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wyn-n-tonic · 2 years

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Soft Cries

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: Blood. Fighting. PTSD. Death. Crumbs of smut but nothing explicit I don't think? Author's Note: I've been sitting on this idea for a really long time. I hope I did it justice. I also think this is the longest one shot I've ever written. A huge thank you is in order to @lovebarefootblonde who has listened to me gripe about this all day and to everybody who has helped me build my Benny headcanons over the last week or so. Love you as ever.

MASTERLIST | Ao3 | Ko-Fi

Benny’s got a mean streak.

Nasty. Dirty. Always itching for a fight.

His face is a gradient of greens and yellows and purples; broken blood vessels scattered beneath his skin in an instant.

There’s something about the pain he likes. Something about the copper taste of blood filling his mouth and the ache in his ribs with every breath. He likes the sweat and stale stench of near death in enclosed spaces of hot air and broken hearts.

Anger evidenced in bruises to cover his vulnerability, he swings first and asks questions later; usually leaning against the sink while you tend to the broken skin but occasionally a hospital bed or a police station. He’ll tell you he’s never lost a fight but that’s a goddamn lie. That’s a lie with every ragged breath and gasp of pain as he fights for air through a tight chest. That’s a lie with every moment he spends hiding from the ghosts inside his own head.

“I fucking won that fight,” he'd spit, “I don’t see the problem.”

It never was one with you, in the confines of your home; the four walls of your bedroom; your bodies between the sheets. He melted beneath your touch as you patched him up and stroked his hair and told him you loved him despite the bloodstain on another brand new shirt.

You encouraged him not to go out, gentle suggestions of movie nights in and cuddles on the couch, but it wasn’t like the bar was the only place he broke. He doesn’t see the problem because it’s never really clear how it starts or where it comes from; the grocery store, the dog park, the drive thru line of the coffee shop you’re too embarrassed to ever go to again.

The problem this time was a fractured orbital bone—not his—and a fist full of broken knuckles that go untreated, yet again, as they shake in his lap in the police station.

“You're a fucking idiot, Benjamin Miller,” you shoot at him, “why do you do this to me? Why do you do this to yourself?”

“I've never hurt you.”

“Is it not hurting me?” You ask him, arms crossed and looking down into those bloodshot blues, “I can’t take you anywhere, my life shouldn’t become housebound because you can’t control yourself. And how long, if that’s what we do, does that last for me?”

“I'd never hurt you,” he says again, looking down to pick at the skin of his nails, “I never meant to hurt anybody.”

There’s an itch in your hand to reach out and card through the overgrown locks of wheat and barley blond but you suppress it. He feels it though, the way you want to touch him and the way you won’t let yourself; he feels the hurt and the worry you’re swallowing down and looks back up with a promise poised on his lips.

“Don't you dare tell me it won’t happen again, Benny,” you pull away when he reaches for you, “stop making promises you can’t keep and get some fucking help because I can’t be it anymore.”

Shaking, he follows you through the station in an almost well worn path. This is the third time you’ve posted bail in as many months and all you wanted was dinner and a movie.

“You owe me so much fucking money, Benny,” you snap at him as soon as you’re tucked away into the car, “a thousand each for the last two times and two thousand this time—and now you have a court date. I’m not bailing you out anymore, you can sleep here next time.”

A smile spreads across his face, a hint of arrogance in his lips as he licks out and smooths a hand down the rough scruff that covers his cheek.

“You said that last time.”

He thinks he’s so clever.

“Get out.”

His face falls.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you turn the ignition, “get the fuck out and call your brother. I can’t do this tonight.”

He thinks he’s so charming as he wraps his hand around yours as he says, “hey, baby,” in the softest voice, "I'm sorry, okay? I’m sorry, let’s just go home.”

He thinks he’s so endearing with those little mouth sounds of love that talk you down from that ledge and he’s right. You only wish he’d talk himself down too instead of letting you both get to this point.

“Come on, baby.” He pulls at the waistline of your pants, taking your attention away from pulling the day—the sweat, the frustration, the sadness—off of your body. “C’mere.” He whispers from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, pulling you between his legs and running his large hands up your back.

“I'm sorry.” He looks to your hands hanging limp at your side, the ones that are usually buried in his hair—especially on nights like this—to run along his scalp and disarm him.

“Baby, please,” he begs, laying his head into your soft, bare stomach; kissing the skin he finds there. “Baby, I’m sorry, it really won’t happen again. I promise.”

You break when he looks back up at you, wiping the tears from his eyes and framing his face with your soft touch, as that splash of angry red dots grows larger across his fair skin.

“I'll get help, okay?” He wraps his fingers around your wrist, turning his face into the skin of your arm to drag his lips along it, “I promise, I’ll be a better man for you. I’ll be a better man for myself.”

Kissing up your arm, he rests his hands back on your hips, sliding them up your sides as he presses his lips into your stomach again; into your waist and ribs as his fingers pluck at the clasp of your bra.

His mouth is insistent, hot and moist across your heated chest as he pulls the fabric away and lifts himself to you with his hand caging you tight to his body.

“Benny…”

“Baby,” he grabs hold at the base of your skull, the whiskers of overgrown facial hair tickling the sensitive skin of your lips as he whispers into you, “I promise.”

He kisses like a man possessed, crushing every whimper into his own mouth and it’s all so incredibly tender the way you trade gasps back and forth. Soft when when he’s gripping hard enough to leave bruises because this is what he does.

That unregulated anger that breaks everybody and himself slips away inside you—his body resetting, exhaling, finding peace in the curves and valleys of your skin. You let him take it, let him grab desperately with split and swollen hands; let him heal himself against your body if that’s what he needs.

He’s still there after he finishes, head laid gently against your chest as quiet tears slip down his nose and drop into the sheen of sweat that still clothes you.

“Benny…” Your hands are caught up in his hair again, that overgrown barley blond wrapping like silk around your fingers.

“Yeah, baby?”

“You mean it this time, right?”

He lifts his head, rough palm smoothing down the expanse of your bare body, “yeah,” he nods, “I mean it.”

“I mean it, Ben,” you cinch at the waist, propping yourself up on your elbow as his face falls, “you can’t keep burying your problems inside my pussy, it’s not good for either of us.”

“I don’t bury my pro—“

“You do.”

He glances down to where your bodies are still joined, inhaling sharply as he gently grabs the base of his cock and pulls away from you and exhales just as hard as he stands and turns away.

“Benny, baby…”

His head shakes as he retreats across the threshold to the bathroom, mumbling under his breath—likely just to himself—and you feel it deep down inside you; the kind of pain within him that only those closest can stroke.

The faucet turns in the dark beneath his touch and you watch as he shuffles through the little room attached out of habit. Two washcloths thrown into the basin to soak as he splashes the not-yet-warm water on his face. He wrings one between his fingers and runs it along himself, tossing it in the laundry pile and grabbing for the other. This one he holds in his hands, wrung out and ready as he turns the water off again and pads back towards you with that same wrecked expression.

“Baby, I’m sor—“

“No,” he cuts you off, “don't you dare.”

His fingers wrap around your ankle and he lifts your slightly, mattress dipping beneath his weight as he seats himself between them. There’s a deep midwest twang that comes out in moments of hurt and it’s thick on his voice now as he cleans himself from you.

“I didn’t realize you felt like I was using you,” he whispers, “I’m the one who should be fucking sorry, that’s not ever how I wanted you to feel.”

He tosses the towel back towards the bathroom and winces as the shot doesn’t quite land, “I’ll clean that up, don’t worry.”

“Baby,” you reach for him, “that's not what I’m worried about.”

He wipes across his cheeks again, thumbing the edge of his sniffling nose as his other hand falls beneath your breast; flattened against the rapid beating of your heart.

“I mean it this time.”

He didn’t touch you for a while after that night, when he’d broken down and taken your words to mean you felt he was using you. He kissed you, hugged you tightly, but he left the touching up to you with gentle encouragement; swallowing the soft cries you gave him beneath in the still quiet of your bedroom.

“That's my good girl,” he told you, lips ghosting across yours.

Everything became more intimate, more tender, in those few weeks with nothing but praises in your ear until one day he couldn’t take it anymore. He kissed you gently and asked permission, hands falling low on your hips.

“I won’t lie to you,” he told you, “I have had a shit day and maybe I do bury my problems in you but that’s not how I mean it.”

“I know, baby.”

“I'm not using you,” every part of him was so warm, “I never would I just—“

He stops and inhales a sharp breath, hands sliding up beneath your shirt, “sometimes I just need a little extra comfort, I never realized that was coinciding with my episodes.”

He barely left the apartment either, home to work to home again. He didn’t have a perfect record there either but they mainly let him work alone. Can’t have a problem with anybody if nobody’s there to have a problem with. He was on his best behavior, cold turkey from the outside world until he started with the therapist Will connected him to; somebody down at the VA licensed to help him work through the scrambled thoughts of his brain.

He looked more like the full picture of Benjamin Miller—the man you fell in love with—than the glimpses the mere glimpses you’d been given since he came home.

A few weeks after that, Benny got off lucky with a sympathetic judge who listened to the character witnesses vouching for the kind of man he truly is.

The other man dropped the charges.

Even with a half broken face, hearing the words veteran and PTSD and special ops go a long way. Especially when the well-respected and widely loved William Miller stands up to speak. Takes responsibility and apologizes for not working harder to keep his baby brother under control.

Nobody blamed him, nobody was mad. Benny had the combination of boyish features and tragic backstory that made you want to bend over backwards for him.

“Don't let me see your name cross my sight again, son,” the much older man in robes seated above them stared down at the end of it all, “your record will be cleared with the completion of anger management.”

Between that and therapy, he gained coping strategies and tips on calming down. Everybody emphasized to him the importance of attendance and a consistent routine, pointing out that losing his strict schedule with honorable discharge was what started this spiral to begin with.

Nothing changes overnight but part of you thinks he did, that soldier’s resolve and discipline coming back at the mere mention of routine and consequences. He was better, genuinely better and not just acting. When met with a stressful situation, he’d excuse himself out to the car or just to the bathroom. He looked for breathing room instead of others forcing him to find it.

“Dad used to say you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink,” he told you one night as he brushed his fingers across your forehead.

Your nose wrinkled as he trailed down to the tip of it.

“Actually, I think that saying pre-dates your daddy by a few centuries,” you’d told him, “gone through a few translations too most likely.”

His hand dropped to cradle your head, pulling you up slightly to press his lips to yours, “you sound like Fish.”

“Fish is a smart man,” you told him, “you should listen to him more.”

That’s when the fighting started; the real fighting, the legitimate fighting. Fish got him in the gym and then he got him against other men. Men who wanted to be hit and did so for money.

“I'll pay you back, baby,” he’d told you, showing up with flyer for a competitive match, “I’m fucking good, I’m gonna win that fight and make so much of this right again, baby.”

“I don’t know, Benny,” he had you pinned against the counter, confidence and excitement buzzing from him, “I was just mad at you when I said you owe me so much money, baby, you don’t have to do this to make good on that.”

“Then I’ll use the money to help us buy a house,” he said; that crooked, cocksure smile you haven’t seen since well before retirement spreading across his face.

“Ben…”

“Come on,” he insisted, “don’t tell me you don’t wanna get out of apartment life. Huh? Don’t you wanna have a big ass kitchen to make those cakes you like? And a room for all your books?”

He wasn’t giving up so you gave in.

You wrapped his knuckles before every fight; putting extra care into the hands you love that have already seen so much hurt. Kissed his palms and wrists and fingertips before helping him into his gloves.

He got shit at first, for having his girl in the locker room with him. They said there was no way he could fight like a man if he couldn’t even get ready like one.

He went unbeaten for eight straight match ups, always looking towards you at the end of a fight and making grabby hands as soon they dropped his arm. They couldn’t contain him, always having to let him through the door and back out into the crowd as soon as possible so he could get to you.

Nobody said shit to him then.

Then Santiago came home and, suddenly, he was undone again.

You stayed back the night of the ninth fight, insisting he’d be fine with Frankie wrapping him up. He begged you to come, said he couldn’t win without you there.

“I'm sure Frankie would be happy to give you kisses on your palms, baby.”

“Yeah,” he shot back, a grin overtaking him, “but he’s not as gentle as you.”

Taking his hands in yours, you kissed palms and then his wrists and then his finger tips before standing on your tiptoes to kiss his lips.

“There,” you told him, “tradition done, you’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t.

He lost the fight, walking in way later than his boy’s nights tend to run with Santiago supporting him around the waist. It was the crashing that woke you up as they both tried to kick their shoes off in the dark.

“What the fuck?”

You turn the light on and stand there, arms crossed over your chest, “I’ve been calling for a while.”

“Baby,” he looks up at you now, letting go of Santi and making his way to you, “baby, I lost.”

“I know, Frankie texted.”

“You weren’t there, that’s why,” he says, large hands framing your face, “promise me you’ll be at the next one, I can’t lose like that again.”

Leaning to the side, you look at Santiago, "how much did you give him to drink?”

“Not a lot but it was tequila,” he says, hands shoved into his pockets, “I think he has a slight concussion.”

“Baby,” Benny grabs your attention back, “I’m gonna go with Santiago to Colombia for the weekend.”

You look back at the dark haired man, “is that so?”

“Yeah,” Benny continues, “getting seventeen grand to help with a recon and then I’ll be home.”

He crushes you against him, bending slightly to lift with his knees as he pulls you off the ground; stumbling as your added weight throws off his balance. Your eyes stay on Santiago the entire time, sheepish and looking anywhere but at you.

“You better start looking for houses, baby,” he says excitedly, “that’s our down payment right there.”

He explained his thinking in detail, the logic behind his decision to follow Santiago’s dumb ass into what you assured him would be another mess.

"But have I died yet?” He asked you back, “I'm doing this for us, for our future.”

“No you’re not.”

Another conversation had in the dark of the bathroom as Santiago slept off the spins on the couch in just one room over, no way to really see him.

“I am,” he said, “I am and then I’m done, it’s just three days and then I’m home and we’ll buy a house, baby. We’ll start an actual life.”

“We have an actual life, Benjamin.”

Voicemail inboxes ran full on the third day after the third day.

You’d called them all when he hadn’t come back on the plane he promised he’d be on. When he didn’t show up at the airport, that’s when you’d called every goddamn burner phone number they’d given you.

You told him it wasn’t just recon and information gathering. You told him burner phones were fucking out of the ordinary. You told him he was making a mistake.

“You're not going for us, Ben,” you’d told him, “don’t sit here and say that to me, be honest. You’re going because Fish and Will are going and you feel some sort of need to keep up. Haven’t you ever thought about why they’re so protective over you?”

“Fuck off, they treat me like a kid.”

“They don’t want you to get hurt, Ben,” you said, “you’re trying so hard to keep up with them and get on their level and they are trying so hard to keep you from getting as fucked up as they are. Especially with your inability to compartmentalize.”

“You're saying a lot of really hurtful shit,” he pushed past you and back into the bedroom, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight, take the couch when Santiago’s not here tomorrow night.”

You followed him, pulling his arm back when he reached for his pillow and turning him towards you.

“No, you will not sleep on the floor or the couch, Ben,” you tell him, “I just want you to be honest with yourself if you won’t at least be honest with me.”

He kept up with the story that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. Pleaded with you to understand his thought process.

“It's just a couple of days,” he promised as you kissed him goodbye, “I'll be back before you know it.”

Three weeks passed as you called every number every day. Benny. Then Will. Then Frankie. Even Tom too. A steady rotation as you prayed that one of them would pick up and you would hear his voice on the other end or in the background.

Three weeks of watching videos just to hear his voice and lying to his mom about where he really was. Telling her you weren’t worried, that sometimes these little boy’s trips just last longer than they say they will.

Three weeks of hoping you weren’t rifling through the closet of a dead man; of hoping you weren’t sleeping in a corpse’s bed.

The very idea of Benny being nothing but a body broke you, bringing nothing but silent tears to the surface as you willed yourself to keep believing in the best. You hadn’t cried this whole time, you certainly weren’t going to mourn before a reason was given.

When he was in the service, he told you not to worry about him. He told you that not hearing from him for a while was normal and as long as you heard nothing from anybody else then that meant he was safe. But there wasn’t protocol for this sort of thing. No higher ups, no dog tags shoved in boots to be given back to you upon receipt of a coffin and a folded up flag.

Not hearing when he said you’d hear from him again was as good as a notice of death.

And not just him but Will and Frankie too.

You laid there then, listening to the automated voice tell you the mailbox was full yet again, and closed your eyes hoping sleep or your own death might find you to still the way you felt your entire life caving in.

Gentle lips find you in your dreams, the rough texture of facial hair tickling the sensitive skin of your cheek as he presses against your eyelid and down your face.

“Hey, baby,” gun calloused fingertips run down the length of your nose, “god, you’re pretty when you sleep.”

Every time you think of him, every imagination of his voice, it’s with that twang nestled comfortably in his mouth. It’s not sadness that brings it out of him, you learned a long time ago that it’s vulnerability. That’s why it’s almost exclusively reserved for you and this room.

“I know you can hear me,” he says, his timbre dropping low as he whispers into your ear, “trying really hard not to scare you here but,” he sucks in a breath, “judging by the way my shit’s all over the floor, I think I already have.”

He tickles that sensitive spot just beneath the hinge of your jaw, fingers sliding back until his hand cradles the base of your skull and he presses his mouth to yours.

Your eyes shoot open as your breathing stops, caught wholly off guard by both the dream Benny and the very real one that kneels beside your bed.

“Did I scare you?”

Your heartbeat rushes through your ears as you fight to push yourself up, his hands helping you along the way.

“I fucking scared you,” he stands before sitting beside you on the bed, “I’m sorry.”

His clothes are new; crisp jeans and an olive green jacket. His eyelashes are darker than you’ve ever seen, like tears have been on the little blond strands so long they’re now forever dark.

“You look like shit,” you say, “where the fuck have you been?”

He laughs, “there's my girl, I missed that smart ass mouth. You find us any houses?”

“I stopped looking two weeks ago, too afraid there wasn’t gonna be anybody to put in that house.”

“And here I was,” he shakes his head, “trying so hard to baby trap you, if I had my way we’d have eight to fill a house with by now.”

He leans back into you, propping himself on his elbow, “but I can’t even manage to pick up the phone and tell my girl where I am so it’s probably for the best I haven't even given you one,” his eyebrows raise, “not for lack of trying, mind you, I did say I’ve been trying to baby trap you.”

He smiles when you do, melting into you as you push him back into the mattress. His hands lay heavy on your hips, guiding your body onto his as you talk and breathe between frenzied kisses and feral touches.

“I was so worried about you—“

The sound of his jacket zipper being pushed down permeates the space.

“—I know, I was worried about you too.”

His fingers meet yours as you fumble with the clasp of his pants.

“I thought the worst, Benny.”

He lifts his hips and pushes the material down his legs, his half hard cock springing free.

“I know.”

He pushes your panties to the side, fingers pushing in slightly as a less than half assed attempt to get you ready.

“I tried not to for so long, but then you didn’—“

He cuts you off as he guides you down on top of him, mouth opening up against yours to swallow the half-pained moan you give him.

Seating you onto him fully, he pulls away to lay flat on his back, arms above his head as you both breathe through the sensitivity.

“You weren’t at the airport,” you tell him on the wave of a sob, “you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”

You catch his tears as you lean forward to kiss him again, thumb rubbing across the swell of his rough and sunburnt cheek.

His chest heaves gently as he repeats himself again.

“I know,” he cries softly into your open mouth, “I’m sorry.”

#ben miller #benny miller #ben miller fanfiction #benny miller fanfiction #ben miller x you #ben miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #do not perceive me

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donald4spiderman · 3 years

Text

The City

masterlist

Summary: Reader is thinking about moving to California. Spencer’s determined to get her to stay.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Category: Fluff (angst if you squint)

**Inspired by Ben’s poetic confession in Parks and Recreations, S3E14**

Here’s a draft i forgot to post

**not edited yet**

Spencer’s POV

As a profiler, I’ve mastered the observation and analysis of behavior— we all have.

Picking the minds of serial killers is second nature— so why is it so hard for me to figure out why (Y/N) is behaving so strangely?

In the recent months, her witty and charming energy has dwindled into a lethargic imitation. Whether she’d admit it or not— (Y/N) can be extremely enthusiastic about certain things— especially our job.

So, when I watch her drag her feet, inch by inch, into the BAU each morning, It’s hard to contain my concern.

I know Morgan has noticed, and I’m sure everyone else has too. They’re probably just too scared to say anything. (Y/N) doesn’t enjoy people prying into her private life, so we all stay a comfortable distance away.

I watch her a lot... more than I’d like to admit. It’s hard to be unaware of her nervous behaviors— the nail biting, hair twisting, skin picking— I practically have enough data to make a correlation graph. I can tell when she’s upset, and it’s happening more than usual.

(Y/N) has always been kind to me. Even when I was at the peak of my stammering, slicked-back hair phase, she treated me with more respect than I deserved. I can only imagine how awkward I must’ve been (or, still am), and I thank her for not belittling me.

I guess I’m validating the Benjamin Franklin Effect when I say this— but I feel like I owe it to her to ask what’s wrong. Over the years I’ve built up (arguably) the closest friendship with her, so it only makes sense for me to bite the bullet for the team.

It’s partially due to the fact that I’ve developed a slight (if not major) crush over time, but who wouldn’t? A gorgeous, intelligent, quick-witted women is kryptonite for any person. Our conversations are always stimulating, she gives the best advice, and she’s always there to comfort a team member.

So, it pains me to see her struggle through a paperwork day. I wish she would reach out to anyone for help, but it’s not in her nature.

“H-Hi.” I smile as I approach her desk. Her tired eyes look up at me, and she smiles back.

“Hey, Reid. What’s up?

I rub the back of my neck nervously. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Morgan and Emily watching me struggle to form a sentence. They giggle as they watch.

“I-I was... um. D-do you want to get coffee with m-me? Not now! I mean— after work!” Morgan stumbles out of the bullpen, barely containing his laugh. I must sound pathetic.

(Y/N) nods hesitantly, “S-sure. I don’t know why you want to get coffee with me, but I’m free.”

“Really?” My surprise shocks her. “T-that’s gr-great! I can drive you!”

She chuckled, “I think I’d rather drive us. I’m pretty sure you can’t drive a mile without hitting a curb.”

I nod fervently. “Sounds good.”

As I make my way back to my desk, I send a glare in Emily’s direction as she continues to smirk at me.

(Y/N) grabs an empty table in the café, and we sit down, huddling close to our warm drinks. She orders a cinnamon latte, I order a black coffee with an unhealthy amount of sugar.

I place the drinks down. “Did you know that cinnamon is shown to reduce systolic blood pressure. It’s commonly used in South Asia and works by dilating blood vessel.”

She nods, “Surprisingly, I did know that. You’re gonna have to teach me something else, Doc.” I laugh in response, enjoying the relaxation that radiates off of her.

“I feel like we don’t get to, um, t-talk as much as I would like to.” My words get caught in my throat and she gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well, we don’t exactly have the most leisurely job.” She states, sipping her drink.

I bite my lip, she looks down. I convince myself that my mind is playing tricks on me, because there’s no way (Y/N) would glance down to watch me pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

“I know... but you used to talk more.”

“I’ve been busy lately. Tired too.” She mumbles.

I mean forward slightly, my voice is a hushed whisper. “A-are you... okay?” I’m anticipating an defensive response, but all she does is sigh.

“I’m alright. I just... I’m getting tired of being here— in D.C.”

My eyes widen and my brows knit together. “W-What! Why?”

(Y/N) shrugs, “I don’t know. I just expected to feel... really, really attached to D.C when I first moved here. I love my job, and I love you guys— but nothing’s keeping me here.”

My face drops. My disappointment is adamant because she scrambles to reassure me.

“It’s not that I don’t absolutely love working with you guys. You’re my best friend, Spencer. But... I came to D.C to... I don’t know... settle down.” It comes out as more of a question rather a statement. “It’s sounds weird, right? Me, settling down?” She laughs. “I-I don’t mean a husband and a family necessarily. I moved here because I wanted to belong somewhere.”

“You don’t feel like you belong?”

“I feel... I feel like everything I have right now is temporary. It’s not the feeling I expected to have. I just want to have something permanent in my life for once.”

I remain silent, lacking the proper response.

“Please don’t tell anyone!” She pleaded.

I smile solemnly, “I won’t. I promise.”

In that moment, I make another promise. Not just to (Y/N), but to myself. I’m going to show her how many things she has here for her in D.C.

I’m going to prove how much I believe she belongs.

I started by bringing her coffee each morning— a cinnamon latte from the same café we went to.

The first time she seemed pleasantly surprised. I sped through the doors of the bullpen, my coat and slacks absolutely soaked due to the rainy D.C weather. She giggled at the sight of my hair plastered to my forehead. I was certain that I looked like a wet dog.

“Morning!” I greeted, placing down both cups of coffee on her desk so I could fix my hair. “I-uh-I got you coffee. A cinnamon latte, of course.”

(Y/N) smiles brightly, “You’re the best. Thanks, Reid. I definitely needed this.”

Hotch and Rossi are watching me curiously, pretending not to look up from their files. At this moment, I could care less.

“It’s n-nothing.” Suddenly I’m blushing furiously under the weight of her stare.

“Thanks, again.” She clears her throat, “Y-you’re a really good friend.”

She smiles. And I smile.

In the next three weeks, (Y/N) and I grow closer at a rate faster then ever. I try to do something small for her everyday. Finishing up a file for her; Bringing her coffee or water; Sitting next to her on the jet. It appears to be working— she looks much more relaxed and happy. Her sarcastic humor is back and she engages more with the team.

We’ve decided to hang out after today. I find myself enjoying every minute with her, even if all we do is talk, eat, and walk around aimlessly. I’m sure she’s tired of me, but my infatuation with her only grows.

Tonight, we’re sitting at the park, watching people on their late night jogs, dog walkers, babysitters. We finished eating Indian food at a local restaurant. Turns out we’re both regulars at the same place, it’s a shame we haven’t run into each other.

She’s sitting criss-cross on the bench, her elbow rested on top of her knee. “You know,” She starts, “D.C is pretty great. I don’t think I’ve felt this... content in a while.”

I smile, even if it’s too dark for her to see. “Th-thanks. D.C is a great place, despite averaging 39 inches of rain annually.”

She means her head back against the bench. “I still don’t know. I feel like I’m just waiting for something. I don’t even know what that something is... a sign maybe?”

“A sign?” I laugh.

“Y-yeah... a sign. I’d usually make a pros and cons list and research the differences between the two places but... this decision feels too personal to look at it as just statistics.”

In this very moment, I decide to toss all my concerns, questions, what if’s, into the wind. This is my final move; my last resort; my Hail Mary.

My hands are trembling, and it takes me seconds to force the words out of my throat.

“W-well, besides the higher cost of living and considerably gloomy weather, D.C can be a p-pretty great place to reside. It has a busy political culture and is one of the most diverse states in the country.” I pause for a little longer than necessary.

“But, besides statistics and facts, if w-we look past objectivity, to me: D.C is where my friends are, and my friends are my family. Um... I like The City because it’s home to so many great people. A-and I know it’s hard to see the good in things considering how much violence we see on a daily basis, but certain people make me believe that things aren’t all that bad.”

(Y/N)‘a listening attentively, making me even more nervous than I thought possible. “D.C— The City— is beautiful. It’s charming. It’s a warm, cinnamon latte on a rainy day, o-or a late night walk in the park. To me, it’s home.” I catch her smirking a little bit, and I can only hope that she understands what I’m trying to say.

“Plus, The City is really good at her job. The City’s an excellent profiler. But, the city’s an even better friend, and an even better person. It doesn’t hurt that The City has great hair, and gorgeous eyes, and a perfect smile. And, she does this cute thing where she twists the ends of her hair, even if I keep telling her to stop. The City’s beautiful and definitely out of my league. She probably wants nothing to with me now, but I don’t care. I really like The City. And, even if she doesn’t like me back, she should stay, because there are so many people that like and love The City. ‘Cause who wouldn’t.”

(Y/N) is full on grinning right now, and it’s hard to stay patient when so much is on the line.

“Wow.” She giggles. “You really like The City.”

I chuckled awkwardly, “Y-yeah. I really do.”

“I mean, if you think The City’s so great, maybe I should stay. Plus, I’m sure The City likes you too.”

I feign confusion, “Really? I don’t know... The City can be kind of closed off sometimes.”

“Trust me— The City definitely likes you back. And I don’t think The City appreciates you saying that about her”

“Oh really?” I gasp. “Let’s ask her.”

I turn my head around, then proceed to look back at (Y/N) in the most dramatic fashion.

“Hey.” I laugh.

“Oh, Hi Dr. Reid!” She feigns surprise to match my frivolousness.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, b-but I really like you. And, a little birdy told me that you like me back.”

She laughs heartily, “Well, that little birdy is a pretty reliable source.”

Soon, her head is resting on my shoulder. My body’s stiff and the air is caught in my lungs, but I feel more content than I have in years. Somehow the weather is warmer, and the sun is brighter, and things just seem... better.

“This is a great city.” She mumbles, peering up at me in the most adorable fashion.

“Yeah,” I smile, “It really is.”

“Pawnee’s a really special town, I love living there. And, I look forward to the moments in my day where I get to hang out with the town, and talk to the town about stuff. The town has really nice blonde hair too. And, it’s read a shocking number of political biographies for a town, which I like.” - Ben Wyatt

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #dr reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #sub!spencer #bittersweet #criminal minds x reader #fluff #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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according-to-the-laura · 2 years

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StackedNatural Day 103: 12x10

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

February 2, 2022

12x10: Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets

Written by: Steve Yockey

Directed by: Thomas J. Wright

Original air date: February 2, 2017

Plot Synopsis:

Lily Sunder plots her revenge against a band of angels that killed her family; Sam and Dean must save Castiel from becoming her next victim.

Features:

Trans Angel Benjamin, immunity to angel telekinesis and smiting, Mom and Dad (Dean and Cas) are fighting, Cas’ old commander Ishim, Hot Girl Castiel, sometimes talking actually is the solution, Dean is Cas’ weakness, Dean’s pride and prejudice hand flex.

My Thoughts:

I don’t even KNOW what to say about Lily Sunder, this episode is a straight banger. (This is a lie and the length of this post will prove it.)

Lily herself is a total badass. I love her dual wielding angel blades, presumably the blades of the two that she already killed, I love her using her enemies’ magic against them, I love her white getaway convertible, I love her ability to forgive Cas even with some of her soul burned away and decades of revenge hatred.

The writing and directing are both great. I ended up putting a ton of lines in the “Notable Lines” section below because there was so much raw dialogue that I loved. Thomas J Wright has directed a lot of great episodes (including 11x04 Baby and 8x17 Goodbye Stranger), and I think he really knocks it out of the park in this one. The lighting isn’t the palette we all love from season 1, but it is really dynamic and beautiful in a way that the late seasons often fail to achieve. When it’s orange it’s from the streetlights and it’s moving across their faces and leaving them in darker shadows than we usually get. Really beautiful. The neon lights flickering in the bar when Benjamin was calling for help were great, as were the lights of the rest of the battalion. I really loved the moment when each angel looked up and the cameras flipped us around so they looked upside down. It’s a great way of injecting some ominous tension into the mix.

Destiel fights are so passive aggressive, and I’m here for it. We’re going to ignore each other in the kitchen. I am going to almost crash this car because you annoyed me so much. I am going to talk up this other guy that you are acting jealous of. “Oh, he speaks.” And then Dean is going to immediately use that passive aggressive-ness on Cas’ behalf when the other angels are being mean to him in the diner.

Ishim is a great episode villain. He’s a total creep but his stated motivations are believable enough that it’s not immediately clear he’s going to be the bad guy. Yeah, he’s an asshole to Cas, but also Cas committed a genocide and caused everyone to lose their wings. In a metanarrative way he makes Cas more trans by microaggressing him about having a male vessel. How fun that angels can also experience workplace sexism. He’s also very smart- he instantly clocks that Dean and Cas are each other’s weakness, even when they’re still fighting. There’s a cut to him basically as soon as Dean sits down and I think that’s the moment he starts making contingency plans. There’s a real “weird exes” vibe between Cas and Ishim with their history. Also, Ishim reminds me of the guys who take their shirt off and start doing pushups in the middle of the party. So weird.

We got some new details about the world that are super interesting in this episode, too. I want to know SO MUCH MORE about angels becoming friends with their vessels. Give me an arc where Cas has to possess Claire for plot reasons. Angel blades are specific to their owners; I know this would be insane for the props department but I would love if they all had personalized carved designs or something. Humans can use their soul to cast magic the way angels use their grace, which is going to become SO important for Jack’s story later on. Apparently Cas was the leader of his battalion with Uriel and Balthazar, which kind of makes sense to me and kind of doesn’t. Cas as leader being the one to bring Dean up from hell makes sense, but in season 4 I really thought that Uriel was the one in charge. In my mind Cas got lobotomized after rescuing Dean and that’s how Uriel got to be in charge.

I love Yockey making Akobel a Seraphim like Cas. As far as I can tell (with the help of the Supernatural Wiki) they’re the only two confirmed in the entire series. They’re both angels who spent time on Earth, fell in love with humanity and one specific human, and were punished for it by Heaven.

I really liked Sam and Lily’s scene together as well. Any time Sam gets to relate to someone with his past I go a little crazy. I’ve said it before, but Yockey does the readings and lets the character’s history colour their present decisions. Please send me recommendations of canon-divergent Lily&Sam revenge team-up fics, thank you.

It cannot be stressed enough that Dean is Cas’ human weakness and killing him is the thing Ishim knows will hurt Cas the most. And in the Mark of Cain arc, Cas was Dean’s weakness, the one whose death “would hurt something awful”. You can’t make this shit up.

Absolutely beautiful moment when Cas kills Ishim and then falls to his knees in front of Lily. I only wish his entire apology had been from that position. And then he says he can’t imagine the depths of her loss and he is going to watch his son die TWICE in the next few seasons. Unbearable.

I love the talk at the end of the episode. For once Team Free Will communicates their feelings and resolves some of their arguments. Also, we get Dean’s Pride and Prejudice hand flex after he pats Cas on the shoulder while bringing him a beer that will not affect him. Great excuse to touch him. You construct intricate rituals to touch the skin of other men, etc etc.

Notable Lines:

“Wow, this Benjamin seems like he's pretty cool, you know. Like he wouldn't make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices.” “Yeah, you know what I like about him? Is that he's sarcastic, but he's thoughtful and appreciative, too.”

“Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman.”

“If I plan to do anything else stupid, I’ll let you know.”

“Is he a hero? Is he a spanner in the works?”

“You were sent here to observe humanity, to watch and to learn. But instead, taking up with a filthy animal. Have you no shame?”

“Patience is a talent. You'd be amazed what a person can do with a little bit of purpose and an abundance of time.”

“I used to envy you, Castiel. You believe that? You survived Hell. You were chosen by God. But now look at you. [...] I'm gonna help you. I'm gonna cure you of your human weakness the same way I cured my own– by cutting it out.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 10

IMdB Rating: 8.2

In Conclusion: This one is so long, sorry that I’m constitutionally incapable of shutting up about this episode.

<< Previous Day | Next Day >>

#Stackednatural #supernatural #spn #12x10 #Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets #I am so samcoded I too want to resolve any and all conflict between my friends when they fight in the car #every time i have to decide between giving an ep a 9.9 or a 10 i am mentally holding it up next to tmwwbk #whatever i like to be generous #the upside of stacked is that at the end i will have a list of the top tier episodes for when i need to Feel Something

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dudefrommywesterns · 3 years

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Title: Trust

Ship: Mike x Ichabod Crane x Abbie Mills (pre-relationship)

Words: 1183

Description: Following doubts in his marriage, and rising tensions between Katrina and Abbie, Mike gives Ichabod relationship advice.

Warnings: none

As time went on, things got more complicated between the trio of friends. At the start, when Frank Irving was still captain and Katrina no more than a name to Mike and Abbie, things had been simpler. As simple as it could be for the pair of Witnesses and their less prophesied friend. It seemed as if the complicating of the world around them was complicating their friendship too.

Katrina had not had a moment’s peace since she was rescued from purgatory. She had been taken captive by the Horseman of Death, who still harbored feelings for her from when he was still Abraham van Brunt, and still human. Despite her reservations, Abbie, along with Ichabod and Mike, conducted a failed rescue mission. Abbie didn’t tell much to Ichabod about the subject but she and Mike shared a similar annoyance in the fact that they risked their necks just so that Katrina could tell Ichabod she intended to stay and operate as a spy.

Then, the trio became at odds with a weeping woman that dragged victims to sea. The first victim was a friend of Ichabod’s, one of few other than Mike to share his love of 18th century culture. The creature’s second victim was Abbie, or it would have been if Ichabod, Mike, and Hawley, a privateer, as Ichabod referred to him, hadn’t managed to save her. And, while trying to save Abbie, the creature had tried to take Mike too.

The creature was revealed to be Mary Wells, a woman Ichabod was once promised to, a woman he believed had returned to England.

When she attempted to kill Katrina, Ichabod had to learn another lie his wife had told. Mary Wells had died in a night meeting with Katrina and the letter he had received from Mary about her departure was forged by his wife.

After this revelation, Ichabod and Katrina’s relationship was on shaky foundation.

The next time they would see Katrina in person, she was a vessel through which Moloch would be brought to Earth. The trio found her at the hospital in a bad state. Her veins were visible and had a bluish-black hue. Sweat poured down her face in waterfalls and pain accompanied it all. As they learned more about it, they made their way to the abandoned church of St. Henry’s Parish and tried to make a plan.

Mike couldn’t help but notice the tension between Katrina and Abbie. From the very moment they met, it seemed Abbie was not the biggest fan of hers. This crucible of tension they found themselves in reached its boiling point when Ichabod came back from talking to Henry about letting Katrina be rid of the demon baby.

Katrina refused to believe her son could not be saved, and Abbie refused to let her mission fail to save a lost cause. Ichabod interceded, and looked upset by the whole ordeal. Mike had broken up too many fights in their life to bother with another.

Despite all the tension, the trio managed to locate Benjamin Franklin’s prism and beam the light that would destroy Moloch toward Katrina’s pregnant belly.

Of course, the work of the dark forces was never done.

An unknown creature came to town and began sucking the life out of the inhabitants of Sleepy Hollow.

While Katrina and Abbie were off searching, and cooling off from another spat they’d had, in their respective areas of expertise, Ichabod and Mike were combing through theirs: historical documents.

“Do you believe my son can be saved?” Ichabod asked them.

“I, uh, that’s not my call,” Mike replied. “I don’t really know him.”

“You are never without an opinion.”

Mike sighed. “No, I’m not.”

Then, they added, “I respect Katrina, really. She is a formidable woman and a brilliant witch. But, uh, I don’t think it matters if Henry can be saved. He has killed people. He’s tried to kill me. And Abbie. And Katrina. And you. You guys are my friends. I can’t really forgive that.”

“I understand.”

“Katrina is a lot like Hawley,” Mike said. Before Ichabod could ask for clarification, they continued, “I don’t mean that they’re both knowledgeable about supernatural items, which is true but not really my point. You deal with Hawley but refuse to trust him. Same goes for Abbie and Katrina. Abbie doesn’t really trust Hawley either, and you can’t really trust Katrina. Katrina’s intentions are purer, at least, I’d like to believe so because I care about you, but it’s the same.”

Ichabod pondered on this before saying, “I confided in Miss Mills at Caroline’s funeral.”

“Ah,” Mike said, recalling the pair sharing a drink at the bar. “About Katrina?” He gave them a short nod.

“She and I share a bond,” he said. “One that has been forged for us. A mission that we must fulfill.”

“You trust Mills because of something divine. And you trust me because…?”

“You have decided to walk this path with us,” he said. “And you have a spirit similar to my own.”

Mike smiled. “I never really thought about it. Unlike all of our other allies, I can leave. There is nothing and no one keeping me here to fight this war.”

A moment passed.

“But anyway, why are you telling me this?”

“You were right about Katrina. I must keep my faith in her to win this war but...”

“You don’t know if you can ever trust her again,” Mike finished. “Look, I am entirely the wrong person to ask for relationship advice. Especially marriage advice.”

“You’re careful and logical. In fact, you are the most careful person I have ever met.”

“Well, careful did once mean anxious or solicitous, and I am very anxious,” Mike said in a slightly joking manner. “If you really want my advice, go back to the basics.”

“The basics?”

“Lack of trust doth not a good marriage make,” Mike said. “As I’m sure you know. Be her friend. Friends are useful in times of war.”

Quickly, Mike added, “And yes, a woman’s husband should also be her friend. I mean, quite literally, just be her friend.”

“Are you suggesting I divorce my wife?”

“No, I’m suggesting you take a break,” Mike said. “And...I’m not quite sure how to put this.”

“You’re not sure how to say what?”

“You’re not technically married,” Mike said. “Definitely not legally. There’s no marriage record. And, well, death did you part. A marriage that only exists in your heart is much easier to put the pause button on, especially if you intend to save it.”

“Besides,” Mike continued. “This whole web of lies and the mess with Abraham van Brunt slash Horseman of Death on top of the supernatural war is too much for one relationship. Not only that but it’s been 250 years, Ichabod, you both need time to figure things out again.”

“If it’s meant to be, it will be,” they told him.

“You give very sound advice,” Ichabod said. “Do not doubt your skills.”

“Hey,” Mike said. “What are kindred spirits for?”

He smiled at them, then they resumed their work.

tag list: @lysandthunder @cozyships @prophetshusband @pucksfictionallovelife @holy-heck-i-love-my-fo @genoswife @bee-ships @mrsxhojo @miriamships (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

#⌜ ✒ ⌟#romantic: all we really have is each other #⌜ self ship ⌟#self shipping community #a lot of this is probably going to be pre-relationship #whoops

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fxa · 3 years

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new tumblr discourse where it’s argued that angel x human relationships are always straight because angels have their own gender which is different from human genders. the quote from which all their arguments are built is “benjamin is an angel, his vessel is a woman.” uproar ensues. spnblr is divided. jared padalecki tweets explicit support for the “all straight” side. no one is surprised. misha collins continues to agree that destiel is canon but clarifies that it’s only because it’s straight. joe biden tweets th

#i would pay money to see this in the wild #spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #midam #bluh

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mxacegrey · 3 years

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Peter Parker Gay Ships galore and some good old angst. I take requests!!!

Updated 31st August 2021

Chapters so far:

- Agent Recluse

- Dad Rhodey

- HYDRA Peter Parker

- Peter Barton

- Get with the times Steve (fem Peter)

- Prompt

- Temporary Bliss

- Adopted by the Bartons

- Spidershield

- Whump

-Save me from spiralling please

- Spiderfrost: Underestimated

- Infinity stone vessels

- Replaced yet found (1 & 2)

- Infinity dance & crack

- Spiderfrost: King of his heart

- Spiderfrost: Asgardian Peter

- Secret Identity

- Forgotten and left behind

- Blow ups

- Misunderstandings

- Spideydevil

- Suicide Squad: Misfit

- Wake Up

- Adopted by supervillains

- Identity reveal

- Peter Maximoff

- Peter/Pedro Toomes

- Spideyflash: Secret Relationship

- Peter Parker-Ross

- Peter Parker-Harrington-Connors

- Peter Barton-Lokison

- Peter Benjamin Wilson

- Sugar Daddy

- Incest

- Pyotr Kravinoff-Marko

- Spideypool switch-a-roo

- Popstar

- FBI agents

- Peter Parker: Time Child

- Mafia AU

- "Peter, No!"

- Subspace

- Murder husbands

- Rags to riches

- Used as bait

- Accidental kiss

- Friends with benefits

- Armour

- Sharing clothes

- Forced to beg

- Teacher/Student

- Hand Jobs

- First Time

- Dub-con

- Stripper

- Tentacles

- Semi-public sex

- Cum as lube

- Pillow Talk

- False impressions

- The morning after

- Punishment

- Mother henning

- Huntsman and Black Widow

- Spidey Vs Venom

- Not coming back

- Hulk & Spiderman

- My uncle Rus

- Cheer Up

- Reverse Flash

- Peter and the magic men

- Peter x Mantis

- Peter x Cooper ~ childhood best friends

- Green Goblin

- Miraculous Spideydevil

- Peter x Lucifer

#hydra peter parker #iron dad #peter parker #rhodey #female peter parker #peter parker ships #spiderman ships #spiderman oneshot #spider son #spiderfrost #peter x harry #winterspider #parkner #major character death #heavy angst #song fic #fluff #peter is a bamf

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silver-stake-through-the-heart · 11 months

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Lily Sunder's problem is that she's too normal to meddle with angels. She liked Ishim until she realized how unwordly and inhuman he is.

Ishim: Oh. What have you done? I shared all of our secrets with you, taught you all of our ways for your precious studies. I… I loved you.

Lily: You didn't love me. You were obsessed with me. That isn't love.

Ishim: I loved you. You threw me away for him.

She's seing love in a very human way (which is… normal, since she's human). But obsession and/or devotion is actually the way angels show their attachement.

(And being as close as physically possible.)

Meanwhile:

Cas gives up everything, kills tons of enemies and starts random apocalypses every season or so FOR Dean and Dean is all "Maybe he likes me" while every supernatural entity around are "there is something going on between them". They also have this tendency to stand on each other (personal space? they don't know her).

Adam (The First) and Seraphina are this insufferable (affectionate), touchy-feeling couple, linked to the hips… since thousands of years.

Then you have Adam and Michael, Benjamin and his vessel, literally sharing the same body and having none intention of going on separate ways (separate ways being going one inch away from each other).

#give the spn angels unhinged humans #the winchesters and their angels #destiel #midam #seraphina x adam #benjamin x his vessel #ishim #lily sunder #single minded angel #rip personal space #supernatural angel lore #text post #my post

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ltwilliammowett · 4 years

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Lightning vs. Ship

A lightning strike aboard a sailing ship could have horrific consequences- fire, explosions, even the incineration of hapless sailors. Some who weren’t killed outright, suffered paralysis, terrible burns or blindness. On 21. November 1790 Portsmouth experienced an extraordinary storm. Lightning rolled along the ground. HMS Elephant, 74-guns, was moored in the harbour and narrowly avoided complete destruction when she was struck by a lightning. The maintopmast exploded, but it did not plunge through the quaterdeck, as it was still held by the top ropes.

A lightning accident

Another collision had Rev. Alexander Scott, who was later to serve as Nelson’s private secretary aboard HMS Victory. In 1802/3 he was aboard a former French prize Topaze in the West Indies. One evening just after midnight the vessel was struck by a lightning during a severe thunderstorm. It split the mizzenmast, killing and wounded 14 men, then descended into the cabin in which Scott was sleeping. He suffered an electric shock and the hooks suspending his hammock melted, flinging him ot the ground. Simultaneously the lightning caused an explosion in a cache of small- arms powder stored above him. The resultant blast knocked out several of Scott’s teeth, injured his jaw and affected his hearing and eyesight. He recovered, but was continually thereafter affected by his nerves.

HMS Fisgard protected by Harris's lightning conductors, September 26, 1846

A study in 1851 of ships in the Royal Navy catalogued the extensive damage caused to the fleet by lightning. One six- year period, from 1809 to 1815, saw 30 ships-of-the-line and 15 frigates disabled. And the merchant marine also suffered; there were vivid reports in the press of the loss of shipping and valuable cargo. Lightning conductors were not entirely trusted at first, because when this lightning rod invented by Benjamin Franklin in 1752 was introduced In the Royal Navy, the lightning conductor was initially just a chain that was pulled into the sea from the top of the mast.This system proved to be unsatisfactory: the chain should only be pulled up the mast when lightning was expected, and lightning often struck unexpectedly. When the chain was pulled up, it was inconvenient for the sailors in the rigging to handle the rigged square sails, and even when it was pulled up, lightning sometimes damaged the chain or the ship. It has even been suggested that ships may have been used to attract the lightning and thus increase the danger to them.

The French Navy developed a modified system in which the chain was guided down the permanent rigging to connect with the copper sheathing that protected the hull below the waterline from damage from collisions and shipworms.

Very soon they replaced the chains with metal cables. In 1820, William Snow Harris invented a new system of lightning conductor plates attached to the spars and aft of the mast, directly through the hull to connect with the copper sheathing of the hull. All main metal masses in the ship should be connected to the conductor to ensure that there is no side lightning. He proposed this system to the Admiralty in 1821 but found that they did not respond to his suggestions and he campaigned to get the Navy to test his system and make the extent of the problem known. They agreed to test the system on eleven ships from 1830 onwards, including HMS Beagle which had also passed the test very well.

Sir W. S. Harris's Lightning Conductors Fig. 1 shows the line of conduction on the masts from the vane spindle to the step. FIg.2, 3, 4,shows the details at the respective transition points (x) (x)

These trials proved the usefulness of these devices, but unfortunately his system was not adopted until 1841. The ships with this system were in fact protected but not always prevent disasters. Tragedies continued to occur, especially when the ship was tilted and other spiky projections like the bowsprit and the end of the drivers boom could attract lightning.

#naval history #lightning conductors #18th Century #19th Century #age of sail

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awake-dearheart · 4 years

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Fathoms Below [Prologue]

Series Masterlist

moodboard by @the-southernbelle

Summary: Following the death of his uncle, King Benjamin, Prince Peter is determined to hunt down the mermaids he thinks are responsible. When his own ship is taken down in a storm and he’s rescued by one of the mermaids he’s sworn to kill, how will his feelings change? And how will this little mermaid feel when she finds out his true intentions toward her kind?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: A bad storm, drowning, nothing major for this chapter

Word Count: 945

A/N: I CANNOT BELIEVE this is finally here. This fic is my baby and I have poured SO MUCH into it. Thank you to @sunmoonandbucky for editing this chapter, and I would be a huge dick if I didn’t thank @marvelxholland for dealing with the 1000 messages I’ve sent them about this story. I really really hope you all like it. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this story, the Once Upon A Time Collection, or my permanent taglist, just send an ask!

I’ll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue, And it’s hey to the starboard, heave-ho Look out, lad, a mermaid be waiting for you In mysterious fathoms below…

Lightning ripped through the inky black sky as the waves tossed King Benjamin’s ship so hard it might as well have been a toy in the bath. The crew ran frantically back and forth, shouting directions at one another over the loud cracks of thunder. At the helm, Captain James Rhodes struggled to keep the ship on course.

“Come on, now! I haven’t lost a ship yet and I don’t plan to start tonight!” the captain shouted, gripping the wheel as tight as he could. His crew continued to work fervently, fighting against the pelting rain that soaked them through to their bones. Behind the captain, King Benjamin and his advisor, Howard Stark, watched helplessly as the crew fought against the storm. Wave after wave crashed over the railings, sending crew slipping across the deck. Rather than passing over them, this storm seemed to be closing in on all sides, trapping them within.

Rhodes turned to face the king with defeat and desperation in his eyes.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “I’ve done all I can. The storm is just too strong. If the ship goes down while we’re still on board, we’ll all die.”

“What do we do, Captain?” Ben asked.

“We abandon ship,” Rhodes surrendered. “The lifeboats are agile enough that we might stand a chance.” Ben stared at Captain Rhodes and saw the resignation on his face. With a solemn nod, the king conceded.

“Give the order.”

“Abandon ship!” Rhodes screamed, ringing the bell next to him. “All hands to the lifeboats! Quickly men!” At his words, the crew began scrambling to ready the lifeboats. With trained precision, they loaded the boats and lowered them into the raging sea.

“Your Majesty, we have to get you onto one of those boats,” Howard shouted above the roar of the wind. Ben shook his head and gripped the railing in front of him. Thunder cracked again and he pointed to the crew still on deck.

“No! See to it that the crew make it off safely,” he ordered. “I won’t leave until they have!”

“Ben, you’re the king!” Howard pleaded. “I have to keep you safe!”

“Exactly,” Ben yelled. “These people chose to follow me on this voyage. I am their king and I am responsible for every soul on this vessel. I will not leave until they’re all off safely.”

“With all due respect,” Rhodes interrupted. “This is my ship, Your Majesty, and I’ve ordered everyone to abandon. That includes you.” Ben smirked at the young captain as the rain lashed against them.

“Nice try, Captain,” he said, turning back to watch the crew. “I’ll leave when you do.”

Rhodes and Howard exchanged worried glances as the storm’s intensity increased. The lightning and thunder were nearly constant now and waves continued to break over the sides of the ship. The ship bucked hard amongst the waves as the crew lowered the last of the lifeboats, and a rope snapped free from the rigging and flew toward the helm. Howard dove for the king, barely knocking him out of the way before the heavy rope crashed into planks he’d just been standing on. The two men looked at each other, completely stunned until Howard spoke.

“Your Majesty, please,” he yelled as they staggered to their feet. “We have to go!”

“No, not yet!”

Howard grabbed the king by the shoulders and spun him around to look into his eyes. On any other day, he’d be thrown in prison for laying a hand on Ben, but both of them were too lost in their terror to care.

“Ben, you heard Rhodes,” Howard begged. “If we’re still on the ship when she does down, we’ll die. Please, think of your family. Richard and Mary are gone. Peter needs you, just like my son needs me. You and May are all he has left. We have to go!”

Ben started back at the man in front of him. He’d never seen Howard like this, his skin pale and eyes blown wide in horror. Slowly, he nodded. He opened his mouth to speak when the ship gave the most violent lurch of all. Ben and Howard toppled to the floor, and Rhodes staggered backward and tumbled over the far railing.

“James!” Ben screamed. Howard hauled him to his feet and dragged him down the stairs to the main deck. They made their way to the last lifeboat, fighting against the wind and rain. The few crew still on board began to shout something that Ben couldn’t make out as he and Howard clamored into the boat. He looked over the edge of the ship and saw something that made his blood run cold. Flashes of lightning illuminated the water, and Ben saw a giant, dark shape in the water. It was only then that he understood what the men were saying.

“Kraken!” they screamed, over and over. Several men ran to the opposite side of the ship and dove into the water, desperate to escape the beast Ben was seeing. Just as Howard began to lower their boat, the deck of the main ship splintered and cracked in half. Water rushed through the lower decks and the masts broke like toothpicks. Ben watched helplessly as the crew still on board fell into the hole in the center of the ship. He looked over at his friend, who stared back at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Howard,” he said, as the ship was slowly dragged beneath the waves.

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honmyoseagull · 3 years

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: X-Men - All Media Types, Dark Avengers (Comic), Wolverines (Comics), Marvel (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Daken Akihiro & Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Daken/Bullseye, Daken Akihiro & Laura Kinney Characters: Daken Akihiro, Bullseye (comics), Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Laura Kinney, Romulus (Marvel) looms a bit in the background Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Yes even killers can do it, Field Trip, Hit, Physical Disability, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Laura appears only off-screen, Gambling, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Daken is not alright, Bullseye kinda deals with it, people die, Gratuitous mangling of Neil Young's lyrics in titles, Slice of Life, Not exactly gentle sex Summary:

It’s obvious that if another chance encounter is bound to happen, it’s going to be on the road to Las Vegas. And that the game will have high stakes. Or the one where Bullseye isn’t as over Daken’s last disappearing act as he thought, and the one where Daken isn’t over the damage done to his body by Sinister.

SO, this one is done, people. Thanks for joining me on the ride once again.

I haven’t done too many obscure references to the comics in this one, I think, (or mostly some to the prequel that was The Boy with the Seed in his Side), BUT IF YOU HAVE DOUBTS OR QUESTIONS, JUST DON’T HESITATE TO ASK.

ALSO, for the ones interested in the other brief mentions in this fic :

(And I won’t try to insert the videos, because I don’t know why, it always seems to mess up when you hit play anyway…)

The soulful Bagdad Café song :

www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCLpLWcX2cg

The trailer for the movie Bagdad Café :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4G2MEszpox0

The main theme (short) of the Concerto pour la main gauche :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQ7_z4GLjhY

A nice version of the entire thing :

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG3mwtTBVK8

See you in July for the next story !!!

Small teaser, because I can :

VESSEL (A TATTOO STORY) - 11 chapters

In the end, no one is an island, not even psychopathic killers. The one where Bullseye would very much like to do his job, where Daken gets killed a lot, where everybody loves Bats and nobody thanks Loki. (Also, Laura buys cronuts.)

#obscure references in fic #daken #daken akihiro #bullseye #fanfic #fic ost

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drsilverfish · 4 years

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Adam x Michael!Adam in 15x08 - The Integration of the Self and the Shadow

Hey again folks,

Time to write a little something about the Jungian significance of the relationship between Adam and Michael!Adam in 15x08 and what that means for our heroes internal journeys towards The EndTM (I’m specifically focussing on Dean and Cas in this meta, but Sam is our hero too, of course).

Just a quick refresher - Jung, who was a psychoanalyst with a bit of a mystical bent, called the unconscious, the Shadow.

That means those elements of the personality or self which the conscious self is unaware of, or rejects. For Jung, that doesn’t mean the Shadow is inherently negative; it can contain much creative potential, when it is contacted and integrated by the conscious mind (often in dreams, guided through therapeutic work). However, when the Shadow is not recognised, it can negatively control a person, because then (repressed) it often leaks through, particularly in the form of projection - whereby rejected parts of the self are projected onto others and become the target of rage or other negative behaviour.

“The shadow is a moral problem that challenges the whole ego-personality, for no one can become conscious of the shadow without considerable moral effort. To become conscious of it involves recognizing the dark aspects of the personality as present and real. This act is the essential condition for any kind of self-knowledge, and it therefore,. as a rule, meets with considerable resistance.”

Aion: Phenomenology of the Self published in The Portable Jung, edited by Joseph Campbell, Penguin Books, 1976, p. 145.

Integration with/ acknowledgement of the Shadow is key, for Jung, to healthy psychic growth and individuation. It’s not something you do once and then it’s done, either, although the first conscious work to encounter one’s Shadow is often particularly revelatory, but it’s a continuous process of self-reflection.

Image credit: http://www.kerosene.digital/reviving-art-shadow-puppets/

I wrote a lot of Jungian themed meta in S14, where that motif was used particularly overtly in the writers’ room, in relation to Castiel’s encounter with the Shadow entity which guards The Empty (wearing his face) and Dean’s encounter with AU!Michael possessing him (wearing his face).

Dean and Cas’ Shadow sides are multii-faceted (as are all our Shadow sides) and include, for example, Dean’s low self-esteem and fear of abandonment (triggered by his mother’s death when he was a kid, and the subsequent pressure his father put on him to be a carer to Sammy) and Castiel’s feelings of low self-esteem and unworthiness (triggered by his journey, over and over again, into doubt against Heaven, and his development of “feelings” for humanity/ The Winchesters/ Dean). We have seen them both struggle individually with these issues, and often be negatively controlled by them, and now these issues are also coming to a head between them, as they lie at the root of their present “break-up”.

In the show’s queer subtext, Dean and Cas’ Shadow sides can also be understood to include their (closeted) queerness, and their anxiety about how powerfully they each love the other, yet fear the other does not love them back.

There is a link below to my S14 meta masterpost, and if you scroll right down to the bottom, all the Jungian-themed meta is collected together in a post-script, for a deeper background dive:

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/184628959784/drsilverfish-s14-meta-masterpost

So, what does this have to do with Adam and Michael in 15x08?

We discover in 15x08 that the two of them are in a relationship - not a trapped vessel chained to a comet - but two beings who share Adam’s physical body, take turns at the wheel of conscious control, and have mutually supportive conversations with one another in their shared mind-body. They listen to each other and they trust each other.

Dean is flabbergasted, after his own recent, tormented and coercive possession by AU!Michael (always a metaphor for his Shadow-side, including the repressive ghost of John Winchester in his head and, in subtext, his closeted queerness):

Dean: “Wait... Michael lets you talk? I mean he lets you... be?”

Adam: “Uh... yeah.... In the cage we came to an agreement. We only had each other.”

Of course, this is not the first time we, or Dean, have come across an angel-vessel relationship like this. In 12x10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets we were introduced to the relationship between the angel Benjamin and his human vessel Madrid:

CAS: “Benjamin is always very careful. Long ago, he found a powerfully devout vessel in Madrid, and her faith, it... she gave him everything – her trust and her body.” DEAN: “Wait. So Benjamin's a woman?” CAS: “Benjamin is an angel. His vessel is a woman. But it – it's – it's more than that. She's not just his vessel.” SAM: “She's... She's his friend.” CAS: “Yeah. Benjamin would never put her in unnecessary danger.”

Thanks to SuperWiki for the transcript:

http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/12.10_Lily_Sunder_Has_Some_Regrets_(transcript)

I’ve always loved this exchange, because it emphasises the way in which human gender doesn’t apply to angels. We could say that angels are genderqueer and that Benjamin and Madrid’s relationship was a queer one, in the sense that it transgresses human and angelic “norms” (although, that also imposes a somewhat human frame of reference).

It’s noticeable that both Adam AND Michael are better beings than they were before they got locked together in the Cage in Hell in 5x22 Swan Song. Adam seems less bratty, more reasoned, and Michael seems less arrogant, more willing to listen (to Adam, and hence to others). That is because their mutually supportive relationship is a metaphor for the integration of the self and the Shadow.

In a mirror for Dean and Cas, Adam and Michael!Adam have a conversation in 15x08 where they can clearly understand their respective Daddy issues:

Adam: “Maybe you don’t know your Dad as well as you think you do... Parents keep secrets, right? Does it hurt to ask the question?”

Michael: “Yes, it would! It would mean that I doubt him, the good son, the favourite doubts his father!”

Adam: “Do you still care about that? After he left you in the Cage?”

Adam, of course, was himself kept as a secret by John Winchester from his other sons. And Michael (in a long-running parallel to Dean) here mirrors an earlier version of Dean, when he was “Daddy’s good little soldier”, as well as mirroring an earlier version of Cas, when he was Heaven’s obedient servant (in between his many rebellions and brain-washings).

Adam and Michael!Adam’s good communication and mutually supportive relationship, which, again, like Benjamin and Madrid, we can read as a “queer” relationship, by angel and human normative standards, is a positive sign-post for our heroes - both in terms of Dean and Cas separately being able to turn, and face, and thus integrate with their respective Shadows (they’ve already done significant work on this, but there is more to come) and in terms of Dean and Cas’ relationship (which Adam and Michael!Adam’s “queer” angel/ human relationship is also a mirror for). Dean and Cas will, this mirror tells us, eventually, be able to talk honestly, and supportively, with one another.

But first, they must go on a symbolic underworld journey, back to Purgatory, which is again, a Jungian metaphor for the encounter between the conscious self and the Shadow.

Michael!Adam says, “There’s the door!” as he opens up a rift to Purgatory and holds up the angel-binding handcuffs, requesting to be freed, in exchange. Which, provides us with a symbolic image suggesting that Dean and Cas’ return to Purgatory together will, despite its painful difficulties (which, as I’ve said in my 15x08 spell meta here:

https://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/189656694954/the-purgatory-spell-in-15x08-love-death-and-an

may involve a literal, or perhaps figurative, enounter with death) be a journey that will set them free (in terms of their encounters with their own Shadows and thus their ability to communicate better with one another):

Jung even described the encounter with The Shadow as a narrow doorway:

“The shadow is a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well. But one must learn to know oneself in order to know who one is.”

Carl G. Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, vol. 9, pt. 1 p. 21.

And we could thus understand the Leviathan blossom, in this reading, as symbolising the flower of self-knowlege that grows in the deep recesses of monster-land, aka the land of the unconscious.

N.B - My usual disclaimer applies - reading the queer subtext in SPN does not promise an overt, unequivocal, “confetti, it’s a parade” queer romantic denouement, But, subtext IS part of narrative.

#Supernatural #15x08 #Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven #SPN meta #Meta #Jung in S15 #Jung in SPN #The Shadow #Destiel #Still subtext #But subtext IS part of narrative #Adam Winchester #Michael!Adam #The archangel Michael

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