, nodding.

Veronica needed to know. He needed to make her understand why he had never introduced her to his team, she needed to know it wasn’t her fault. She needed to know that he wasn’t embarrassed of her, that he loved her more than anything, that he did want to be in this relationship.

Spencer gave a weak smile, “tell her...tell her I...” Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, and his face, previously screwed up with pain, went slack.

Derek cursed under his breath as he put more pressure on the wound, he was already losing too much blood. The faint wails of sirens were growing louder until an ambulance pulled up next to Derek and a pair of paramedics dashed round to help him.

“He just lost consciousness, I’ve been trying to stop the bleeding...” Derek said, he moved back to allow the paramedics in to help Spencer.

They rolled him onto a stretcher and lifted him up into the ambulance, one of them ran back round to climb in the divers side whilst the other got in the back with Derek. He kept pressure on Spencer’s gunshot wound as the paramedic inserted an IV into his arm, supplying him with more blood.

“Here, let me take over. You sit back,” the paramedic said, motioning to Derek’s blood-soaked hands.

He nodded and dragged his heavy arms away from Spencer’s body. He stared at his face, peaceful from the lack of pain, and pale from the lack of blood.

That’s when he remembered Spencer’s words, what could be his last words, call Veronica. Tell her I...

Derek pulled Spencer’s phone from his pocket and unlocked it, he scrolled through his contacts app till he reached the ‘V’ section.

His finger hovered over Veronica’s name before he finally clicked on it. It rung and rung and rung. Derek’s heart seized in his chest - what if she didn’t answer?

Just as Derek thought it was going to go to voicemail, he heard a voice on the other side of the phone. There was loud music and chatter, but Derek could just make out Veronica’s voice.

“Spencer, I told you-”

“Hi, Veronica,” his voice cracked, “it’s Derek Morgan, we met earlier today...”

read part 2 here

if you enjoyed this please consider leaving a comment as it really keeps me motivated, and reblogging! i really appreciate likes but on the tumblr reblogs are the only way to get my work out there x

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #derek morgan #angst #hurt and comfort #fluff #spencer reid imagine hurt #spencer reid imagine angst #spencer reid headcanons #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagines

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reincarnated70sbaby · 3 years ago

Text

maritime madness

led zeppelin x reader

warnings: swearing, drug use

an: so I was sailing yesterday and I was thinking about this the entire time I might have nearly capsized the boat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this” I spoke, staring out at the large blue yacht that rested on the waters of Normandy. It all started the day before, when we were all throwing around tripped out ideas in our hotel room.

“What are we gonna do tomorrow?” Jimmy asked. I sat by his side, my head resting on his bony shoulder. My dose of LSD had just kicked it, and as it was my first time it probably hit me quicker than the others. I tried to speak, but it felt like every time I moved my mouth, it felt like I would stretch my mouth out of shape, like putty.

“Let’s go explore that cathedral, the big massive one, y’know? The one with the hunchback. Maybe we could bump into him or something”

As soon as the words left Robert’s lips, our entire entourage burst out in giggles. I myself, was having hard time controlling my breathing. I had to rest my head in Jimmy’s lap, Jimmy being doubled down over me clutching his stomach.

“Percy, you dumb fucker, y-you know that’s not a real story” Jonesy informed, all his words all broken up by loud chuckles.

Roberts jaw immediately dropped open in shock, along with his eyes widening and brown trashing in confusion.

“Nah, yeah it was, the uh, the hunchman did the um, bells. Yeah, the bells”

“No he didn’t, because he never existed you nonce. It’s a fairytale from the 19th century” Jimmy piped in, adding his extensive knowledge of mythology and folklore into the conversation.

“But me ma said he existed, you’re gonna say my mum lied to me all those years?”

“Well obviously Perce, it’s just a bedtime story” Jonesy added, still chuckling to himself at Robert’s gullible nature.

“Fine then, someone else give an idea since all of mine always get ridiculed” Robert stated, crossing his arms and craning his head back against the footboard of the bed and staring at the ceiling in a huff.

“How about Père Lachaise?”

“What the actual fuck is pear la chair Pagey?” Bonzo asked, pronouncing the words all wrong in his thick Englishman accent.

“It’s Père Lachaise” Jimmy corrected in a perfect French accent, “and it’s a graveyard in Paris, loads of famous people are buried there - Oscar Wilde, Frederic Chopin, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf”

“Jimmy you must be as mad as Morrison to think we would waste our day off in a fucking dead person museum. Jesus Christ how did we pick you up” Bonzo sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, what about Mont Saint-Michel? It’s this cool island off of the coast. There’s a bridge but once the tide comes in you can’t get in or out. Wouldn’t that be good craic eh?” Jonesy suggested

“No” Bonzo, Jimmy and Robert all said at the same time.

“Ah! You’ve been outnumbered Mr Jones haha. Maybe you and I could go out another time Jonny boy, we could go exploring and see the spirits trapped on the island” I said with a chuckle, the psychedelic in my system making this whole situation very funny.

“Jesus Christ what the fuck did she even say. That her first time on acid?” Robert asked to Jimmy.

“Must’ve been, it hit her pretty quickly” Jimmy replied, staring into my largely dilated pupils. He swore he could’ve seen something dancing in my pupils, but maybe that was just the drug in him.

We all sat in silence for a couple minutes, all of us enjoying our high.

“Innnnnnnnnnnnnnn fourteen hundred ninety two, Columbus sailed the ocean blueeee” I sang, the lyrics being the only words of a song I could think of to fill the silence. A beat of silence passed and I wondered if everybody suddenly passed out, either into sleep or another dimension.

As I started the next line, everyone else joined in with me. We eventually finished the entire song, even an encore requested by the boys. I sung the encore in a horrendous, deep operatic voice while prancing round the hotel room. A round of applause sounded, and I took my theatrical bows in front of my supportive crowd.

“That’s It! I know what we can do tomorrow. God that is a good idea!” Bonzo declared, jumping up to his feet, not before nearly tumbling backwards.

“Go on then Bonz, don’t leave us guessing mate” Jonesy suggested, breaking the dramatic silence that had ensued.

“Rent a yacht! We can go out early in the morning and stay overnight since our flight back home is in the evening anyway! All we need to do is hire a skipper or something”

We all were stoked at idea of having a private boat to ourselves. Sure, none of the boys were experienced sailors, but that’s what a professional skipper was for, driving rich people around in yachts right?

“Do we really have to do this” I said, making our way through the marina to our yacht.

“The skipper will probably dive off the boat when we get started tonight” Jonesy commented, sharing my lack of enthusiasm for the maritime adventure. “We should have ditched them and gone to Mont Saint-Michel”. I only hummed in response, dragging my overnight suitcase over the gaps in the planks of wood on the dock.

“Um yeah, about that skipper. We couldn’t exactly book one on such short notice” Cole confessed.

“What the actual fuck Cole? Are we just supposed to sail ourselves and drown? I can’t tie a knot to save my bloody life” Robert shrieked. We all stopped in our tracks and turned to the tour manager, glaring at him through our sunglasses.

“Of course not Percy, why would we do that to our cash cows hm? And this is a motorboat, no ropes involved. It’s basically like driving a car. In water. In fact, all you need to drive it is a drivers license, which I’m positive you all have judging by your expansive car choices. Forgot to mention that myself and Peter have opted out” With that note, Cole dropped the yacht keys into Bonzo’s hand and scuttled away.

We all stood there, bags in hand, confusion over our faces as we watched Cole’s figure disappear behind the hundred of other boats.

“Well shit” Jonesy said, the sourness in his voice barely hidden.

“Let’s just go check it out, we don’t even have to leave the marina if we can drive it, we’ll just park out all night” Bonzo affirmed, being unusually optimistic.

We all found the boat and as the boys started embarking aboard, I thought out loud.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Cmon darling, let’s just see what it’s like. If you hate it we’ll do something else” Jimmy compromised, outstretching his hand to me.

The boat bobbed a bit on the water as I stepped on.

“It’s not hating it I’m worried about, I was practically raised on a boat Jim, I’m just not sure 4 rockstars and a boat is a great combination”

“It’s okay we won’t go too hard, at least one of us won’t, I guess. Anyway, you were raised on a boat? Like a houseboat or something?”

“No, my dad was a skipper. Whenever he was home from trips, he would teach my and my siblings to sail. Y’know the whole nine yards, all the different knots, pulling in the ropes, steering, navigating charts. It’s just been a while since I’ve been on one and I hope I can remember everything”

“Gosh you are fabulous, my dear, I learn something new about you everyday” Jimmy said, pulling me in for a kiss. There was a loud bang of the engine, which we both jumped apart at.

“What the fuck are they at now, Christ” Jimmy sighed.

“Here, go set down our stuff in the biggest room, I’ll go see what they’re messing with”

We both parted, Jimmy heading downstairs, myself climbing onto the helm.

“Oi, Bonz, Percy, step away from the wheel until I get us out of this parking lot” I commanded. Both Robert and Bonzo looked at me funny, before slowly raising their arms and stepping away.

“And you know better?” Bonzo asked, still not sure where my bossiness came from.

“I think I do, unless you have your skipper license on hand?”

“Wait, you have a sailing license?” Robert interjected.

“I actually don’t, but I know everything you need to not drown. My father was a sailor and he taught me how to run a boat. Thank god we have a motorboat, as we might’ve been a little trouble if we have a proper sailing yacht. If we were, it wouldn’t have been as relaxing as simply steering a wheel” I answered, switching the engine on.

We warmed up the engine for a couple minutes, then casted off and finally escaped the madness of the marina. Soon were out on the French coastline. We continued sailing perpendicular to the coast, not wanting to stray too far. All the boys took turns steering, with Jonesy being the best skipper in-training out of all of them. Only once had we had anchored the boat again was the real party going to start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

if only sailing was this easy in reality 😒

anyway I’m gonna do a spicier part 2 riiight now😎

leave any comments/ideas down below!!!!

navigation

tag list : @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @princesspagey @dreamersdrowse

#led zeppelin #led zeppelin x reader #jimmy page #john bonham #john paul jones #robert plant

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pkg4mumtown · 3 years ago

Text

Signs of Attachment - Ch. 2

Summary: Having an auditory processing disorder never slowed you down, but it mean you were confined to the Temple when the Clone Wars started. Will the frustration of not understanding people at times make for a rather lonely existence?

Chapter 1

Pairing: Obi-Wan/Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G (for now)

Warnings: Hard of Hearing Reader, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader

Taglist: @trash-dino-5000

A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s read and been super kind so far!!

Just a reminder:

“Text.” Means someone is speaking.

“Text.” Means someone is speaking and signing.

Text, Means someone is signing.

Chapter 2 - Challenge Each Other

Over the next few days, I mysteriously started seeing Obi-Wan more and more. Thankfully, not because he was continually being injured, but on my route to the Halls of Healing in the morning. I’d never come across him on my journey before, surely I would have remembered his face among the other Jedi I normally see on my route.

I had first noticed him a couple days after his healing, his bright auburn hair standing out in a crowd. I paid him no mind, though, thinking he just happened to be passing through to a different part of the temple. It wasn’t until I saw a hand flapping up and down and a distant call of my name that I realized Obi-Wan was much closer to me now. It was easy to lose his signature, which I was not entirely familiar with despite having my own force so intertwined with him during the healing, amongst the crowd of Jedi. His face brightened as I finally laid eyes on him, his stride slowing considerably so as not to pass too quickly. Before I could wonder why he was so intent on staying in front of me, he surprised me.

Good morning, Obi-Wan signed slightly clumsily but the sign was right nonetheless.

An echo of his voice saying, “Good Morning, Y/N,” floated through the sea of chatting Jedi, noisy boots, and giggling Padawans. His smile at my shocked face barely registered before he was picking up his stride again and disappearing into the crowd.

This continued every morning that he was at the temple, allowing me time to discern his signature and become familiar with it. I could feel when the crowd was missing just that bit of extra brightness and serenity. After the first time, my shock wore away and I had the brain capacity to respond.

Good morning, he signed rather smugly.

Good morning, how are you? I signed back, delighting when he had no idea how to respond. It was only a few more signs but to a beginner, it was a lot. You need to keep studying, I smirked and left him there in the walkway.

Obi-Wan did just that, signing something different every day and impressing me to no end. Was the Council slacking on his missions? This man had far too much time on his hands to be learning a whole new language on top of the ones he already knew. Clearly, his Padawan was picking up a few signs as well, because when I would see both of them together, Anakin always signed a quick greeting accompanied by a knowing smile.

Months passed and I almost envied how well Obi-Wan was taking to BSL because he was just so good at everything. He would stop by when he was at the temple to brush up on his conversational skills with me or ask for pointers or help. I tried not to speak when I was helping him so he wouldn’t rely on speech to translate what I had signed. His nose would scrunch when I laughed at him for a messed-up sign, but I always helped him after or demonstrated. He was a perfectionist to say the least.

I packed away my data pad, making sure the rest of the examination room was in order before leaving the Halls of Healing for the day. I felt Ob-Wan’s force signature moving quickly in my direction, only for him to be right outside the door as I was ready to walk out.

“Obi-Wan,” I nodded at him, stepping out and round him, What can I do for you?

“Sparring? I wanted to show my Padawan that the rumors of you were true,” Obi-Wan smirked, falling into speaking and signing, which he had picked up from me when he saw me having a conversation with Master Plo.

“Like a glorified party trick, Master Kenobi? I’m offended,” I knocked my shoulder against his as we had started walking and I could no longer see his signs.

“Don’t pretend like you won’t enjoy it,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He had caught me training with my ears covered and a training mask on one morning with droids, with me seemingly unaware of the crowd I had amassed but he knew I could feel all the signatures around me gathering to watch.

“I wasn’t going to deny that part, Obi-Wan, but who will I be fighting?”

“Me,” he revealed arrogantly and strode ahead of me.

When we reached the salle that Anakin was in, I deposited my belongings and strode over to the stored equipment.

“Training sabers?” I asked Obi-Wan over my shoulder.

“It would ease my mind considerably,” he spoke and signed in case I couldn’t quite hear him.

“Scaredy loth-cat,” I called back.

Rude, he replied.

“My old Master uses the same form as you, Anakin, so naturally I learned it, too. I’ll use it here so you can see how you, too, can blindly defeat Master Kenobi,” I smirked, placing ear plugs in before Anakin could respond.

Arrogance already? Obi-Wan shook his head.

Pulled the training helmet over my head, not closing the visor yet, so I could still see.

It’s called confidence. See you soon, I smirked and slapped the visor down over my eyes.

With my vision cut off, I took a deep, calming breath and felt out with the force. I suppose it could be compared to Obi-Wan's battle meditation that I’d heard spoken about recently, but with a lack of certain senses. I had started training this way as a Padawan, when Master Plo discovered how much my disorder confused me as I fought. It started with ear plugs and graduated to both ear plugs and a training helmet by the time I was an adult. I could see Obi-Wan through the force, not quite exactly how he looks with my eyes, but his overall shape and signature flaring out from him, with his training saber as an extension of that. That, along with the force guiding me, allowed me to fight as if nothing was wrong and, in some cases, better than if I wasn’t blinded because of all of the visual distractions.

I ignited my own training saber and dropped into the starting stance for Form V, while he automatically dropped into Form III. With a nod from me, we started circling one another. I attacked first, wanting to get a feel for his form. While I had studied about it, I had never fought anyone who used it. He blocked every hit with ease, as was expected, and I knew I had to be careful because he could block all day with this form.

Obi-Wan would have to attack at some point, so I tried to bait him into it, not an easy task but it was easier than tiring myself out against his defense. Finally, when he did attack, he took a few quick steps forward so I let my saber go long enough to tug him forward with the force. He stumbled, allowing me to strike but he was able to block, recover and step back.

“Don’t go easy on me, now, Kenobi,” I taunted, or at least I hoped it sounded that way since I couldn’t hear myself.

His signature flared competitively, so I knew my words had worked. From then, he was less defensive, which worked in my favor even noticing that he slipped into his old Master's form a few times. He kept himself mobile, which wasn’t harder for me to track but I had to be aware of my footing and balance more. Obi-Wan ended up behind me, potentially thinking he had the upper hand because I was still facing the opposite way, but I felt his strike through the force before it had even been executed. I blocked my back easily and spun around, surprising him with a few more attacks. I had been so focused on overwhelming him that I didn’t notice his hand draw back before I was being force pushed away so hard that I fell backwards as I landed.

I kicked myself up back to my feet quickly when I felt his force signature charging at me. I blocked too late while steadying myself, his rush turning into a disarm so quickly that I barely dodged his next attack. I slid and jumped away to put some distance between us, my saber having flown too far away to pull it to me without him intercepting.

I dropped into a hand-to-hand stance, keeping my hands close to my body. Smugness rolled off Obi-Wan in waves as he stalked toward me. Until…

His training saber disappeared from his signature and his defense dropped. His posture straightened back to normal, his head turned to the side like he was speaking to someone, Anakin probably. I turned in the direction he faced, yes, definitely Anakin.

“Hey, I haven’t yielded yet!” I called out.

Obi-Wan’s head turned toward me in surprise, seeing me still in a fighting stance. He turned his head back toward Anakin briefly.

“Less chit chat, more fighting,” I said impatiently.

Obi-Wan dropped back into a starting stance, hesitantly this time because I was still disarmed. His saber ignited, flaring back up with his signature.

Good boy, I signed, noticing a slight waver in his stance as I did.

With me still disarmed, he was less guarded and more aggressive in attacking. I kept light on my feet, dodging where I could but there was no way I’d land anything without a proper deflection. So, I baited my time and waited until he swung at me head on. I deflected his hand to one side and forward with the force and stepped to the opposite side, bending his wrist enough to drop the saber and using my other hand to force push it away. I grappled him to the floor, easy when he was so surprised, not feeling much resistance until he was nearly on his back. I kept hold of his hand and slung a leg over his neck and another around his torso, using the force to help me yank his arm back toward me into an arm bar.

The force swirled around the both of us, using it to fight the strength of the other. I pushed my leg further against his neck, but gently so, not wanting to actually hurt him. That extra push did the trick, cutting off his air for a few seconds until I felt an incessant tapping against my leg.

I immediately released him, and moved my legs off his body, flopping on my own back to catch my breath. I ripped the training helmet off and caught my breath, not realizing how tired and sweaty I was from all the jumping and dodging until now.

My eyes fluttered open, a concerned Obi-Wan staring back at me as soon as I opened them. His chest was still heaving slightly, his cheeks red and damp. His hair was darker, soaked with sweat and plastered to his forehead. He was a sight. I stared up at him, looking dazed out of my mind but it was really all because of him.

Are you okay? He signed.

I couldn’t even pick my arms up to sign back, “Just give me a minute. I’m tired.”

A grin spread over his face, a soft shake of his head barely moving the damp hair from his forehead. Obi-Wan put a comforting hand on my forearm, before standing up on shaky legs.

He held a hand out to me to help pull me up, immediately seeing Anakin picking up the training sabers and helmet and putting them away.

Obi-Wan helped me over to some benches on the side, both of us collapsing next to each other.

That was so—awesome! Anakin signed as he came back, stumbling over how to sign “awesome”, which he failed at but I understood it anyway.

I didn’t want to take my ear plugs out yet, knowing the sound of my blood rushing through my ears would drown out everything anyway. When my adrenaline died down, I’d take them out.

Thank you, I bowed my head to Anakin. I turned my body toward Obi-Wan, How's your shoulder?

Fine, he replied, his face indicating that he wasn’t too worried about it. I watched him rotate and stretch it a bit to test. A little discomfort but not bad.

Can I? I asked, reaching my hand out until it was hovering over his shoulder.

He shook his head violently, You’re tired and drained, you’re going to hurt yourself.

I moved to sign back but he put his hand over mine.

If it hurts tomorrow, yes, he raised his eyebrows and smiled so I would stop worrying.

I nodded and turned back toward Anakin, who was staring at the both of us suspiciously with a smirk. He opened his mouth, clearly talking to Obi-Wan because of the direction of his head. I glanced at Obi-Wan, who was unusually slouched in his seat out of weariness, but was responding to Anakin. He nodded to something his Padawan said, promptly followed by an eye roll. He waved his Padawan away, the younger of which laughed brightly and took off with a group of Padawans standing off to the side. You had been so focused on beating Obi-Wan that the crowd barely registered in your head.

How was that? I smiled tiredly, barely angling my head toward him.

His head was lolled to the side to face me, his hands lazily hovering to sign, Better than I could have imagined.

You imagined me pinning you on the floor? I laughed, covering my mouth because it was a fairly wild laugh as the implication of what I signed dawned on me.

Obi-Wan was still deciphering, but I knew he had understood when he went red from the neck up to his cheeks.

Oh, stop. You know what I meant! He signed frustratedly at being embarrassed.

I nodded with mock sympathy, nodding my head gently and patting his hand.

You’re terrible, he shook his head, a smirk coming back to his lips. I’ll walk you back to your quarters.

What a gentleman, I signed as he stood and offered me his hand.

I gathered the belongings I had come with and looped my arm though his, both of us leaning on each other for support as we hobbled out of the salle.

Chapter 3

#obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan kenobi #gender neutral y/n #gender Neutral reader #gn!reader #gn!mc #hard of hearing reader

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dalekofchaos · 4 years ago

Text

The Jedi are not pacifists

I hate the claim that Luke on Crait in TLJ was the most “Jedi like” in The Last Jedi and I resent the claim that the Jedi are pacifists.

Pacifism is defined by the belief that any violence, including war, is unjustifiable under any circumstances, and that all disputes should be settled by peaceful means.

The Jedi believe in diplomacy. But will defend themselves and the innocent by any means necessary.

Jedi aren’t pacifists. Anyone who thinks they are is deluded. They are like Samurai/Hospitaller Knights. They don’t want to fight but they will and will do what must be done to protect the innocent from evil and tyranny.

The Jedi prefer to be pacifistic. Mace Windu says in Clones, "We are keepers of the peace, not soldiers," and as others have pointed out, the Jedi at the beginning of Phantom are on a diplomatic mission, and Yoda advises in Empire that a Jedi uses his abilities for defense, not for attack, which is a lesson Luke takes to heart in RotJ when he abandons his weapon to save his father's soul. The movies seem to be saying that violence in the name of good is defensible (and certainly it makes for exciting action) and sometimes the best move, but peaceful acts are the ideal.

A lot of fans seem to think the Jedi were wrong for fighting in the Clone Wars. The problem isn’t that the Jedi fought in The Clone Wars. The problem is that they willingly became tools of the Republic and by extension, Palpatine.

It was more because they became TOO violent and allowed themselves to be weaponized for military operations in war, which Bariss felt distracted the Jedi from the Light. It was not because they practiced violence, PERIOD. She saw how the Jedi's transition from keepers of the peace to soldiers (No matter how much they claimed they weren't) was corrupting their ideology and contributing to the Republic's deterioration. Ahsoka admitted in Rebels that she agreed with this despite not condoning Bariss' methods to address the issue.

People often misunderstand Yoda's quote to Luke that "a Jedi uses the Force for knowledge or defense, NEVER attack". I've seen "NEVER attack" interpreted as meaning a true Jedi NEVER engages in combat at all unless attacked first. This is an overly literal interpretation, however, which grossly oversimplifies Jedi philosophy and leaves out crucial nuance that was present even back in 1977.

"Defense" does not apply solely to Jedi defending themselves. A Jedi's duty is to "defend" others as well, such as those who are suffering at the hands of those who use the Dark Side to oppress the weak. Sometimes, the best defense IS offense, and Jedi must be willing to embrace that paradox so long as they can maintain balance in doing so. The lightsaber is identified by Obi-Wan himself in the first film as "a weapon", and a weapon's purpose (Whatever pretty philosophies we give it) is to do violence. There is no denying that the lightsaber is made to kill. That in itself is established fact.

By definition, it is NOT something a pacifist would have any use for. Remember when Obi-Wan protected Luke from Cornelius Evazan & Baba by slicing off the latter's arm? THAT is a Jedi's meaning of "defense". Obi-Wan tried diplomacy first, only igniting his weapon when he recognized that there was no viable alternative. Had he not fought back (as a devout pacifist would refuse to), Luke could have been killed.

Also. Obi-Wan guided Luke into destroying the Death Star. Luke fought to save Han and his friends from Jabba. The Jedi fought against Sith, pirates, gangs and warmonger Empires to protect the Republic and the innocent.

Also in all films Evil has been defeated with violence from the Death Stars to the Emperor himself. Starkiller base is destroyed in the same way. Holdo saves the Rebels by ramming the FO and killing thousands.

Luke throwing away his lightsaber in RotJ also wasn‘t an act of pacifism. It was him refusing to kill an unarmed, broken old man and thus not turning to the dark side.

The movies portray them as heroic acts and we are meant to cheer. And the fans do cheer and love that stuff. Even the ones I mentioned in the beginning. But then the same fans say the Jedi shouldn't fight. Why? Are we meant to celebrate the violence of every other good guy except the Jedi?

George Lucas inspiration for the Jedi are Medieval Knights, Samurai, as well as Religion such as Buddhism and Taoism. So while Religion does not condone violence, they are warriors by having influence from Samurai and Knights. I mean, the Jedi are LITERALLY called Knights in fucking Star Wars. They are called Jedi Knights, not Jedi Hippies.

It's almost like they are called Jedi 'Knights' for a reason. Keepers of peace. Of course they would like to resolve things as peaceful as possible, but at the end of the day, They will do what they must to protect the innocent.

And I don't what to hear the “Grey Jedi” argument. The force in balance isn’t having both light and dark like yin and yang. Light Side IS the balance. The Dark Side was a perversion of the natural world, an attempt by others to twist it for their own reasons. This is pretty important. What the Jedi Order call “balance” is not the middle point between dark and light side, its the absence of Dark Side use. Traditional Jedi were keen to keep the Force “in balance”. They attempted to achieve this by destroying the Sith and denying the dark side—essentially “keeping balance” by restoring the Force to its natural state, as they viewed the dark side as “corruption”. The idea of balance of the Force, a central tenet of the Jedi Order, refers to the ideal state in which the Force exists in nature, i.e. as the light side. The presence of the dark side corrupts and destroys this natural balance, and the Jedi viewed it as their duty to restore it. Finally As from Georges Lucas’s intention Many fans incorrectly assume that balance refers to an equal mix of both light and dark side users. However, as George Lucas explains in the introductory documentary for the VHS version A New Hope, Special Edition, this is not the case:“[…] Which brings us up to the films 4, 5, and 6, in which Anakin’s offspring redeem him and allow him to fulfill the prophecy where he brings balance to the Force by doing away with the Sith and getting rid of evil in the universe…"In an interview, Lucas compared the difference between the light and dark sides as being like the difference between a symbiotic relationship and a cancer. A symbiotic relationship is one which benefits both parties and in which neither is harmed, whereas a cancer takes without giving back, eventually causing the death of both parties

According to The Last Jedi, you must let evil flourish and never fight them. But you can only confront evil if you are a distraction and just stall, never fight to defend the innocent.

To be more specific, it is what they say about Luke on Crait, that he did the "most Jedi thing ever" by not killing people.

But it wasn't. The most Jedi thing would be diplomacy and negotiations to end the conflict for good without bloodshed. What he did merely postponed the conflict to a few days later.

What Luke did was just stall for 5 minutes, allow his allies to escape and then KILL the First Order later. His intentions weren't pacifistic. He just left the hard and dirty work to others. Killing bad guys would be equally and more "Jedi" since he at least contributed something and did some damage.

Hot take. Luke Skywalker physically being there to confront Kylo Ren would’ve been the most “Jedi thing” he would essentially be doing his job. Defending the innocent, stopping a tyrannical neo-fascist empire and stopping the rise of darkness.

art source

True he would not kill his nephew. But showing Luke as a powerful Jedi Master is what the movie needed. Show him sending the blaster bolts right back at the AT-M6s, show him bring down the TIES, transports and properly facing Kylo Ren in a duel. They say the same speeches as in the movie. and when they are finished talking, Kylo makes for his dramatic slut lunge and Luke chops his hand off.

Then Luke would disappear and tell his nephew “see you around kid”

This would accomplice three things

The First Order’s army is in shambles and would take them a long time to recover, thus allowing the heroes to escape. Their new Supreme Leader is defeated, thus giving hope to the galaxy. And Luke will actually be able to pass on what he learned to Rey and Finn.

Honestly....why are fans so against showing Luke Skywalker as a powerful Jedi Grandmaster? Why was Han Solo allowed to look badass and take names as a seasoned smuggler and general and why is Leia able to look like a somewhat mentor like figure, but Luke suddenly cannot pick himself up, appear in person to Leia, confront Kylo in person and properly train Rey?

The logic of the fans who want to view the Jedi as pacifist is that they want the Sith and all sorts of criminals and warlords to go unchecked and never confront evil. Good people can come and rise up to face this evil, but apparently the Jedi must be pacifists in their eyes.

The ideal Jedi is like Martial Monks. Like Japanese Soheis.

They should meditate and be peaceful and always try negotiation to resolve conflict. But once conflict is inevitable, they should be able to act and enforce their judgement, violently, if necessary.

You may be asking how is that different from Sith? The difference is that Sith enforce their will upon others, without and indeed unwilling to negotiate first. Also, they need acne medication.

The Jedi have never been pacifists. They are Knights Of The Old Republic for a reason. Stopping the Sith at every turn. I don’t remember them ever being referred to as pacifists. They were “Guardians of the Peace”, that doesn’t mean they were always peaceful. To maintain peace, sometimes you have to fight those that threaten it.

#Star Wars #Jedi #Luke Skywalker #Anti TLJ #Anti Rian Johnson

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ncssian · 4 years ago

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family therapy

summary: cassian is sick of watching nesta and lucien fight all the time, and decides they need professional help. (oneshot)

a/n: this takes place in the same crescent city universe (not a crossover just an au) as this oneshot. you don't need to read that one to understand this one, but they exist in the same world/timeline.

"And how does that make you feel, Lucien?"

"It makes me feel like I dislocated a shoulder, because I did," the fae male grumbled.

Nesta scoffed without looking at him. "You're such a pussy."

"Can't be worse than being an insufferable bitch."

From his spot in the corner of the room, Cassian's jaw ticked at the insult, but he kept his mouth shut. The therapist, Helen, gave Nesta and Lucien a firm look. "What did we agree to about communication in my office?"

A few moments of silence, then Lucien muttered, "Sorry." Nesta echoed him.

"Don't say it to me," Helen said in her smooth tone. "Say it to each other."

"I'm good," Nesta said.

"Nesta." The low warning came out of Cassian's mouth before he could help it. Helen turned to look at him for the first time all session. "And who are you again?" she asked, confused.

Cassian flustered, wanting to be left out of this as much as possible. "I'm her ride," he said honestly. His massive dove-gray wings explained the rest.

Lucien snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Okay, I've had about enough of you—" Nesta grabbed for a couch pillow to smack Lucien with.

It was plucked out of her hand before it could make contact with Lucien's scarred face. Nesta whirled on Cassian, glaring. "You promised you'd stay out of this," she hissed.

"I'm paying for this session," he said simply, the calm to her raging fire.

Helen was eyeing all three of them like she didn't get paid enough for this, but she pursed her lips and waited until everybody had settled before speaking again.

"Now," she said tersely, "why don't we start at the beginning?"

***

It was Elain's birthday party, and this year she'd wanted a rager. Lucien, ever the dedicated male, had set up a fine enough party using his dad's money and extensive list of rich friends.

Nesta wrinkled her nose at a pair of grinding werewolves as she walked through the crowded living room, wondering where her sister was in the midst of all this. Cassian's presence was a warm force at her back, keeping her from getting smothered by random Vanir on all sides. She self-consciously tucked the skirt of her minidress down, wishing she hadn't worn white when so many...liquids were sloshing around.

In the dim pink light of the room, she caught a flash of gold and red near the cake table. Her eyes narrowed, locked onto its target, and she sped up her walk until she was face to face with Lucien Vanserra.

"Nice whorefest you've set up, kid."

Lucien turned to her with a fake smile, ready to fight instantly. "Nesta," he greeted sweetly. "Still beating that joke to death, I see."

Years ago, when Nesta had been drunk and feeling particularly vengeful, she'd found herself taking Lucien's father, Helion, to bed. Even now, she liked to remind Lucien of it every now and then by making stepmom jokes at him. And she wasn't about to stop.

"It's not a joke." Nesta didn't bother with the fake smiles. "It's part of my very real multistep plan to marry your dad, make Cassian my lover on the side, become your stepmother, and ruin your life by inches."

"I think you overestimate your ability to ruin my life any more than you already have." Lucien poured something bloodred into a plastic cup. Was he drinking wine at a rager? Gods, she hated him.

"Where is Elain?" she snapped.

"With her friends. You know, because she actually has them."

Nesta sneered. "When are you planning on breaking up with her so she can lead a better life?"

Lucien raised his cup in announcement. "Around the same time you plan on quitting being such a bitch." And then, he tipped over his cup. Wine poured all over the front of her dress, dribbling into her cleavage and soaking her bra. He looked Nesta in the eye. "So, never."

Nesta didn't blink. She didn't know where Cassian had gone off to, and she didn't care. Without looking away from Lucien, she plunged her hand into the three-tier cake on the table— Elain's birthday cake. "This," she smeared the chunk of cake across Lucien's face, "is why your family doesn't love you." She shook clumps of frosting off her hand.

If Lucien was hurt by her words, he hid it well with a smirk. "That's not what your sister was saying last night—"

At that moment, Nesta headbutted him— she rammed into his torso and took him all the way into the wall, then the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he spluttered beneath her, trying to fend off her tiny hands as they slapped at his chest.

"Fuck you!" Nesta screamed at him.

If people hadn't been watching before, they definitely were now. Out of the corner of her eye. Nesta could see Cassian appear at the edge of the crowd, spot Nesta beating the shit out of Lucien, and then immediately turn around to mind his own business.

Good. He knew better than to interfere when it came to Lucien.

Lucien, being taller and stronger, managed to shove Nesta off his body and into the cake table, but before he could pounce and elevate the fight even further, he was hauled backwards by a pair of small hands.

"What the hell is going on here?" dainty Elain Archeron roared.

***

"And where is Elain in all of this?" Helen asked.

"She stayed home, lest this get any more incestuous than it already is." Lucien crossed his bare arms over his chest.

Cassian snorted at the word "lest", because really, who used that in their everyday vocabulary if they weren't Nesta?

Lucien narrowed his eyes at him, one russet and one gold. "What's so funny, angel?"

Cassian had to reign in his smile. "You talk like Nesta," he said. "And sometimes Nesta talks like you."

"That's stupid," Lucien said at the same time Nesta said, "Don't be stupid, Cassian."

The pair glared at each other, only to instantly look away.

"Well." Helen inhaled a deep breath and looked at her notes. "There are a few things I'd like to touch on during this session, especially after what I've heard about this birthday party." She glanced up at Nesta and Lucien. "You two used to be fairly good friends. Can you pinpoint when the animosity began?"

"Well," Lucien pretended to think, "it might have something to do with the time she fucked my dad."

Nesta scoffed. "Like you sleeping with my sister is any better."

"Which happened first?" Helen asked.

Nesta was silent, which was answer enough. Cassian would have rather been anywhere else than discussing Nesta's past sex life, but he knew she needed this.

"Nesta, what was your reasoning behind this?"

Cassian knew this answer, but he didn't know if Nesta would admit it.

Her blue-gray eyes burned with indignant rage. "Do I need a reason? I liked him, I was of age, so I slept with him."

Lucien shook his head. "I'm surprised you stopped at my father. You could've gone through all my brothers, too. Remember that crush you had on Eris?"

Nesta gasped, looking at Lucien with horror and— embarrassment. Cassian narrowed his eyes, torn between being offended on his girlfriend's behalf and being intrigued by this new piece of information.

"You promised you would never tell anybody," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. Lucien squinted at her. "Are you crying?"

"No!" Nesta blinked furiously.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Helen assured her. "But Nesta, I have a feeling you're not being entirely honest with us, and we can't get anywhere without honesty."

Nesta glared with red eyes at the wall, and Cassian met Lucien's gaze and held up his hand in a wait gesture.

Once Nesta was decidedly calm, she let out a breath and grumbled, "He was my first friend."

Lucien glanced at her, surprised, but didn't say anything.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "When we moved to Crescent City, he was my only friend, and I thought we liked each other. I thought we understood each other, but then he— " she swung her glare around to Lucien, "was just using me to get to my sister."

"That's not—"

"This is Nesta's turn to speak, Lucien," Helen cut him off.

Nesta was talking to Lucien now. "The showing up at my house late with beer, hanging around with me all the time while your friends were out having a life— it was all so you could get closer to Elain, because she trusted anybody I liked and you knew it."

Lucien's mouth tightened. "That's why you slept with my dad? Because I took Elain out on a date and you wanted revenge?"

"You forgot about me as soon as you had her. We were drifting apart long before I did anything with Helion, trust me."

Lucien was quiet for a long time. "It's true that I liked Elain from the day you all moved in down the street," he finally said. "But she was never my friend the way you were. And just because I liked spending time with her doesn't mean I didn't like spending time with you. It's comparing apples and oranges; I loved you both."

Nesta blinked. "But you don't anymore?"

Lucien didn't answer, and eventually Helen cleared her throat. "I'm really proud of the progress we just made, but I'm afraid our time is up."

Cassian sat up at that. "You can't cut them off here, they just had a—" he waved his hand, "breakthrough or something."

"And it was very powerful," Helen nodded. "Which is why I suggest going home and reflecting on what we learned today until our next session."

It was Nesta and Lucien's turns to sit up. "There's another session?" she demanded.

"As many as it takes until you two are at a healthy place with each other again." Helen smiled in a polite way that surely made Nesta feral, Cassian knew. He had a suspicion that his pockets wouldn't see the end of this.

Lucien was already getting to his feet and stretching. "Yeah, maybe we should just hug and make up now and call it a day."

At the look of blatant disgust on Nesta's face, he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe not, damn."

Helen got up and smiled that fake smile again. "See you next week." She turned to Cassian. "Should I email you the invoice now or later?"

***

Despite the day's revelations, Nesta and Lucien didn't last a minute once they left the therapist's office. Or rather it was because of the recent revelations, that they felt the need to return to normal.

"You look like such a douchebag in those shirts," Nesta snapped.

"It's just a shirt!"

"WHERE ARE THE SLEEVES?"

"Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who's boyfriend only wears black like it's wartime!"

Cassian didn't think that was fair. His shirt was dark gray today.

Nesta and Lucien's voices blended into one jumbled shouting match as they furiously walked out of the building.

"You know what, don't even bother calling me for our weekly recaps this time."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I'm blocking your number right now." Nesta was digging her phone out of her bag.

"Good," Lucien seethed. "Text me when you get home safe before you do it!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

They spun on their heels at the same time, Lucien storming away in one direction while Nesta did her furious little speedwalk towards Cassian in the other.

At the end of the street, Cassian gathered Nesta in his arms as he prepared to fly them home. "Why can't you just tell him you care for him like you do with your sisters?"

Nesta braced her hands on Cassian's biceps and glared. "Because he's not like my sisters. He's a male."

Cassian's lips quirked up in amusement. "So like a brother?"

Nesta grumbled something unintelligible, but she didn't deny it. Cassian had a feeling she wouldn't be blocking Lucien's number anytime soon. Still, he was proud of the progress she had made today.

Dropping a kiss onto her hair, he spread his wings wide and shot them into the sky.

***

a/n: i said bryce and ruhn but make it nesta and lucien. also the fight scene was better with shiv and roman from succession 😭 hope you guys liked it.

if i was supposed to tag you but didn't or if i wasn't supposed to and i did, it's probably because i have you on the wrong tag list! just shoot me a message so we can fix that.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @clolikescloquetas

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #lucien vanserra #ncssianwrites #nessian au #nessian fic

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critical-ramblings · 5 years ago

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Hunger Games AU

It has to be a Quarter Quell, because there's too much trauma in these assholes to be fresh to the Games. Instead, each of them are victors of their different years.

None of them expected it to be Bren. He was maybe the smartest of them, but the softest too. In the 64th Hunger Games, Bren Ermendrud won with a fire-trap that worked too well. He netted the highest kill-count in that game, with six tributes caught in the blaze. Including his teammates, which everyone in the Capitol assumes was on purpose.

Fjord is from the same district as Finnick (4), and honestly won his Games the same way. He was always popular in the Capitol, with a talented stylist that made his unusual skin condition a feature rather than a flaw. They would always say his patron was Uk'otoa, though, a reclusive millionaire who appears only at events with Fjord on his arm.

Yasha is a Victor from District 9, which we don't know much about except that it produces most of Panem's grain. (Wide open spaces and green-tinted storms are her life blood). She was always big and, in her Games, brutal, but often claims not to remember much of it. She is one of the most reclusive of the Victors, rarely making appearances and even more rarely escaping them without bloodshed. Capitol parties learned not to make invitations that couldn't be refused--not if they wanted the building to be standing afterwards.

The one exception to this was always Obann, who bought her the greatsword she used to dismember a great many tributes in the arena. He delights in using that debt to make her behave, but even he knows not to do it very often.

I'm not quite sure what to do with Molly. I mean, it was Lucien who won the Games. And Lucien was a trickster, who won by poisoning the last two other tributes who thought they had him outnumbered. Molly has only existed for two years, and the whispers in the Capitol are that he's even more reckless than his last self. Originally from District 8 (the textile district), he is not open about what led to his adopting the Mollymauk persona. The only clue is in his total absence from Capitol gossip for several months...

Nott won her Games by dying. Or, almost. She was caught by a Pack of Careers, all of them laughing as they each took a wrist or ankle and held her down in the water. She claims it wasn't her who set off the Gamemaker trap that turned the water to acid--but the truth is somehow she didn't die of it, and the Pack did. Requiring one of the most extensive reconstructions the Capitol is capable of, they did not consult her on....any of the choices they made. Trapped in what the Capitol thought of as a body worthy of a Victor, she shuns public appearances and even mentoring later tributes from her district (11).

Caduceus won his Games like all the rest of them. He's got just as much blood on his hands--and it's not that he won't admit it. He just took a different relationship to death than most. Originally from District 12, he lost his family in a mine collapse and only swore he'd follow them. He was 18 when he was chosen for the Games, almost clear. Almost in the clear.

He was never angry at the other tributes. It was what set him apart, in all the videos. A cold calm when he beat someone over the head with a long stick, a hum almost like a lullaby when he came across a tribute already dying.

He doesn't make many appearances, and frankly makes for bad viewing by Capitol standards. Mostly they leave him alone now, him and his garden alone in Victor's Village. That is, until Beau comes along.

Beau is the closest to the Mockingjay as you can get. She's scraping herself out of a bad homelife in the townie part of District 12, her family well off but just as shitty as canon. She's more than ready to die in the Games, if only it wouldn't make TJ sad. He's a little older here, she knows him a little more. Even knowing what he is--her replacement, an actual son--she sneaks him cookies when no one's looking and is in general a terrible influence.

She and Jester are in the same Games. They're not from the same district, but they're just as star-crossed as any canon couple.

The boy tribute from her district is Bryce. They shrug when Beau might have asked if a mistake was made, because Bryce had always been stuck on kid-watching duty like her.

They both know better than to get attached.

Jester is a pampered daughter from District 1, her only public appearance being the Reaping once a year. And even then she's usually lost in the crowd. Until the year she plays that prank on Mr. Sharpe, who might not be a Gamemaker himself, but he knows people. And when her name gets drawn, she's still not afraid, because District 1 is full of people who want to go to the Hunger Games. Who want all that blood and glory.

but the stands are silent. She doesn't even stand up at first, just looks around waiting to see who'll volunteer.

A Peacekeeper in sparkling white has to come down to her row and hold out a hand, beckoning her forward, before it starts to sink in. Jester spins around to look for her mother, up in a box with a good view like always. Marion is holding a handkerchief over her mouth, one hand clutching the railing like she's about to leap over. but she doesn't.

Slowly, amidst the growing whispers and snickers, Jester gets to her feet. She looks around at the other girls, separated into age-groups by tiers. All of them are staring at her. Some of them are hungry, some are pitying. Some are sneering, scoffing at her hesitation.

Jester swallows. Twice. Then she straightens her shoulders, smiles up at her Mama, and takes the Peacekeeper's hand with all the grace of a princess.

Lorenzo is the male tribute from her district.

#cr #critical role #hunger games au #beaujester #beaujester sequel post coming soon #long post

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hughiecampbelle · 4 years ago

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Miserable Pt. One (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas, Grace mentioned

Word Count: 1, 184

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy

A/N: I know I haven't written in a while, and it's so frustrating. Everytime I sit down with an idea I end up hating it. Tbh, I kinda hate this. I'm hesitant to post it, too. Even typing this, I question if I should delete it all and act like it never happened. I know it's just mental health getting in the way, making it hard to be confident or excited, even hard to write. It just has to be that way sometimes, y'know? But I can't let it get in the way :) so I've already planned a part two. Despite what I may think or feel, I know if only one person likes this, it'll feel worth it. Or it can make someone who's feeling the same way know it's not their writing, it's just their mind making them doubt themselves. 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @nofckingfighting :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There was no better love that followed than one with tragedy. Loss. Sorrow. Grief. There was death, an everlasting want for one last touch, a kiss, a desire to put into words these indescribable feelings. Poison lips and infinite wounds, the edge of the universe sliced apart. Too much red. Too much fear. There was a beauty to it all, a want, a romanticized story stitched together, putting it in the heads of children that this what they wanted: to know, at the end of it all, only one is left standing. This wasn't that, though. This wasn't a grave plot for two. This was murder. Homicide. And the knife was in his hands. He could plea all he wanted, try to convince the world he was an innocent man, that the blood on his hands was not yours, but the rest of the worlds, as if there were a difference. He could do all he wanted, but there was no denying it. It didn't matter if he meant to or not, the second you stepped down the aisle, he was leading you to the underworld. A shallow hole in the ground. Your final resting place.

The mother of his child. The love of his life. Time could heal wounds, but he was made of scar tissue. Hard, faint, scared of being ripped open again. Flinching at the sharpest of sounds. He didn't have to question if he'd ever get over her, the answer was clear. To him, to the family, to strangers simply passing on the street. By the grace of God, if he believed in such a thing. Grace. A name that made his gums bleed, his muscles tense, his head ache. His Grace, the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. If he'd known she was there, he would have said something. Made a deal with Death herself, someone he'd become an old friend with. Take a walk with her, laugh the way they used to, show her he wasn't scared of her anymore the way he had as a boy. Take him, not her. He was living on borrowed time, regardless. But she was always tricky. Kissing his cheek. Biting his lip. Killing his wife instead.

Like any deal he'd ever made, there were always consequences.

An eye for an eye. A life for a life. A loveless existence for a pretty paycheck.

That's what you were to them. Not flesh and bone, not a person with feelings, memories, you weren't a soul, but money. Paper bills and shiny eyes. An extension of business. A write off they could use later. You would take the Shelby name, binding the families til death would you part, sharing the wealth. Down the aisle, one step in front of the other. There was no one else, but him. A widower, a bachelor, both slept alone in a bed made for two. He refused. Blood boiling. White knuckled. Spine creaking, cracking, threatening to burst. They let him throw his tantrum, his office unrecognizable. Papers torn. Furniture overthrown. Broken glass, whiskey sticky on the floor. They let him brood, seep in his own anger, cook in his disbelief. Gave him space. No one had heard his voice for days, just the tap of his footsteps stalking past them, the smell of cigarettes sewed in his coat, the huff of his breath.

But when the time came, it was his turn to take one for the family.

Drunk because he could be, because it was the only way he could face the day. There was little you knew about him, the man who'd become your husband. A name, followed by gossip. Cheap talk, your mother scolded, whisking you away from the whispers. Nothing to believe, your father insisted. Naive, sheltered, unaware what they said was true. . . He wasn't what you pictured. The days leading up, you had dreams of who you'd find. Dimples? Freckled cheeks? Smile lines? He was none of that, the realization sinking in your gut, slapping you across the face with an open palm, as you made your way down the aisle. In front of you a family you didn't recognize, their eyes burning you alive. He stood before you, unsteady on his feet, the cold of his blood making your skin prickle. Behind his eyes, the storming skies you were sure, in another life, you could have loved, there was nothing. Disdain. Indifference. A hint of hatred.

You wanted to go back to sleep.

Find the man of your dreams and marry him instead.

You could never live up to her name. Finding your place, learning quickly you would never measure up to her. Pictures of her littered around his home, witnessing the slow corrosion of two people. Your wedding day was the last time you got a good look at him. Nights you spent alone, wasting, waiting up for him, knowing he would rather sleep at his desk than look you in the eyes and admit this was a mistake. His boy taken care of by nannies, maids, tutors, the very family that shared his blood. For a home so full, so well staffed, you saw so few faces. A haunted house, there to live, to breathe, but never to be seen, never spoken to, only about. Your name passed around during meetings, mistreated, turned into a fucking joke. Leaving behind your family, your friends, all your loved ones, for what? For this? The ring on your finger made empty promises. It laughed at those stories your mother read when you were a child, mocking you for ever believing in them. It cackled at the sight of an empty bed, of a full glass, at her smile, knowing whoever you were to him, your husband, you'd always be second best. You'd always thought you'd be married to your one true love, your soul mate. Your one chance to spend the rest of your life happily ever after.

Fuck. That.

You didn't want to be her, there was no need. The time alone, the way you hung from his arm at parties and events only to be shaken off the second onlookers were away, given the cold shoulder while he went out for a smoke. How you were hidden away from any business, the business your family was happily paying for, keeping the lights on and his pockets well lined. The snickers and whispers you received from your own family, from the rest of the world, when it was only you and the bottom of a wine bottle on your side to defend yourselves. You could hear them now. Poor thing, what a fool to marry Thomas Shelby. All of it, it made you jaded, jagged. The sweet, innocent, smiling face in those wedding pictures replaced by someone bitter, angrier, someone who was going to put this family in their place, show them you weren't some toy they could throw away after growing bored of.

He didn't love you, you didn't want him to, not anymore, but goddammit you were going to be heard.

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mshermia · 4 years ago

Text

Christmas Eve - At Peace

That holiday-themed story that I will totally blame @superherotiger for making me procrastinate with ;)

###

Just a couple of months after they defeated Thanos, Tony and Pepper throw a Christmas party. Instead of a partying kid, Tony finds his Spiderling outside in the snow at the grave he has been trying to ignore ever exists.

I'm using my own Fix-it to Endgame "Like You'd know how it works" as a basis for the timeline, though the prompt will work fine without having read that story. The important part is, that Tony's not dead.

Baseline: circa 5 months after Tony is brought back from the multiverse.

###

The sky above him was clear. No clouds. No moon. Above him only the stars. The stars, he still avoided looking at too much. It made the night a little colder, a little darker despite the white snowy blanket covering the hills and trees.

It wasn't that Tony minded the solitude, quite the opposite. That had been the idea behind moving out to the cabin after all. Peace and quiet. Less exposure. Privacy. But of all the places on their property, why did the kid have to go there?

In all fairness, there was nothing quiet or peaceful about what was going on at Tony's house right now. There were 13 people gathered in his living room and kitchen, one of them a black-eyed alien who didn't quite understand the concept of Christmas but had been positively eager to experience all the "merriment and joy" that the little Madame Secretary had been promising from afar. Leave it to Tony to have to explain a spaceship landing in his backyard on Christmas Eve and talk down an international response.

"Morgan said it's an important gathering that every family member is obligated to attend." Nebula's eyes were on Tony, unblinking. "You should have told me sooner. I could have been here last year and the year before but I didn't know."

"Not to worry, Smurfette." There was a sense of genuine joy at seeing her again, that let the smile on his lips come quite easily. "You're here now, so that's that."

It was a sight to be seen how willingly the blue meanie allowed Morgan to put a party hat on her before she was sent off to mingle with the rest of them, studying the mini hot dogs on her plate. That hadn't been the only surprising sight of the evening though. Tony's jaw had equally popped with stunned surprise as he opened the door to a paler and distinctly shorter human version of Bruce Banner. A face Tony hadn't seen on him in years, as he showed up on his doorstep accompanied by a certain master spy that Tony had frankly not been expecting either.

"Making things work then," Tony mused out loud as he hovered next to them while Pepper fetched a welcoming drink.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Just... you know... happy to... to have her back."

"Of course." His head bobbed a short nod with a sincere smile in Natasha's direction. There was no denying that Tony, too, was glad to have her back. Retired or not, he had no illusions that the Avengers would remain anything but a constant in his life one way or another and while Natasha might never be a definite number on his side, she was an ally. Of sorts.

"Well, it's good to see you guys. I know it's quite a drive out here and we had suspected things might be a little more entertaining at the Compound." His thoughts still trailing a little behind, the words had slipped off his tongue before his brain could catch up with what he was saying. He hadn't meant to just straight up mention the Compound, the rest of the team by extension who hadn't received an invite to this particular gathering.

Pepper had wanted to discuss the guest list more than once. Had asked him repeatedly if he wanted to extend an invitation to the others, the team... but Rogers... Steve... no. Christmas was for family and while Bruce and his plus one did count - because Tony wanted him to count - Steve... Steve was not family. When it came down to it, they were hardly even friends. Natasha's eyes were on him and Tony was painfully aware that he was spacing out. No glasses to hide his face, all of a sudden he felt almost too exposed in his own house.

"Oh, we're just splitting the time equally over the holidays." Natasha smiled brightly. "Christmas Eve with one side of the family and then Christmas Day with the other."

Bruce's face fell a little, looking back and forth between them. "It's not sides as much as... just..."

They were saved from more awkwardness as Pepper arrived with the drinks and ushered them further into the house. Bruce was happy to follow along but Natasha hung back, her eyes still on Tony.

"There don't have to be any sides in this." She linked their arms, pushing Tony along, as Bruce shot a glance back at them, just out of earshot. "You can just decide to let it go, Tony."

"I did." It wasn't all that easy to keep the tone light but he was determined not to let this get to him. "I told him, I moved on from all of this years ago."

"We both know that's not the same as solving the real problem." Her voice was low but not unkind. "We both know you never forgave or forget, that he has never earned back your trust."

It didn't matter. He didn't even want to think about how much of that was or wasn't true. Rogers had no place in his thoughts tonight. So the timing was perfect when his eyes came to rest on a brown-haired boy who was creeping closer and closer to the pot of mulled wine. With a lame excuse, he pulled away from Natasha, away from the world he had officially retired from towards the buffet.

"And what do you think you're doing?"

"Me?" The boy's eyes were wide, the cup in his hand already filled to the brim.

"Listen here, squirrel!" His finger poking against Harley's chest, Tony could at least pretend that this was a situation he could actually control. "You take your grabby hands off that mulled wine or so help me..." He snatched the hot drink out of the boy's hands.

"Oh, come on..." His long lashes were blinking at Tony with feigned innocence. "It's not for me."

"That routine might work on some indifferent cater waiter at those benefits but if you think I can't see past your ridiculously lazy—"

"Yeah, yeah..." Harley just waved him off. "Don't be such a killjoy!"

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. "I mean it!" For good measure, he took a healthy gulp from the cup, positively burning his throat in the process. But it wasn't until Harley threw his hands in the air and turned his back in defeat - for now - that Tony allowed his face to cringe at the sting. Those little trouble makers were not helping with his heart condition. Speaking of trouble... "Where is Peter?"

Harley crossed his arms in front of himself, his mind clearly brooding on a new strategy. "No clue."

Tony's next sip of the hot wine was a lot smoother than the first. "What do you mean, no clue?"

"It generally means that the person doesn't have any information about the subject that you are—"

"Alright, short stuff..." Tony's eyes were searching the room but the little spider was nowhere to be seen. "A bit less of the asshole routine please?"

"Listen, if you want me to babysit, same rules apply as they do for Morgan." Brazen in his brattiness, the little shit ladled a good helping of mulled wine into a new cup. "I'll need a heads-up and generous compensation that I'm happy to re-negoti— Hey!"

Harley tried to hold on to the cup that Tony once again just plucked from his hands. "You've had enough of this!"

"That one is for Rhodey," the boy scowled.

"Uh-huh. Sure. I'll get it to him and you can enjoy your night without any errands, hm?"

Tony made a point to stare at the kid until he huffed and finally skedaddled away from the wine pot, possibly in search of his sister, or maybe more likely trying to stay out of her and Morgan's way. Careful not to spill either of the two cups, Tony made his way across the room towards Rhodey who had brought a "friend", a development Tony had been mindful not to comment on all night.

The Colonel's eyes looked him up and down as he made a beeline towards them. "Because one is never enough with you, is it, Tones?"

"You..." he hissed, his lips pursed. "You better not try to quip with me, you enabler!" Tony pushed the second cup he was holding into Carol Danvers' hands instead of Rhodey's. "Are you seriously letting my boy use you as an exit strategy to score a buzz?"

Rhodey's eyes shifted to the cup in his "friend" Carol's hands before he nipped on what was left in his own cup and then gave a shrug. "Which one?"

"That's not funny!"

With a deep sigh, Rhodey exchanged his empty cup with Carol's hot one. "Tony, you need to lay off the mother-hen vibes. The boy is 21 years old, as for Peter—."

"No, he's not," Tony growled. "Not for another 6 days!"

"Geez, daddy, do I really have to remind you how old you were when I 'enabled'," Rhodey air-quoted, "your ass in college?"

He said it like he had a point when that was exactly what Tony was afraid of. "And how did that turn out?"

His eyebrows pulled up, Rhodey made a gesture like that would somehow prove something, but Tony was not in the mood for semantics. His eyes roamed across the room - pointedly ignoring Harley who tried to usher Nebula closer and closer to the pot of hot wine - in search of the other little trouble maker.

Where was the kid? He hadn't seen him since... since he had ducked away from awkwardly shuffling his feet back and forth between May and Happy. Without another word, Tony strode past his friend, checking the kitchen but there was no Peter in there either. Everyone else was happily chatting, eating, enjoying themselves exactly like they were supposed to. Not so the Spiderling.

For a few more minutes, Tony quietly, discreetly wandered around the house. He had a feeling, a feeling that something was up. It didn't take long for him to give up the pretense and outright mutter to FRIDAY, asking in which room Peter was hiding.

"He's not in the house, boss."

That was how Tony found himself outside, stalking up a snowy hill in the dark. The wind was icy, but it wasn't the cold that made the hair on the back of his neck stand tall. He had avoided this for months. Had avoided even thinking about that spot on the hill where his other-dimensional self had been buried before he ever made it to this timeline. With how loudly his brain was rattling, there was a part of him that couldn't deny that right about now, he appreciated the silence in the dark. They were so far away from what people would call the 'civilized' world out here. Surely, with Peter's senses constantly strained in the city, that was the basic appeal to him as well.

It was also how Peter had heard him coming before Tony even had the chance to call out to him.

"How did you find me?"

A little winded from the slippery ascend to the hilltop, Tony paused a couple of steps behind where the boy was sitting in the snow. "Oh, come on... It's me."

Peter pursed his lips, refusing to turn his head. "So, you questioned every single person at the house about when they had seen me last and then calculated the radius of how far I might have come?"

Tony only blew out a huff.

"Ah," Peter exclaimed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Tracking me after all, aren't you."

"Well, duh." Slowly, Tony came closer until he sank to the ground right next to the boy. "Not that I needed it. You're a Spiderling, not an Elf, kid."

"Right." Peter grimaced to himself. "Footprints."

"I keep telling you. Gotta learn how to fly."

The smile that tucked on Peter's lips seemed genuine this time. "You didn't have to come out here."

All of a sudden, Tony contemplated that the boy may have picked this particular spot not because of what it meant to him, but because he had been sure that of all the places, few of the people staying at the house that night would voluntarily wander up here. Tony least of all. There was no denying that the kid had picked up on how much this all freaked Tony out, the fact that there was a dead version of himself buried so close to where he still lived. Silence hung heavy between them before Tony's voice echoed a little quieter, a little hesitant.

"I wasn't sure if I should, but..." He swallowed hard. "I can leave if you want to be alone."

There was another pause. Wanting to give him room to speak if that was what he wanted, Tony waited but the kid didn't say a thing.

With a shaky exhale, Tony kept his eyes on him. "But then I thought, I'd rather have you send me back than not be here if... if you would need me."

The kid's eyes were still staring straight ahead at the headstone in front of them.

"I know, I'm not him—"

"Of course you are," Peter breathed quietly.

Tony lowered his gaze, faltering. Maybe. "Not really though."

The kid's lip was caught between his teeth, refusing to look over at him. "In... in every way that matters."

"If you want to talk about it—"

"I don't," Peter mumbled.

It had been weeks after he had come back when Tony's curiosity had won out against his anxiety. Late at night on his own in the basement, he had asked FRIDAY to play him the footage of what had happened that day. That day he had died. Pepper, the kid, Rhodey... seeing their agony in the face of what he had done to protect them... it was a memory he just couldn't shake.

"I know, me being here doesn't change what happened. Kid, I know you were there when he..." Tony glanced to the side, searching the kid's face for a reaction. "...when I died."

Peter's head moved in a mixture of a shake and a shrug. "It... it doesn't matter..." His voice shook, possibly trying to convince himself as much as Tony. "You're back. You're... here. It... it's fine..."

"You're sitting at my grave in the freezing cold in the middle of my Christmas Eve party, buddy."

It was as bluntly as he could put it. He could see no benefit in tiptoeing around the demons the kid was battling.

But Peter shook his head more distinctly this time, still denying him. "It was just because... so many people and my senses, they... I just needed a little quiet to... calm down."

"Right. We have about 60 hectares of land out here and still..." Tony blew out a breath and leaned a little closer to the kid. "Still, this is the spot you picked to go." There was no answer from the Spiderling. "It's okay, if it still hurts, buddy."

The humorless chuckle that bubbled out of the kid didn't make things better for either of them.

"Pete, can you look at me?"

He didn't though. His eyes didn't stray from the inscription on the stone. 'A.E.S. - At peace.' A shudder went through Tony at the thought of how his wife had decided on that particular inscription.

"You're here." Peter's eyes dropped further, away from the stone, down to the snowy ground. "You're okay. It... it shouldn't matter..."

Tony grit his teeth then threw caution to the wind. "It's been 5 years and a little more than 8 months since you dusted in my arms, Pete."

The kid visibly shook next, his hands braced against the cold ground as he finally turned to look at Tony.

"5 years, 8 months, and some odd days." Tony's lower lip was caught between his teeth, his cheeks flushed. The images in his mind were as vivid as they had been on that fateful day on Titan. "You're here now. You're back. You have been back for 6 months and I can still hear your voice in my head pleading how you don't—"

"I'm sorry..." the kid whispered.

Tony huffed out a low chuckle. "Yeah. You said that too."

"I'm sorry that... that you felt responsible," the kid started and Tony had just wanted to protest when the boy stopped him with a wave of his hand. "I am, but it's not the same."

For a brief moment, Tony closed his eyes, trying his best to calm himself and keep the dry bite from his tone. "No. It really isn't the same."

The breath Peter blew out was harsher, angrier. "It's not, because I didn't choose to get dusted," he growled, refusing to look away from Tony now. "I didn't want to die!"

"I know, Pete. I remember." The beat of his heart hurt in his chest. "You think I would have wanted to die?"

Peter shook his head, tearing his gaze away again. "It doesn't matter."

"Kid—"

"Can we just... I don't want to argue about this."

Peter pulled his knees close to his chest and the way his hands were shaking made Tony want to drag him back inside so he could focus on giving him a proper lecture without having to worry about the cold the kid might catch out here.

Instead, he filed that back for later, deep breaths keeping his own frustration in check. "Maybe we do need to argue about this."

"I just want to move on!"

"And I..." Tony couldn't stop his voice from shaking. "...would really appreciate a chance to argue my side here."

"You don't need to argue your side," the kid hissed at him. "It's not you, I'm mad at, okay?"

Tony studied his boy. He was becoming painfully aware, how strung up the kid really was, how agitated. "It's not a choice anyone wants to make, kid. Sometimes, there is just no other way to —"

"There were like 10 people close by who could have done it." Peter shot him an angry glance. "It didn't have to be you! What about Morgan and Pepper, huh? What about—" He shook his head, eyes back on the snow-covered grave. "Captain Danvers. Thor. King T'Challa. The lady with the flying horse. Strange. Rogers. Barnes. Wanda Maximoff. Me." His head spun back towards Tony. "I could have tried."

Tony's stomach turned at the mere thought of that. "Yeah, there's no way in hell, Pete."

"Why not?" Peter's eyes burned with tears. "Why not! I could have taken it!"

"You have no idea if that's true." His heart was racing, his throat dry. "You might have died."

"So it's fine for you to sacrifice yourself on a whim but for me it—"

"Stop!" The way his hand hit the ground didn't have the grand effect he wanted. "That's not how this will work, kid. Ever. I will always try to keep you safe."

"And what about what I want?" Peter spat at him.

Tony shook his head, his eyebrows knitted close, desperately grasping for control. "I'm here now, am I not?"

"Yeah, for now..."

Any frustrated retort that might have been building up on his tongue died instantly as he watched the boy rub a hand across his face, the way his lower lip was quivering.

"Kid... come here..." His agitation evaporated and without another beat of hesitation, Tony pulled him close, his arms tightly wrapped around the boy's small frame. "Shh, it'll... it'll be alright."

There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do that would take away the pain of the days when he had seemed lost forever to the people who loved him most. Just like Tony would never be able to quite shake the deep sense of loss he had carried for years when the kid had been dead and gone.

Peter's hands were clasping the thick fabric of Tony's coat, his face pressed against his chest.

There was nothing he could say, no promises he would make, not the ones the kid wanted to hear right now cause he could never keep any of them. When it came to the kid's safety, his life, he would always put it above his own. No matter how much it might hurt him again, at least the kid would be breathing, would get to live.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

"But... but you're not," he mumbled against Tony's jacket.

He had a hand on the back of the kid's head, holding him tight. "I hate that I hurt you, Pete. I do." He pressed his eyes close, ignoring how the cold was creeping up from underneath him. "But I'll never apologize for trying to keep you safe." The boy shook in his arms, but Tony didn't let him pull away. "I sure as hell won't apologize for succeeding." There was a low tremor in the kid's body that was definitely more than emotions. "You're shaking, buddy. Let's get you back inside."

"I'm not c-cold," Peter hiccoughed.

"Alright, then..." Tony ruffled a hand through the boy's hair, his own digits frozen stiff. "Well, I'm going to get pneumonia and you seem to be very invested in—" He groaned as Peter slapped a hand against his chest.

"It's not f-funny!"

"No, at my age it really isn't something—"

This time, he caught the kid's hand just in time to soften the blow. In the process, Peter sat up straight enough for Tony to squint at his red-rimmed eyes.

"In there, you could watch me bust Harley for sneaking around the mulled wine?" There was a sparkle in the kid's eyes at that. A real sparkle he couldn't quite hide. "Ha! Knew I'd get you with that one."

Peter moved back a bit, shaky fingers rubbing his face. Squinting at the boy, Tony was weighing his words, wondering how many hornet's nest he should be poking at.

"You should get over this, buddy." Tony cringed at the look of utter discomfort on his boy's face. "I mean it. That little power struggle the two of you are going through..?"

"There's no power struggle."

Tony crocked his head at him. "You know what I mean... Kid, I know you want to keep your secrets but Harley can be a great ally to you."

"Right," Peter mumbled. "Can we just like... do this another time?"

He nodded before the kid had even finished the sentence. "Course, buddy." For a moment, Tony held in, his focus never anywhere else but Peter, as he tried to control the tremor in his voice. "So, we should get back inside, right?"

"Yeah. Right." The kid leaned back against him, his voice muffled. "Just... just a couple more minutes?"

Tony swallowed hard, nodding soundlessly. He'd never refuse the kid. Never. How could he ever?

###

Merry Christmas and happy holidays wherever and however you guys are celebrating!

Thank you for reading. And thank you even more if you take the time to let me know in the comments what you think about the story and reblog it!

This story is part of my Post-Endgame timeline. More about my Endgame Fix-it and the connected series of stories: “Like You’d Know How It Works” timeline

#tony stark #tony stark lives #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON #iron dad #iron dad fanfiction #nebula #natasha x bruce #christmas #christmas eve #merry christmas #holiday themed #peter parker fic #peter parker #post-endgame #LYKHIW-timeline

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ganymedesclock · 4 years ago

Note

So... What do you think about revisiting Danny phantom in general? Revisiting the fandom I've noticed a lot of fanfic that have Danny's parents finding out his deal rather violently, or generally having more violence/angst than the original show..

I’m assuming you’re sending me this ask because of my recent burst of Danny Phantom art, so, it’s probably not a surprise to say I’m doing a certain amount of revisiting myself, and certainly not about to shame anyone else for it. It was a very dear cartoon to me in many ways and left some enduring hallmarks on my own writing, and I can absolutely understand people feeling the same way.

That said, as someone who’s been in this fandom for a while, albeit quietly- there certainly is a thread of macabre interest in fandom spaces, one I don’t always know that I agree with, especially when it comes to the Fentons.

My personal verdict on the Fenton parents specifically is I think they are not handled fairly by canon. This is a problem that Danny Phantom as a show shares with Fairly Odd Parents, though I would argue the Turner parents in FOP are quite a bit worse at this.

Roughly, I think how the Fenton parents are canonically depicted suffers from a phenomenon that affects many parts of the show: DP, as a series, has a bit of a sense of confused priorities between comedy and drama, and as a result, what’s 'real’ in-universe and what’s “just supposed to be a joke”. The kind of humor that DP tends to spring for is exaggerated or shocking behavior- it also tends to be a humor that hinges on the idea that other people are generally inconvenient to the main character. So humor-characterization is inconsistent here- Jack is negligent until it’s more inconvenient to depict him as overbearing (see: Girl’s Night Out and other cases he desperately wants to bond with Danny) he’s a recluse only loved by his wife until it’s more inconvenient to depict him as having an active social life (Masters Of All Time and that he and Maddie are going to a themed party so they’re dressed ‘weirdly’ in public)

A big victim of this is Jack’s sense that ghosts aren’t people and his desire to dissect them. Because here is the thing: it’s all talk, in the worst way. It hinges on the idea Jack- someone who knows enough of what he’s doing that along with Maddie and, in the past, Vlad- ripped two different holes in reality hard enough to permanently alter someone’s relation to undeath- has never seen a ghost before the series as he says in Mystery Meat.

The series has a big problem where it hinges on the Fentons’ inventions and expertise but also wants to treat them like idiots constantly. And if you notice how much I’m talking exclusively about Jack- that’s part of the problem. Maddie, in many ways, outside of episodes that throw her a bone, despite constantly being told by people she’s too good for Jack, is really treated as an extension of Jack. Masters Of All Time even suggests that her choosing Jack in the first place was just a path of least resistance between her two college friends, and she’d have married whichever one stuck around.

The Fentons are not respected as experts, so Jack is given his ignorant line about dissecting a ghost. The Fentons need to remain exaggerated, ridiculous, an inconvenience to Danny- so they threaten his alter ego and point guns at him, but this is funny and not serious and not a reason to be worried about them as parents, because they are not on Danny’s level. Nobody is ever on Danny’s level. There is literally an episode called The Ultimate Enemy. The antagonist is an evil future Danny. The only person who could ever be Danny’s ultimate nemesis is Danny himself.

And when the series stops milking the Fentons for jokes about how they’re so stupid and how Jack is an idiot and Maddie married that idiot but even she doesn’t respect him even though she loves him and dutifully follows him everywhere and god how can these people care about ghosts they’re so ignorant and out of their league-

-then it kinda shuffles its feet awkwardly and goes, yeah. the Fentons love each other, and love their kids.

Yeah, Jack has framed photographs of Maddie, Jazz, and Danny on his personal workstation.

Yeah, in Mystery Meat Jack was seriously debating walking away from his lifework because it upset one of his kids.

Yeah, every time in canon the Fentons find out Danny’s secret they’re immediately all in supporting him.

Yeah, even not knowing it’s Danny, Jack has an amiable conversation with him in Million Dollar Ghost and the ghost containment units designed by the Fentons get some jokes about that they’re a little cramped but they aren’t horrifying prisons of inhumanity- and as soon as Danny Phantom the ghost boy has a good point, Jack lets him go on purpose.

Yeah, Jack is a competent ghost hunter who can take on Skulker and win as well as beat down the giant lake monster Skulker brought with him in Girls’ Night Out and would do this in a heartbeat, no jokes and no sidetracks, because that monster just chewed on his baby boy and nobody does that to his baby boy.

Yeah, Maternal Instinct is an entire episode of Maddie throwing hands with (or deceiving and manipulating) literally anything she thinks was responsible for getting Danny in this dangerous situation.

...And then the series says “but that’s not funny! Here, have jokes about the Fenton Stockades, that exist and have spikes and Jack wants to put his kids in them for time out, when the spikes apparently don’t hurt given Jack is not injured for being put in there. Here, have a joke about Jack attacking Jazz with a vacuum cleaner because he gets hellbent on the idea she’s possessed for no good reason. Here, have an uncomfortable joke about how badly Jack Fenton wants to vivisect a ghost while it screams. Funny funny funny. Why- why are you flinching?”

It basically creates a comedic situation where the show is constantly winding up like it’s gonna punch you- with the idea that the Fentons are bad parents and this has consequences for Danny and Jazz personally- and then laughs in your face if you flinch. It’ll never actually punch you- but it will sure keep swinging its hand really close to your face and laughing at your reactions.

This is, I’m just gonna say- one of the worst elements of the series, this weird relationship it has with “hahaha are we depicting an abusive family or not? ;)” where its actual point is that Jack Fenton is a person who should be shamed for being overzealous, for caring about this niche field, because nobody cares about ghosts! (unless the entire premise of the show does) Nobody wants to think about ghost science! That’s LAME! (unless Vlad does it)

So I think ultimately this creates a polarizing experience in the fandom. What part of this information do you take?

Do you take, say, my personal approach, which is:

“Hey, so it’s pretty clear and consistent that the Fentons love their kids and wouldn’t hurt them. The Fentons are nice people. They can be obsessive or headstrong but there’s nuanced and salient ways to examine this in the basic framework that they care, both about their family specifically, and in general- and while I think they can have flaws or conflicts with their kids, and with ambient ghosts in the world, I really don’t think they’re in danger of torturing a sapient entity in their basement and it frustrates and annoys me that canon ‘makes a joke’ of them doing these things because it thinks they’re so incompetent that these things are not really malicious actions, when- whether or not you successfully shoot them, it takes a certain kind of person to point a weapon you know is dangerous at something that looks, and talks, like a fourteen-year-old, especially when you’re a parent who has probably at least once in your life worried about something happening to your kids, and the ghost of a teenager means something happened to someone’s kid, in a general sense.

So my end conclusion on the Fentons is I think they are being depicted in a kind of metatextual bad faith, that they are not cruel or malicious people, and in my personal take or understanding on the series, I’d massively dial down those elements, and if any remain, take them seriously as problems they have in their relationships with other people.”

Or do you take an approach more rooted in,

“If the Fentons are shown to be negligent parents they are negligent parents, I’m going to examine and depict them as that, and I find this very hard to forgive, so it’s going to have real and nasty consequences.”

Both are basically valid. The place where I tend to get a little uncomfortable is twofold:

First, I think sometimes people just really want some fictional tragedy to either create or consume, and to that end, you aren’t going to get much juicy drama out of the Fentons being reasonable people. This isn’t evil or unforgivable, but for me, it’s definitely my least favorite fannish content to create or consume. I’m no fan of angst for angst’s sake, and I feel like there’s enough misery and heartbreak in the world that I’m not interested in wallowing in it unless it’s got something interesting to say.

Second- and this is a point I’m gonna be saltier: A lot of abusive Fenton fics that refuse to forgive them for the poorer-taste jokes the series makes, simultaneously give Vlad a blank check, when he has done targetedly malicious things to Danny.

Now- do I also have a more sympathetic read on Vlad, and feel like canon also gives him a bad rap? Yeah! But you can’t have it both ways. You can’t say, “I can’t forgive the Fentons for stuff that was tagged onto them because canon thought it was funny, but I’m gonna editorialize Vlad’s depiction to lionize him as the ideal parent figure for Danny to run into the arms of.”

And the main reason I get so worked up in this, is I feel like Jack in particular (when Maddie is characterized as subordinate to Jack, following his cues, etc., and that’s its own demon) is... characterized as kind of a mocking caricature of traits that I personally recognize as an autistic and ADHD person.

Because the reality is? In many practical ways, I am Jack Fenton.

I like a bunch of weird stuff people find unacceptable or gross, like bugs

I’m hyperlexic (that means I talk, a lot)

Scatterbrained, forget words or where I left something or, sometimes, to do something important

Passionate and excitable including and especially in situations where it’s not normal, or expected, to have this much energy

I absolutely can forget birthdays, even for people I love dearly that mean the world to me! It’s horrible! There’s almost nothing I can do about it! My brain refuses to hold onto this information reliably and no amount of caring fixes it.

And being this way, living like this? My worst nightmare has always been that people think I either don’t care or that I’m just too much of a stupid, flippant buffoon to get right.

The thing about Jack is he’s “a person like me” and he’s “a person like me” who was designed to be a joke. We’re clearly expected to view him as untrustworthy, stupid, just like a big dumb dog of a man who barks in the wrong directions, who sometimes, when it counts, fetches a stick like he’s supposed to. Good job, Lassie. You got little Timmy out of the well.

And I am going to say with certainty and confidence that feeling like this is how people see me is the most unbelievably crushing feeling I have ever experienced in my life. That my excitement and passion means I’m unprofessional, stupid, don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s nearly painful for me, as an adult, to watch Danny Phantom because the show can never get off Jack’s case. And the few times it does, he hauls overtime arduously to make a difference, to help, to build something that will protect others, to put his own life on the line to stop hostile ghosts.

And immediately, then he goes back to being stupid stupid dog man. ha ha. why does his wife love him? no wonder his kids don’t ever want to be seen with him. no wonder his best friend is trying to kill him and he doesn’t even know, the big idiot.

(never mind that we see a scenario where he does know. and admits he would’ve forgiven Vlad anyway. but he can’t forgive Vlad hurting Danny.)

So to rein in this wild tangent: I’m not saying all must love Jack Fenton and despair. I’m not even telling people to hide their angst. If I have a sincere request, it’s this:

If you’re inclined to thinking of Vlad as a cool, troubled, complex person (as I do!) and are haunted by the implications of The Ultimate Enemy specifically for Vlad, that when Danny lost everyone else in his life that Vlad really genuinely tried to help, and was not gloating and happy and victorious to have Danny as his protege, and when that went badly, he was haunted to the end of his days by not having been able to help-

-but immediately turn around and think Jack is just a rotten awful person who’d absolutely hurt his own kid in spite of canon to the contrary (when there’s just as much, if not more, canon of Vlad being willfully hostile)

It might be good to examine why you’re feeling this way, and if this might not come down to the fact that even when canon has people call Vlad a desperately lonely fruit loop, it has a lot more respect for him than it does for Jack, and this isn’t because it’s actually taking a stance against any of the qualities it gave Jack that someone might find disagreeable- it’s because Jack’s just “a big old fat idiot nobody likes, right?”

and that’s... not something comfy to buy into.

#Danny Phantom #readmore #long post #I have a lot of feelings about the fenton parents #and about how generally cartoons like to normalize child abuse in the context of jokes #and this creates a very upsetting similarity between parents who are otherwise characterized as good and reliable #but given these jokes anyway #and parents who genuinely seem really nasty #but it's tied up in a bow with 'it's Just A Joke'#Anonymous

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