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zvdvdlvr · 8 days

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— Morning Smoke

💜 — Synopsis. You knew you had a thing for the one person who had a clear distaste towards you. But maybe having a wet dream about him- while sleeping in the same room as him- was probably a good thing.

💜 — Warnings. Rushed writing. Unedited. Dry humping. Clothed grinding. Reader and Spencer smoke cigarettes.

One year, eleven months, and six days. Thats how long you’d been working for the BAU catching serial killers, bombers, and rapists by observing every detail if their crime. You’re a valuable asset to the team, your brain working on the same page as the rest of the team with just a different design.

During your time at the BAU, you recieved many titles. Caffeine fiend(Aaron), best friend(Penny), mama (Derek), and idiot- affectionately- (Emily). The only person that hadn’t called you anything other than your first or last name, or agent was Spencer Reid.

There was a barrier between the two of you- unspoken, of course, but there was just some kind of wall seperating you from him. You didn’t blame Spencer for keeping you at at arm’s length: you were just some new agent who would eventually transfer. Admittedly, it hurt when Spencer politely uninvited himself from the activities you went along with. And it felt like a gut punch when Spencer chose the farthest seat from you on the jet and chose to move away from you while giving profiles to the police. But you figured he had his reasons.

“Y/n,” Emily murmured, nudging your arm. You looked up, bleary eyes focussing on the dark haired woman in front of you. You blinked.

“What’s- hey!” You cried out indignantly as Emily snatched the cold cup if coffee you had started to reach for. “Emily.”

“It’s time to go back to the hotel. Hotch’s orders,” the dark haired woman said, nodding to the team behind you.

You nodded. “Okay.” You stood up and hastily tucked papers into the manilla folder you were working on. “I’m ready.”

“Put those files down, y/n,” Hotch commanded, raising a tired eyebrow in your direction. “If I’m tired, you have to be a dead woman walking.”

You put the file down and pulled your coat on without protest. You’d only actually seen Hotch exhausted a handful of times. And Hotch was right: you did feel like you were about to fall over. Maybe having an iron deficiency and drinking coffee off an empty stomach wasn’t a very pleasant experience…

The ride to the hotel was over in a blink of an eye- a really ling blink apparently. You hadn’t even known you had reached the hotel until the inevitable and only boy genius Spencer Reid shook your shoulder gently to wake you up. Truly, you thought you were dreaming when you opened your eyes and Spencer’s face surrounded by a mat of curly hair greated you. His furrowd eyebrows relaxed when you looked around.

“Let’s go, l/n. You’re rooming with me,” Spencer told you after locking the car.

If you were in the right state of mind, you probably would have bent over giggling from the way Spencer put his arm around you as he led you into the building. But you weren’t so you just rested your head in the juncture if his shoulder and neck. He smelled good for someone who’d been awake for God knows how long. If you concentrated you thought you could feel the heat of his palm around you, moving in teeny tiny circles.

By the time you reached the bedroom you were practically unconscious in Spencer’s arms, yours and his go-bag around Spencer’s other arm. Spencer gently set you down on the bed closest to the door and put your go-bag in the bed beside you. “You should probably get changed, but I know how tired you are. I’ll shower tonight so you can shower tomorrow,” he explained, brushing a baby hair out of your line of sight. “Goodnight.”

“G’night, Spence,” you mumbled, eyes caught in the way Spencer’s lips moved and twitched. He was an expressive man when he was tired, and you caught the rare smile that graced his lips.

You hoped you would remember the blush on his cheekbones that matched the color of his lips when you woke up the next morning.

Birds chirped. The bright sun shone through the blinds of your home, patterning your room with strips of orangey-yellow. You turned over and saw him.

“Hey, you,” Spencer greeted. His hand came to rest gently on your cheek and pull you up to his pink lips. Your leg fluidly moved to straddle Spencer’s right leg.

Breathlessly you muttered a “good morning” before your hand tangled in Spencer’s curly hair, tugging his head down to meet your desperate kisses.

Spencer moved his thigh up to rub harshly on your core. You gasped sharply and ground down to meet Spencer’s thigh. “Oh fuck,” you whispered, watching Spencer’s back arch as you palmed the massive tent in his pants.

A strangled cry left your lips when Spencer’s massive hands fell onto your hips and controlled your movements. “That’s my girl,” Spencer growled, your hands feeling up Spencer’s chest and tracing the curves and lines of his neck. As your orgasm approached, your hands grasped Spencer’s face and harshly pulled him into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed.

“Y/n,” Spencer murmured, voice low.

“Fuck,” you cursed. “Jus’ like that,” you slurred.

“Y/n,” Spencer repeated, one hand sliding up to your shoulder.

Your jaw clenched and your hips jerked violently.

“Y/n.”

You shot up in bed, sweat soaking your forhead and hair. You looked around wildly, chest heaving.

In front of you sat Spencer Walter Reid, eyes beady with sleep. “Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare-?”

“Fuck, fuck,” you whispered, running a hand through your hair. “I’m- yeah I’m alright. I just-“ you exhaled. “Go back to bed, Reid, I’m alright.”

“A-Are you sure?”

You wanted to groan. The ruins of a spoiled orgasm simmered away in your blood. “Yes. I just- Yeah it was a nightmare. I’m gonna- go get ready.”

“L/n, it is 4 o’clock in the morning.”

You thanked the dark lighting for concealing the dark patch of your pants due to your arousal. “It’s- Please go back to bed.”

“Talk to me,” Spencer pleaded, grabbing your hand.

“It’s nothing, Reid. There’s nothing to talk about. Go to bed.”

“It’s a proven fact that people who discuss their nightmares with someone increase their happiness and healing process by more than 50%,” Spencer rushed.

“Reid it’s embarrassing. I can’t-“ you shook your head. “I’ll- please, Reid.”

The moonlight glinted in his eyes as he searched you for answers he knew you wouldn’t give him. “Are you- y/n. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Your jaw tightened and you looked away. Your thighs burned- you must have been humping the blanket between your thighs. “Reid, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

You threw your hands up. “I know you don’t like me, Reid. It’s kind of obvious, so I’m just saying that you don’t need to have a therapy session because we’re rooming together.”

Spencer genuinely looked offended. “I don’t hate you,” he murmured. “I never have.”

You scoffed and stood up, dream completely forgotten. “Could have fooled me, Reid. Go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You left Spencer on your bed, bringing your go-bag to the tiny bathroom.

— 💜

After scrubbing you skin raw you finally exited the shower and pulled your hair into a braided updo before pulling on some clean clothes.

The sky was still dark when you exited the hotel, cigarette box in hand.

You sat in the ground, smart enough to know not to willingly wander too far outside of the vicinity of the rest of the team while at an unfamiliar location. “Goddamnit,” you murmured, lighting up a cigarette and watching the sun start to stain the concrete.

Visions of dead bodies filled your mind. Empty coffee cups getting tossed into a trash can, bloodstained hands as you ushered a victim away from the unsub, the ringing in your ears after an SUV blew up near you. When you joined the BAU you hadn’t known that every day you looked into the eyes of those possessed by evil, you would lose a part of your soul trying to save each and every person you saw.

But the team had it’s pros. A group of people you mostly called family, good pay, paid sick leave, mostly free flights, a badass title, and introduction to some very fine specimens (read: Spencer Walter Reid).

Speaking of Spencer, you were thinking of the conversation you both had. ‘I don’t hate you. I never have’. You snorted and lit another cigarette, holding the smoke in your lungs until familiar white spots danced in your vision.

“Y/n.”

You looked up. Spencer stood near you, hands fidgeting. You could see his eyes avoiding yours and suddenly you felt like laughing. After all of this time thinking one of the hottest people you’d ever met hated you, he was standing- nervous- in front of you. “Yeah?”

Spencer sat beside you. “Didn’t know you smoked,” he tried, looking towards the rising sun.

“You refused to make comversation with me for about a month when I started,” you said lowly. When Spencer sighed beside you, you added “I don’t normally. Just when… things happen.”

Spencer nodded. “Oh.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you exhaled. You offered the cigarette to Spencer, raising an eyebrow when he accepted.

“I want to talk to you,” Soencer said finally, snuffing out the cigarette.

You lit another one. “So talk.”

“Well, I… I’m sorry.”

When Spencer didn’t say anything for another few seconds, you turned to him. “Is that all?”

Spencer dropped his head into his hands. “Look, I knew I was keeping you at arm’s length. I thought… I thought keeping you away would make sure that I didn’t…” Spencer sighed.

“Reid, I need tou to really spell it out for me. I can’t keep dancing around your riddles,” you said, facing the sun.

“I love you, y/n. I thought that if I didn’t talk to you, let these feelings grow… Maybe I could harbor my attraction to you.”

You felt your heart skip in your chest. “You didn’t consider telling me this? What if I felt the same?”

Spencer looked at you, a confused look in his eyes. “You didn’t like me like that and I couldn’t force you to love me too. You’re way too good for me anyway.”

“I do,” you reply, nodding. “And I’m not too good for you, Spencer. If anything, you should find better than me.”

Prolonged eye contact and silence fell over the both of you.

“Ask me now, Spencer. Make up for lost time.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Spencer lips at your request. “Do you like me like I like you, y/n?”

You nodded, mirroring Spencer’s smile. “I do like you the way you like me, Spencer.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” Spencer asked immediately, eyes dropping to your lips.

You closed the distance between the two of you, hand sliding up the nape of Spencer’s neck to tangle in his curls. Spencer’s lips were skilled, leaving you wanting more as he pulled away.

“So, about that dream I had earlier,” you started.

A sly smirk replaced the smile on Spencer’s face. “I knew what you were dreaming about, I just couldn’t stand listen to you knowing how weird it would be for me to face you at work the next morning.”

You felt your face warm up at Spencer’s words. “Oh. Well. Sorry for waking you up, then.”

Spencer just shrugged. “I’m not- you sound very nice. I guess I will admit the fact that I told you about talking about your dreams was completely false. I just wanted to pry.”

You shook your head with laughter, the sun peeking up even further in the sky.

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cchaoticc · 2 years

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felix from love victor in 911 omg

#911 lb #as a teenager turned serial revenge bomber!

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daffi-990 · 4 months

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Fuck it Friday 💣🚒💥

Tagged by @wikiangela & @theotherbuckley. Thank you!!

Coming at you with some ladder truck bombing from Rival Firefighters 🚒 . I have no idea if what I’m writing is working and flowing properly, but I’m writing? 😅

Prev snippet here (feel like it’s been forever since I shared something from my beloved au .. but the Eddie breakdown fic happened and kind of took all my writing beans haha)

By the time the police figured out a serial bomber Athena had been chasing’s final target was one Robert Nash, their Robert Nash, it was too late.

Dispatch had just gotten in touch with them, stating Bobby was trying to reach them and that it was important, when suddenly an explosion blew the ladder truck behind them onto it’s side. Stover slammed on the brakes of the fire engine, the vechile jerking to a halt as Eddie and the others watched in horror as flames engulfed the undercarriage of the ladder truck as it skidded to a stop.

They sat frozen in shock, their minds trying to comprehend what they had just witnessed. It wasn’t the first explosion Eddie had seen, hell he’d been in one, but the fear that gripped him as he remembered Buck had been riding in the cabin was almost suffocating.

Eddie climbed out of the engine, his body feeling like it was moving through molasses, as if the world had switch into slow motion. He opened his mouth to call for Buck, but the name got lodged in his throat, like it was afraid it’s call would not be answered.

He willed his body forward, needing to get closer to the wreckage, needing to find Buck.

Buck.

His best friend had given him an exuberant child like smile as he’d climbed into the cabin of the ladder truck when the alarm sounded, excited that he was riding shotgun. Eddie had made a joke about Buck keeping his head in the window like a good boy, Buck responding with his middle finger.

Eddie doesn’t want that to be the last memory he has of him. He doesn’t want a last memory, period.

Determined to pull Buck away from the pearly gates themselves if need be (he can’t imagine someone as good as Buck going anywhere else), Eddie grabs a medical bag and moves towards the overturned truck, each footstep feeling heavier than the last as his eyes search the wreckage for any sign of his partner.

Eddie could see four bodies spread around the wreckage, the firefighters having been thrown from the truck during the explosion. Three were a few metres from the truck and one was right by the busted cabin, and appeared to be pinned. As Eddie drew closer, he got a sinking feeling that the firefighter who was pinned was Buck, but before he was close enough to confirm it, Chim and Hen were pulling him back and away from where he needed to be. Couldn’t they see Buck needed his help? That their team needed their help?

“Let me go!”

He fought against their hold, throwing his weight forward as he tried to dislodge them, their hands feeling like heavy metal chains around him.

“Eddie! We can’t go out there!”

Hen’s voice carries a panicked urgency to it but Eddie’s mind is too focused on Buck, a constant loop of get to Buck, get to Buck, get to Buck playing over and over, for him to even register that Hen didn’t usually panic unless the situation was bad.

“We can’t- what are you talking about? Buck needs us!”

He redoubles his efforts, struggling against the arm wrapped around his chest.

“Do you not see the kid with the bomb strapped to his chest?!” Chim shouts, his voice right by Eddie’s ear.

Wait, what?

No pressure tagging: @wildlife4life @diazsdimples @nmcggg @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @hoodie-buck @mellaithwen @bekkachaos @captain-hen @puppyboybuckley @loserdiaz @lover-of-mine @ladydorian05 @jesuisici33 @jeeyuns @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @fiona-fififi @fortheloveofbuddie @devirnis @donationwayne @disasterbuckdiaz @shortsighted-owl @shitouttabuck @athenagranted @steadfastsaturnsrings @thewolvesof1998 @the-likesofus @try-set-me-on-fire @exhuastedpigeon @elvensorceress @eddiebabygirldiaz and all others who want to share something 🥰❤️

#fic: stuck now so long we just got the start wrong #rival firefighters fic #daffi writes #buddie wip #buddie #tw: explosions #<- putting it there to be safe #not really feeling the writing beans for my beloved au #but I want to make a dent in this chapter.. not matter how small #gahhhh I’m so close to chapter six being finished #I just need to finish the ladder truck part and she’s done #and then it’s on to chapter seven!

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tarosucheon · 1 month

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eleceed guys on fuckboy scale

(slight nsfw)

Sucheon has neither the capability nor desire to be a fuckboy. Purposefully drives people away and has far too much trauma to even think of putting his dick anywhere. Also has the charisma of a rabid wet rat.

Duke is such a fuckboy, but in a political, ulterior motive kinda way. He'll dick anyone down if it means he can emotionally manipulate them with it, or he can use it as a bargaining chip to get what he wants. He's a charmer, good-looking, and had one of the highest prestige in the academy; he could literally ask nicely and he'd have someone in bed with him. I imagine he slept with at least half of the academy, and nobody except the top ten knew of his escapades (they all given him crazy ass side eye for this)

On the other end of the spectrum, Ian is a "i cannot for the life of me keep it in my pants" fuckboi. He's young, attractive, has a crazy amount of prestige to his name, and also has hormones he cannot keep under a leash. Anywhere he goes, he's bound to at least attract someone for the night. He's crazy flirty and leads people on just for the sake of his ego, but never gets attached on his side. It's only because of that he doesn't get in serious trouble with his grandpa for it.

Jisuk has the capability, but no desire. He has the laid back, chill, fratboy adittude that could easily pass as fuckboi, but ask him what his body count is and he'll immediately assume you're talking about death count. Not interested at all in that sort of thing, but he could if he tried.

Gahin doesn't have a crazy high body count like Duke does, but do not let this man ever get in your head. He's got the most inflated ego, but his face card is absolutely lethal and he knows it-to the point where his ego gets glossed over. Not a love bomber, but a serial flirter who plays his honey trap well. Probably stringing along like. five people, and like three are unintentional. Does it half because he likes to stroke his ego and half because he thinks it's important to have a handful of "followers" in your corner.

Curtin does not entertain anything like that; thinks his worth is beyond one night stands. He already knows he's beautiful, why would he need some simpering rat in his bed telling him that? Stringing people along seems cumbersome and annoying, no thank you.

On the other hand, Kayden doesn't have an issue getting down and dirty. He knows he's handsome and the hot shit, but he likes having his ego stroked to inflate that; and what better way through having a roster? He'll rarely ever actually entertain them, but he does sometimes when he's feeling especially shitty or bored.

#eleceed #kayden break #kang sucheon #duke grane #gahin loutrain #ian patrick #curtin #jisuk yoo #eleceed x reader #eleceed headcanons

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therealtsk · 5 months

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What Your Favorite Worm Ship Says About You

some people have found my crusty, old ass tumblr post on this very topic, so im making a new one with my updated opinions! Cause those are, in fact, allowed to change. Enjoy! Taylor x Lisa: you're into relationships that could be dysfunctional or healthy with one push in either direction. also something something sun lesbian moon lesbian. Taylor x Rachel: You love dogs, and you want a girlfriend who can kick your ass. You're also into bomber jackets. I respect you. Taylor x Alec: Sadly, you do exist, and you did make it weird. Go away! Taylor x Amy: You read altpowers on the daily and complain about canon worm being too grimdark. Solid odds on you having never read worm. To be clear, it's worse if you have. also something something FBI OPEN UP Taylor x Victoria: You like the vibes of Lisa and Taylor's dynamic, but you want them to be a little more heroic and a little less dysfunctional. But only a little. Taylor x Clockblocker: You're straight and liked that one joke that cropped up. I also haven't seen any of you in a hot minute, thank god. No offense but this ship is mad boring.

Taylor x Sophia: You've come to realize that Sophia is a great character who gets done extremely dirty by the rest of the fandom. Also, rivals to lovers. Taylor x Emma: This can go one of two ways. Either you adore childhood friends to lovers, or you love enemies to lovers. Either way, you're obsessed with hurt and/or comfort fics. Taylor x Theo: You actually read Worm and recognize that Theo is criminally underrated in the fandom. Now just stop shipping him with Taylor and you'll complete the next step on your journey to enlightenment.

Taylor x Simurgh: I can't say for sure you're a anime fan, but you're definitely at least a little bit of a monsterfucker. also something something inherent eroticism of being world-destroying power couple. Taylor x Greg. You read Worm SI's unironically and get really defensive when people say that Greg is an incel. Completely unrelated, you haven't spoken to a woman other then your mother in five years. Taylor x Cherie: I've been informed this is a ship. I've yet to be informed as of a reason why I should like it. Cherie likers stay mad!

Lisa x Rachel: I don't remember the last time I saw this ship that wasn't also tagged as a polycule with Taylor, so I'm going to go out on a limb and say you're an OT3 enjoyer.

Lisa x Victoria: You’re into the “enemies to lovers” trope, but more of the "Spiderman x Black Cat" type then the "you murdered my entire home town but i can't help but find you sexy" type. Also you have a thing for blondes

Lisa x Faultline: Your ideal relationship dynamic is bickering married couple. You're also into heist movies.

Lisa x Simurgh: You have a thing for smart girls... who hate you. Also, you really liked Part of the Whole. Contessa x Alexandria: You're fucking based. Also something something inherent eroticism of girlbosses winning Contessa x Numberman: you're friends with Peri and enjoy memes about pants and math Numberman x Jack Slash: You think serial killers are hot and are starved for m/m ships. Danny x Eidolon: You're losersexual and are starved for m/m ships. Also you frequent r/wormemes Danny x Miss Militia: Honestly, i think you all died out. I couldn't be happier, this ship is fucking dumb. Amy x Literally Anyone Besides Taylor: listen, there's like a hundred different jokes i could make here, but all of them boil down to amy defenders always defending the rapist for some reason so let's just agree amy defenders are fucking cringe and move on Dragon x Defiant: You understand that this is unironically the only healthy relationship in worm with some of the best character growth and romance in the entire story, and a majority of all of it happens off screen. You're extremely bitter that so many fanfics do both of them so dirty they get beaten into different characters. Alec x Aisha: You like the idea of this ship, cause two pranksters making everyone miserable is the kinda vibe you enjoy, but constantly run into the issue that Alec is...well. Alec. That or you're into Alec's brand of shit, in which case, FBI OPEN UP Aisha x Missy: You read It's Cold Out There Every Day. I did too. Fuck, this fic is so good. I'm going to go cry about the ending again. Lily x Sabah: Yes, you know the age gap is a little problematic, you just want to be happy with your relatively healthy canon lesbians goddamn it Purity x Literally Anyone: You don't understand why people keep calling you racist. You're not! You're just weirdly defensive of the hot milf who murders people of color and seem to constantly bring up that Kaiser didn't actually believe the nazi propaganda he was peddling. You are racist btw Taylor x Brian: You...are Wildbow

#worm #parahumans #wormblr #shipping #all of my opinions are objectively correct btw #if you disagree with me you are wrong and must improve yourself #@ everyone reading this and being upset i didn't include your incredibly niche ship: stay mad #jokes aside im only including stuff i've actually seen in like.#more then one or two fics

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cherry-blossomtea · 6 months

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I love Horn as a character so much because of how completely totally clinically insane she is but she’s so good at hiding it that you’d never know unless you thought to look. And I think a lot of people overlook that in favor of “angry lady who explodes things” which is absolutely an accurate characterization but like.

Rita could have absolutely been a nepo baby, she’s like a countess or some shit, the Skamandroses are old Victorian money but in the fashion of her family name said “Nah fuck that” and joined the army until she earned her place into an elite squadron as a commander no less. Beloved and trusted by her platoon whom she gave everything she possibly had and it was her life. I think for her, being a soldier was what she could do. She was drawn to the structure of it, even if she didn’t necessarily think so highly of the institution. She wanted to fight and so she went to war teeth bared.

She adheres strictly to discipline and rules and order and she finds comfort in the routine and orderly. If something doesn’t fit into the boxes she knows she will make it fit or discard it. Her values are nigh unshakeable, but it is…interesting to see what she actually values. Protecting those who cannot defend themselves, fighting for the people she knows and loves, desperately trying to rein in the chaos she stumbles through as Victoria eats itself alive. I think growing up as the daughter of a count gave her that insight—Victoria, the empire, isn’t something worth defending. She would have been privy to the political upheaval and grown up alongside the coup that overthrew the Steam Knights and the monarchy. So of course she doesn’t fight for king or country. But fighting to maintain order, to halt corruption, to save the lives of individuals? That she can do. “For the greater good” is anathema to the paradigm that guides her life.

Of course, she has lost control of herself. Bagpipe mentions her interrogating a serial bomber and being so violent she left marks the imprisonment device (likely similar to the ones we see in Mansfield). Her files mention her family’s originium arts grant them combat prowess, at the the expense of their own selves, and it’s something she’s tapped into again and again.

And then the fucking County Hillock incident happened.

In the span of 24 hours she loses her friends one by one and is betrayed by her superiors. So now you’re looking at this kamikazee of a woman who is fueled by rage and vengeance alone because they took everything else that kept her going—her squadron, her friends, her faith in the Victorian army, her faith in her ideals. The only thing left to her was screaming in fury as she literally destroyed her own body in an attempt to get revenge. If she had her way, she would have gone down in that fight and been another name on that memorial. She sent Bagpipe away so that at least there was something left because god knew it wasn’t about to be her. At what point was it even about honor or some bullshit everyone else around her seemed to have abandoned? It wasn’t about deservedness or justice or righteousness. It was just ‘the army and Dublinn killed her squadmates Mandragora killed Cello’ and someone was going to pay.

She truly didn’t expect to survive and to her it was probably crueler that she did.

#long post #upholding my blog title o7 #arknights #horn arknights

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usafphantom2 · 5 months

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The prototype B-52s scrapped after First Lady Lady Bird Johnson’s ‘beautification’ of the US Air Force Museum

The B-52 Stratofortress

For more than 60 years, B-52 Stratofortress bombers have been the backbone of the strategic bomber force for the United States. The B-52 is capable of dropping or launching the widest array of weapons in the US inventory. This includes gravity bombs, cluster bombs, precision guided missiles and joint direct attack munitions. Updated with modern technology, the B-52 is capable of delivering the full complement of joint developed weapons and will continue into the 21st century as an important element of our nation’s defenses. The Air Force currently expects to operate B-52s through 2050.

The B-52A first flew in 1954, and the B model entered service in 1955. A total of 744 B-52s were built, with the last, a B-52H, delivered in October 1962. The first of 102 B-52H’s was delivered to Strategic Air Command in May 1961.

The prototype B-52s scrapped after First Lady Lady Bird Johnson’s ‘beautification’ of the US Air Force Museum: The story of the XB-52 and YB-52

The winning design

As explained by Scott Lowther in his book Boeing B-47 Stratojet & B-52 Stratofortress Origins and Evolution, the winning design for the XB-52, Model 464-49, transitioned to Model 464-67. While largely the same, there were some notable differences, most obviously the extension of the forward fuselage. Where 464-49 had the rear of the cockpit canopy behind the leading edge of the wing roots, 464-67 put the cockpit well ahead of the wing. The relatively vast expanse of spoilers on the wings were scaled down and the engine nacelles were reshaped. With those changes and an Air Force ‘letter of intent’ for B-52 tooling in March 1951, Boeing was ready to begin constructing two Model 464-67s.

The prototype B-52s

These prototype B-52s were given the designations XB-52 and YB-52… X for ‘experimental’ and Y being the designation for ‘prototype.’ Typically an `experimental’ aircraft is built before a ‘prototype’, but in this case while the XB-52 (serial number 49- 230) rolled out on Nov. 29, 1951, and the YB-52 (serial number 49-231) followed on Mar. 15, 1952, the YB-52 flew first on Apr. 15, 1952. This was due to the XB-52 suffering damage during pneumatic system pressurization testing which required extensive repairs.

The prototype B-52s scrapped after First Lady Lady Bird Johnson’s ‘beautification’ of the US Air Force Museum: The story of the XB-52 and YB-52

The XB-52 followed the prototype into the air on Oct. 2, 1952. The first flight of the YB-52 lasted two hours and was powered by prototype YJ57-P-3 engines. Despite the difference in designations, the XB-52 and the YB-52 were essentially identical.

The prototype B-52s were largely similar to the production aircraft in appearance. An immediately distinguishing feature of both aircraft, though, was the cockpit. A tandem fighter-style canopy somewhat similar to that used on the B-47 was employed; it was low-drag and gave the pilot excellent visibility.

Pioneering the landing gear layout

The prototypes pioneered the landing gear layout that the rest of the B-52 fleet would employ. Somewhat similar at first glance to the bicycle arrangement used by the B-47, the gear used by the B-52 was quite different. Four separate dual-wheel bogies were stored within the B-52 fuselage, but instead of deploying straight down they deployed out to the sides, twisting around so that the bogies stored fore-and-aft ended up side-by-side. This gave the B-52 not a bicycle arrangement, but a quadricycle. The B-52 would comfortably sit level on its main landing gear and not tip to one side or the other. It still employed smaller outrigger gear near the wingtips, but this was to keep the wingtips from striking the ground during heavily laden takeoffs or bumpy landings.

‘Crabbing’ into the wind

Additionally, the forward bogies could rotate up to 20° side to side, allowing the B-52 to do something unique: land while ‘crabbing’ into the wind, the fuselage of the aircraft pointed well off the axis of the groundpath of the flight. This would permit safe landings in high winds.

The prototype B-52s scrapped after First Lady Lady Bird Johnson’s ‘beautification’ of the US Air Force Museum: The story of the XB-52 and YB-52

The prototypes had flapperons, ailerons and spoilers on the main wings. The ailerons were relatively small and located far from the wingtip; in fact, just outboard of the inboard engine pylon. A wingtip location for the ailerons would have given them more authority, but that would have put them in a much thinner section of the wing, a section much given to flexing. The inboard location was sufficient for the manoeuvring that the bomber was expected to perform.

Folding vertical fin

In any event, the spoilers were to take care of the bulk of the control needs of the aircraft, and the ailerons would eventually find themselves redundant. Unlike the production aircraft that followed, the prototypes did not have the capability for inflight refuelling. Neither did they, initially, have the external fuel tanks that generally graced the outer wings of production model B-52s, but such tanks were eventually added later in the testing phase.

B-52H print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. B-52H Stratofortress 2nd BW, 20th BS, LA/60-0008 “Lucky Lady IV”.

The horizontal stabilizers were all-moving, but this was meant for trim stabilization. Actual control was via slim elevators along the trailing edge. The elevators had, through the B-52F, trim tabs. An important but rarely noted feature not only of the prototype B-52s but of all B-52s that followed was the folding vertical fin. The fin was, at least until the G-model, a vast structure; too tall by far to allow the B-52 to fit within standard hangars. So it could fold over 90-degrees, greatly reducing the effective height of the aircraft. Unlike naval aircraft with wings that fold to fit in the limited space on board aircraft carriers, the fielding fin is not a self-contained system — an external crane is needed to lay it over and raise it back up again.

Prototype B-52s were hand-made

The prototypes were essentially hand-made at the Boeing Seattle factory. Production methods were not used as the jigs were not finalized; the equipment and instruments employed were also often not what would become standard. Neither prototype was fitted with defensive weapons; the tail turrets were represented by static fairings, with the painted-on lines.

The YB-52 was donated to the US Air Force Museum on Jan. 27, 1958, having flown for 783 hours. It was on display for a time but due to a ‘beautification’ scheme orchestrated by First Lady Lady Bird Johnson, both the XB-52 and YB-52 were scrapped sometime in the 1960s. Exactly how the official museum of the United States Air Force was ‘beautified’ by converting one of the most beautiful aircraft ever built into razor blades and soda cans is not adequately explained in the available literature.

Boeing B-47 Stratojet & B-52 Stratofortress Origins and Evolution is published by Mortons Books and is available to order here.

Photo credit: U.S. Air Force

B-52 Model

This model is available from AirModels – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS.

Dario Leone

Dario Leone is an aviation, defense and military writer. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviation Geek Club” one of the world’s most read military aviation blogs. His writing has appeared in The National Interest and other news media. He has reported from Europe and flown Super Puma and Cougar helicopters with the Swiss Air Force.

@kadonkey via X

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amethystfallenangel · 1 year

Text

soda (pilot kelson x reader)

You groan, swatting the fly away from the counter. It's too hot behind this counter, you've been working long hours at this gas station. Customers are rude, impatient and in a rush. And you're stuck here, forced to be professional and patient. You've even gotten bored of your phone, so you dash it onto the counter, huffing and leaning against the boxes behind you, opening one button of your t-shirt because of the unbearable midday heat.

Suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine outside and the squeak of tires. Here we go again, another frustrating customer to make this infernal wait even worse than it already is. You pay no attention to the two customers who saunter into the shop, laughing obnoxiously, but as they stumble to the counter, you grin slightly. They're quite young, around your age, if not one or two years younger. One of them has a shaved mullet and wild eyes, with a loose tank top and a stupidly wide grin. He's busy checking out the bubble-gum selection, commenting aimlessly on each flavour. His friend, however, seems unbothered, his downturned blue eyes staring at you softly. He has messy hair, the brown strands sticking out weirdly. He fiddles with the zipper of his bomber jacket, offering you a crooked smile. He speaks to you in a slurred, clumsy voice, as if completely faded.

"What soda do you recommend?"

You sigh, smiling sheepishly.

"Uh, I don't know. Fanta, maybe."

He leans over the counter, clasping his hands, lifting his bushy eyebrows and gazing at you with his puppy-like eyes.

"You like citrus drinks?"

"Yeah, sure." His attempt at making conversation is terrible, but it's cute. You glance quickly at his friend, who is still rambling on to himself about the flavours of bubble gum.

"Citrus drinks suck. I prefer Coke, or Dr Pepper."

You nod blindly.

"Uh, yeah, we have Coca Cola too." You point to the fridges where the cold drinks are.

He narrows his eyes playfully, and then ambles off curiously, promptly returning with three cans of soda.

One Coke, one Dr Pepper and... a Fanta?

You tilt your head at him, a question in your eye.

His friend, who you later learn is called Jack, interrupts, still grinning.

"That's his way of asking you to hang out with us. Oh, I'll have the strawberry bubble gum too. Thanks, sweetheart." He places a 15 dollar bill on the counter, but before you can hand him his change, he skips away, whistling, back to the car, with his Dr Pepper and his bubble gum.

You're left with the droopy eyed young man, still leaning across the counter with a playful smirk. And of the soda, obviously.

You chuckle, twirling a piece of your hair from under your cap, as you lean across the counter yourself, your shirt a little too revealing for the young man not to smirk a little wider.

"So, soda boy, what's your name?"

"Why, you wanna buy me a drink?" he teases.

You chuckle lowly, glancing at your Fanta and his Coca Cola. Good come back. He's quite witty, clearly. And playful.

"Thanks for the soda, by the way," you hum. "I'm still on duty, though. I'm not sure I can hang out with you guys. I appreciate the offer, of course."

"We're in the nearby town till tomorrow, though," he croons, edging closer to your face. You shake your head, amused.

"That so? Fine, then. I could use a night out. You guys aren't serial killers or thieves or anything, right?"

He giggles, popping open his can and taking a sip.

"Would that make us more interesting?"

"Not exactly the word I would use. You still haven't told me your name by the way."

"Pilot. I'm Pilot Kelson" He holds out his hand comically.

"Pilot? That's an interesting name." You go to shake his hand, but instead he takes your hand and places a gentle kiss on the back, looking back at you with a loud laugh.

"You're very bold, Pilot. Or maybe just completely high."

"Does it matter?"

"I don't mind. Pick me up at 6 tonight, soda boy." You grin and then place a quick kiss on his cheek. His jaw drops in a cheeky grin, and he winks as he walks away.

Your shift was boring. Two more smug faced truckers came in for a few beers, nothing special. When your shift ends, a car is already waiting outside, and as you leave the shop, jamming the door for the next person to start their shift, the car headlights are flashing wildly, Pilot and Jack waving their arms frantically out of the windows. You giggle at them being unnecessarily noisy, wondering what on earth you've gotten yourself into. Your Fanta is still in your bag.

"Hey soda boy," you joke, as you get in the back of their messy car. His friend turns his attention to you, eyeing you up and down greedily, but somewhat respectfully.

"I'm Jack, by the way," he says, his eyes sultry.

"Nice to meet you, Jack."

You drive to a lively, crowded bar. Inside, there are road stop signs and buffalo skulls as decorations. It smells strongly of whiskey, tobacco and steak pies. There are multiple coloured jukeboxes, pool tables, booths and flickering warm overhead lamps. You know this bar well, you used to come here with your old man way before he became a trucker. You smile to yourself as you lean over the sticky, heavy oak counter and greet the bartender. Jack already seems to be in conversation with a cute blonde in a leather skirt. The pair choose a bluesy rock song on one of the jukeboxes. You order drinks and Pilot follows you eagerly to a table, leaving his friend with the girl.

"So," you say, biting your lip in amusement, "why'd you ask me to accompany you guys anyways? And why are you leaving so soon?"

He chuckles lowly.

"Actually, Jack was caught screwing some guy's wife in Las Vegas. We're basically just on the run, cus' the husband was a raging psycho who sent some guys after Jack. Oh and I asked you cus' I find you hot. And funny."

You snicker, almost spitting out your drink.

"Talk about be bold."

"Yeah, Jack works as a pool cleaner, so he didn't really care about leaving his job."

"And you tagged along? That's wholesome. What do you do?"

He scoffs, seemingly lost for words, before chuckling again.

"I'm technically a drug dealer."

Your eyes go wide. Well, this sure is an eventful day.

"Oh."

He leans back into his chair, flinging an arm around the back of your chair. You can feel one of his fingers brush your back and it sends a chill down your spine. He's starts to draw lines and circles on your back with his finger.

"You don't think less of me, though, right?" he coughs, gazing at your soft features with his lazy eyes.

You turn your head to face him, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Your demeanour is calm, but you're a little flushed.

"No. I mean, you guys are a bit too wild for me, but I don't think less of you, no.

He smirks, the hand on your back sliding up to the back of your neck, to gently guide your head closer to him.

You playfully poke his stomach and he pulls back, groaning in annoyance, as he rolls his head back. Then, without a thought, you climb up onto his lap, so that you are straddling him. His head shoots up eagerly, his hands almost just as quickly moving to your hips.

You cup his cheeks as your noses almost touch.

"You're an interesting guy, Pilot."

"You mean 'soda boy'?" he laughs, his hips involuntarily bucking up into yours.

You gasp slightly, widening your eyes at him.

"Okay, soda boy," you tease, "show some restraint. We're in public, remember."

He leans in close.

"Then let's go back to the motel," he grins.

Leaving the car with Jack, both of you rush out of the bar, walking with incredible speed to the grimy motel where the two troublemakers have been staying for the past two days.

You both stumble into the motel room, as you slam him into the door. His hands finds the hem of your skirt as he tugs as it. You giggle, throwing you bag onto the carpeted floor. You both almost tackle one another onto the floor, rolling around, unable to keep your hands to yourselves. He manages to pry open the rest of the buttons of your t-shirt, as his body presses flush against yours. As he is peppering your neck with hot kisses, he kicks your bag, and your unopened can of Fanta rolls out. Pilot turns around to look at it, with an amused smile, and with his head buried in your chest, he mumbles "I might have to help you finish that drink."

"I thought you didn't like citrus drinks," you manage to say, between passionate kisses.

"I wouldn't mind trying."

You tug at his messy hair and he groans, although not in annoyance this time.

This is by far the most interesting one-night stand you will ever have.

#pilotkelson #highway 2002 #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #dilf x reader #pilotkelson x reader #jake gylenhall #x y/n #grunge #y2k icons #grunge icons #fanfic

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the-au-thor · 4 months

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hi !

if you’re still taking blurbs how about a spencer x tall!reader where reader is insecure about their height but spencer finds it attractive and likes that their taller and reassures them

love ya <3

Dear one; thanks for your request, I am the smallest person I know tho. But I tried my best cause I understand what someone feels when they're being judge all the time by their height and how it is to feel so self conscious about it.

I hope you like this one. Is dedicate to all the tall ones; you are so freaking amazing, you are stars and you should never feel embarrassed. Stand tall and proud my loves!

On my Knees | Spencer Reid x tall!reader

Word: 1k.

"And well? What do you think?" You asked, stepping out of the store's fitting room.

Spencer saw you and almost lost his breath. You looked stunning; you were choosing the outfit you would wear that night at David's party.

Annually, Rossi orchestrated one of the best parties at the BAU. He invited technicians, analysts, and agents from the office who had worked with them throughout the year, along with their families. You were his, so it was natural for you to accompany him tonight.

Normally, Spencer felt somewhat awkward at parties; the only thing that helped him endure was his friends who always managed to convince him to eventually dance with them. This time would be different, and he sensed it because he had you. He had never had someone to bring to parties, never had many parties to attend to, and even in college, he was too young to be taken into account for it.

"You look fabulous," he finally spoke, taking a step closer to you just in time for you to turn around, giving him your back and studying yourself in the mirror. You stretched the fabric of your clothes and looked at yourself with doubt while nervously bending your legs. Spencer could see the discomfort in your expression and furrowed his brow in concern.

"What if I don't go? Would I be an asshole for it? Yes. Don't answer. Sorry"

Spencer sighed.

"Darling..."

You interrupted him, "It's just that I don't know everyone, just your team. What if the rest don't like me? What if, I don't know, I embarrass you because everyone is too brilliant?" You asked, biting your lips.

Spencer raised his eyebrows surprised. "I can assure you that everyone there will love you, and besides, really? You're in charge of the speech and language pathology department, specializing in rehabilitation and therapy. What brilliance do they have that you don't?"

You looked at him through the mirror skeptically.

Once, a bomb exploded two meters away from Spencer; they were chasing a serial bomber who wanted to explode the Capitol. Upon reaching the emergency room, the specialist noticed damage to his eardrum, gave him treatment, and suggested rehabilitation with the best speech therapist in the hospital: you.

Spencer never thought he would meet the love of his life in a hospital, but there he was. Frustrated because he couldn't work or communicate normally with people. He couldn't hear, he wasn't very patient, was grumpy and pessimistic, but you were kind enough to help him through it and put him in his place in sign language when you discovered that he was fluent in that language.

It was a matter of time before Spencer asked you out, it took a lot of courage on his part and a lot of confidence on your part. But they had made it work perfectly for the last year and a half.

"I do not lock up psychopaths with speech therapy" Spencer hugged you slowly from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning a little to rest his chin on your shoulders. He felt you lower your shoulders slightly.

"No, but you make the world better by helping people" he replied softly, kissing your shoulder tenderly. "What's wrong? I know it's not about this, love; tell me," he pleaded.

You looked at him through the mirror and then turned to face him because the truth was that there was no one else you could look directly in the eyes when you felt vulnerable other than Spencer.

"Don't laugh," you asked, even though you knew Spencer wasn't cruel. "I know there are much worse things, believe me, I'm aware, but..."

"Dear, I won't judge you, just tell me," he asked, taking your hands in his to give you confidence.

You saw him hesitate but finally mustered the courage to be honest with him.

"Do you know why I am specializing in pediatric rehabilitation now?"

"You love children."

Another thing you and Spencer shared.

"Yes, that's true because children don't judge. If they say something, it's not out of malice or bad intention. They are pure and pleasant, and usually, if there's anything wrong with them, it's probably because of the adults around them," you clarified, looking at him embarrassed through your lashes. Spencer frowned somewhat disoriented; he still couldn't grasp your point.

"Why would you feel defective?"

You looked at him somewhat impatiently and sighed.

"Look at me," you whispered, "I've always seen people from above. I always have to bend down to get on a bus, a car or even to walk through a door, and I was usually excluded from dances because my height made people uncomfortable."

Spencer still frowned when you gave that explanation. He looked you up and down without understanding how being tall could be considered a defect. To him, you were a unique blend of strength and grace, not damaged or something like it. His face changed with realization.

"Is that why you always slouch with your hair over your face?"

You bit your inner cheek uncomfortably and nodded.

"I know there are more significant tragedies. That others have a much harder life, but I grew up with people around me who loved to remind me every moment how different I was just because of that, as if I were not aware and needed others to tell me. I couldn't date because who would want get on their tiptoes to give me a kiss? It was embarrassing and tiresome, and basically, I just... isolated myself."

Spencer let you speak; he knew you needed to get it out of your system because never for a moment was the topic of your height an issue for him. Nor had it been a discussion, and for him, the fact that you felt bad about it is news. He knew you were taller and he didn't care he was shorter, he was on his knees for you anyway. He had never noticed how insecure you felt about your height though, and he regretted not noticing it earlier to give you the help you needed.

"You have no idea of the prejudices and clichés that come with this. Always being the tallest in class; everyone assumed I must be athletic and sturdy because my height was a blessing," you added, rolling your eyes, "or my mother's friends telling her how great it would be if I joined modeling classes because I shouldn't waste my height," you grunted, recalling years of pigeonholing and hearing opinions that others felt free to say about your body, "Everyone had something to say, and they always made me think that my decisions should revolve around my physique as if I didn't have other valuable things about me, I don't know, emotional qualities or intelligence."

When you let out all your frustration, you seemed more relieved. Spencer nodded, trying to think carefully about his words before saying them.

"Normally, I would say something interesting about the benefits of being tall, but the truth is, I can't think of any," he finally said, causing you to lift your gaze to him, taking your chin. He smiled at you, "And it's because a person is not their height; I've met wonderful people whom I have never, even for a second, categorized by how much or how little they measure. It's ridiculous that they do that, and all those people who tried to pigeonhole you just because of your height are stupid. And you've proven to each and every one of them that they were wrong, that you are without a doubt much more than your height, and I'm glad. Anyone who doesn't see how wonderful you are just because of something like your height doesn't deserve your time or concern."

You frowned embarrassed.

"But that's you; others are not equally considerate."

"True, but I can promise you that no one at tonight's party will care about your height or how much or little I have to stand on tiptoes to kiss you," he whispered the last part with tenderness, cradling your face, "You should never bend for anyone, not even for me. I love you, my love, I love you with my life, and I know you're worth whatever height I need to reach for you, and every effort will be enough."

You closed your eyes, moved. Spencer loved you, and he truly showed it; any insecurity you felt was because he didn't stop trying to convince you every day that you were precious to him. With him, everything felt possible because he loved you.

"I love you too, very much," you reminded him of the words you had told him countless times but that never felt like enough, "Seriously, it doesn't bother you?" You furrowed your brow with a final hint of concern.

Spencer rubbed his nose against yours, shaking his head and smiling.

"Not at all, to me, you'll always be the most wonderful person in the world, no matter what."

You opened your eyes and nodded, expecting him to kiss you. This time, you didn't bend, and you waited for Spencer to press his lips to yours briefly, giving you the courage you needed.

"So, Do you really like this one?" You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, and Spencer observed you once more. Now, you also wore your smile, and it was the best outfit you could have chosen because it was honest. He saw you with appreciation and love, and you knew you couldn't isolate yourself anymore; you had your perfect date, someone who wouldn't be ashamed of you and was secure enough not to be intimidated by something like your height.

"Darling, if everyone stares when we enter Rossi's house tonight, it's because they'll know I've won the jackpot, and there's no way I'm letting you go tonight or any other night" Your cheeks flushed, and you felt warmth inside you.

"You know Spence, I could definitely bend down to kiss you" you said with a smile.

Spencer smiled back

"Let's meet in the middle"

Oh, you loved him so much.

You stood tall, caressing the fabric of your clothes, and nodded confidently.

"I'm buying this "

Spencer smiled proudly. It didn't matter what you wore. He knew you would look good. What mattered, in fact, was that he would be the lucky one taking you to the party tonight and back home afterward.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x tall!reader #spencer reid au

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decimalsheep · 1 year

Text

I finally watched Bride of Halloween and I love Amuro content (even tho he was stuck in a box for most of the movie LOL) but it got me thinking about like. how so many of his friends died and i’m a sucker for fix-its so:

Time Travel!DCMK where Conan is thrown ten years into the past, right back to the day he met Akai at the beach. He’s bewildered and disbelieving but, quote, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” so he accepts his new reality and makes a plan accordingly.

At the beach he makes sure to cling stubbornly to Akai, refusing to let go and when they eventually leave the beach, Conan has a new number registered in his phone and a new pen pal buddy. Understanding that Conan is not as he appears, Akai agrees to send updates on his life occasionally (at first out of amusement and pics of whatever food he’s eating, later on asking Conan for advice on specific cases).

At 9 years old, Conan begs his dad for tickets to Kuroba Toichi’s magic show in Tokyo. Yusaku, who is about 86% confident that his son is a time-traveler, agrees easily and may or may not have called the police for back up just in case. Because Conan doesn’t watch magic shows, time-traveler or not (if you don’t count Kid’s heists) and the poorly hidden desperation when he asked was more than enough of a hint that something was going to go down. Surprise surprise, the venue burns down, but this time Kuroba Toichi lives with some minor injuries. (The incident leaves his arm numb, and he feels that his days as Kaitou KID is running short - he decides to pass on the mantle to Kaito when he’s old enough)

At 10 years old, Conan bumps into Hagiwara Kenji at the park. It’s an incident he almost forgets about until he’s staring at the rest of the police academy students. It’s July, and Hagiwara dies in November. Conan doesn’t know the specifics, but when November rolls around, Hagiwara gains a watchful shadow. It’s when the serial bomber case appears on the news that he knows it’s time.

There are officers at the entrance of the hotel stopping guests from entering, but Conan has never let that stop him before, so he runs, and runs and runs to the floor that Hagiwara is on. The timer is stopped, but Conan knows that it will explode regardless. He throws himself into the room, startling the occupants, and starts shouting.

“The bomb is going to explode!” he shouts and claws at the arm that tries to stop him from getting closer. “The bomber- he- it’s going to start again, Matsuda-san says it’s going to explode!” Hagiwara looks up at the commotion, radio in his hand. “What’s going on?” Matsuda snaps.

“It’s going to explode, the timer isn’t stopped!” The kid shouts, desperate and pleading. “You’re going to die!”

The kid looks straight at him when he says that. Unbidden, dread settles in his stomach, every single hair on end and the unshakable feeling that what the kid is saying is-

“Everybody out!” Hagiwara shouts - commands. “Down the hall, now!”

There’s a rush to get out the door and the kid falls to the ground in the process. He scoops him up and together they exit the hotel room. It’s as he’s turning into the hall that he hears the tell-tale sign of the timer turning back on, ticking down to their demise. The radio is left lying on the ground, Matsuda’s voice coming out loud and panicked.

The bomb explodes.

The force of the explosion sends him flying, curling his body around the kid so as to cushion him from the impact. There’s a ringing in his ears and his back hurts like a bitch, but with more distance from the bomb and several walls to take the brunt of the damage, everybody lives.

Matsuda definitely isn’t crying when he sees him coming alive out of the hotel. Life-threatening situation aside, he is so making fun of him for it in the future. Temporarily forgotten in the moment, a small boy slips away from the crowd.

A few days after his 11th birthday, Conan feels someone tailing him. He acts as if he doesn’t notice, fiddling with his phone. But as the crossing light starts flashing for an oncoming train, he bolts and takes off across the street. His tail startles and the chase begins. Using his smaller stature he zigzags through the alleys and streets, throwing himself into crowds in an effort to shake off whoever is following him. But they’re good, and persistent. He turns into an alley that he knows has a gap wide enough to fit only him from his time in the future/past. But he comes to a stop when he sees the construction going on and curses under his breath.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jolts, reaching for his tranquilizer watch that he got Agasa to remake, only to freeze when he sees who’s behind him.

“Oh, it’s just you Amuro-san,” he sighs, heart beating wildly but now calming down knowing he’s not in danger.

“Amuro-san?” Furuya Rei repeats, bemused, and shit he’s not Amuro yet.

He stutters out some random excuse about how he mistook him for someone and Amu-Furuya seems to let it go. But from that day on, he sees Furuya lurking in his peripherals. He never gets close, hovering from afar, but he’s there nonetheless. It’s not until Conan gets involved with a kidnapping incident does Furuya appear, kicking down the door and a wild look on his face. The rope leaves a burn on his wrists but he’s uninjured otherwise, still, Furuya treats him like he’ll break at a moments notice, carrying him with surprising softness.

From that moment on, Furuya gets close. He’ll say hi if they run into each other (on the days it’s a coincidence) or help him out with whatever errand he’s on (if it’s not). Conan get’s the feeling that Furuya isn’t sure how to treat him.

He asks him about it one day, when Hagiwara spots him across the street and drags him into a family restaurant, proclaiming that he’s “caught the kid.” At the table are seated several familiar faces, Furuya included.It’s apparently lunch to congratulate Furuya and Hiromitsu on their new promotion. Everybody at the table orders for him, saying something about how he saved Hagiwara’s life. Conan insists that he has no idea what they’re talking about, but they don’t seem to care, already three beers in on a Saturday afternoon.

It leaves him and Furuya sitting together, who appears to be the chaperone for the day.

“That day,” he starts, keeping his eyes on his glass of orange juice even as he feels Furuya’s gaze slide to him. “Why did you...”

Furuya stares at him, expression carefully controlled. “You’re... familiar,” he says slowly, looking away as Conan freezes at his words. “Somehow, I have the feeling that if it weren’t for you... that because you’re here, everything will be different.”

His eyes flash, grief and anguish and rage flickering before fading into a calm. “Everything will be okay,” he whispers and Conan isn’t sure if he was meant to hear that.

He’s 12 when he meets up with Sera to watch the new Gojira movie, having become close friends with her since the day at the beach, forming a tight knit group of four along with Ran and Sonoko. The other two aren’t there that day, saying they’d rather go to the new cafe than watch a monster movie, so it’s just the two of them at the theaters.

At the train station where they’re about to head back home, he excuses himself to go to the restroom. On his way back out onto the platform, he bumps into someone.

“Shuu-nii?” he blurts (Sera had convinced him to call him that, and Akai hadn’t protested) and Akai blinks in surprise at seeing him.

“Oh, are you here with Sera?” He asks, then glances at the ticket in his hand. “Then I’m assuming Sera actually does have money for a train ticket?”

They walk together back to the platform and he’s treated to yet another surprise when he sees Sera standing with Hiromitsu. Wait, he remembers Sera mentioning this-

“Hiro-san?” He asks innocently, plan forming in his head. He scoots closer to Akai so that they’re shoulder to shoulder, silently willing him to play along. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be working?”

Hiromitsu looks up, surprised at first then apprehensive once he sees Akai next to him. At this point in time, Furuya, Hiromitsu, and Akai are all unaware of each other’s undercover status. In Hiromitsu’s view, Conan is currently standing next to a criminal. And in Akai’s view, Sera as well.

“I’m currently on a job,” Hiromitsu says pointedly, urging Conan to take the hint and not drop any important information, like the fact that he’s actually an undercover police officer. He knows Conan is smart, but today Conan is willfully obtuse.

“Where’s-” Furuya, he was going to ask, but suddenly he’s grabbed by the arm and dragged away from Akai. When he looks up, he sees a flash of blond hair under a baseball cap.

“It’s dangerous to be out so late at night,” Furuya says, smile tight and forced, even as his grip shifts into something more protective, his body standing in front of his as if to shield him from Akai’s view. He brightens up, bringing out his inner Ran.

“Rei-san!” He exclaims and beams up at him excitedly, doing his best to appear as innocent and friendly as he can. Sera and Akai are staring at him like he’s insane. Furuya and Hiro are staring at him the same way too. “It’s okay, I was with Shuu-nii.”

“Shuu?” Furuya questions, eyebrow raised as Akai raises a hand to stop him from saying anything more.

“Yeah, Akai Shuichi! He’s like an older brother to me.”

“Oh? I could have sworn your name was Moroboshi.”

“Surely you understand the importance of aliases. Right, Rei?”

“So how’s work going with the FBI, Shuu-nii?”

“Ignore him, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about-”

“What the fuck do you mean FBI-”

“And you too! Matsuda and Date and Hagiwara-san were complaining about how ever since you two got into PSB you were too busy to hang out-”

“What the fuck do you mean PSB-”

#dcmk #edogawa conan #amuro tooru #akai shuichi #technically he's shinichi now #but i can't stop referring to him as conan if he's in small form #it feels wrong #if you noticed i conveniently didn't have any characters refer to him by name #time travel au #the aftermath of watching bride of halloween #everybody lives #this is the most messy shit ever but i just wanted to get it out #maybe ill come back and fix it maybe i wont

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murfpersonalblog · 10 days

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IWTV S2 Ep1 Musings - Dreams, Nightmares, and Faith

Wow. 😍 I love the new title card, with the bomber jets & explosions over upside-down...Paris? Romania? IDGAF--it's cool! I am SO glad AMC took us through war-torn Europe!

Something I found so interesting was the question of whether vampires dream or not.

(Armand stfu omg, him & Les both calling Claudia Infant Death 😅)

In the books, AR's vamps go into deathlike sleep--they're not really conscious, don't get woken up by much unless THEY'RE ready to wake up, and don't dream.

Vamps are like the dead, but UNdead--they're DAMNED. The damned don't get to wish for rainbows when they dwell in darkness. They die with their heartaches and grief, and spread it to others as harbingers of death.

In WWII Europe, societal vampires (Nazis, Soviets, etc) and actual vampires coexist, each preying on the innocent & vulnerable. Louis & Claudia literally tear through the battlefields and waypoints. I was wrong about them eating the dead/blown up body parts--they were feeding on dying soldiers, not ones already dead, but TBH at this point I don't know which is worse?

You feel sorry for Darciana and her revenant "child," sure, but there's also Morgan & Emilia--and what about everyone in that bunker (all those old women & kids), who'll probably starve now that their sole hunter/trapper can't get food for them anymore? Just so these serial killing vamps can eat!?!

Louis thinks "the blood is bad here" cuz they're drinking "misery and hopelessness" in war survivors & POWs etc; but really the misery & hopelessness is IN THEM. LOUIS is miserable (without Lestat). CLAUDIA feels hopeless (with Louis/her own companion). THEY (as vamps) bring misery wherever they go, internally & externally.

You're the walking DEAD, Louis. :( You will ALWAYS be cold. U_U

It's bad EVERYWHERE--love & community is what keeps people going--

--even in the middle of what seems like an apocalypse--be it WWII, or the "flying vampire apocalypse/Great Conversion." Even in a hellish place like the Theatre and the Children of Satan/Darkness. We all need/want a HOME.

Louis & Claudia have been stuck in a figurative nightmare, walking through the valley of the shadow of death along the Devil's Road. But poor AMC!Claudia has actual nightmares. 😭

She tells herself (through her diaries) that she doesn't dream, denying the suffering she goes through, trying to stay strong and not give her trauma power.

The tabula rasa of "infants" and child-like innocence that Armand refers to is just The Void for her. By avoiding her troubles, she's probably giving more power to the things that scare her the most.

AMC KNOWS what they're doing! Claudia's in denial too, and DreamStat's calling them BOTH out on it--but like Delainey said: unlike Louis, Claudia doesn't need a hallucination version of Les to tell her what she already knows--he's in her; he's her father--moreso than Louis, who only ever gets called "Daddy" now when they need to fake it! (Or is it REALLY fake for her? When she gets hurt, she yells for Daddy Lou's attention....)

There's her behavior with Louis', and her nightmares, compared to DreamStat. Cuz Louis' not asleep--he's wide awake, but being awake for him is like living in a nightmare with his eyes wide open. Louis said his own dreams were "erratic and often," but which ones is he even talking about, REALLY? His actual dreams? Or DreamStat; the figment of his imagination he admitted to "inviting" inside his head?

The Disney song goes "Have faith in your dreams and someday...the dreams that you wish will come true." For Louis his dream is obvs Lestat, and obvs by PLatRoA and Blood Communion Looustat's dream finally comes true. But for Claudia her dream is companionship, but also knowledge. She wants/demands answers.

(Only for us to find out 2 books later that all the legends really ARE true!)

Louis's having a crisis of faith--he is SCARED of his dreams, and what it says about himself, and has accepted his damnation with fatalistic & willfully blind cynicism--just like Armand does with the Childrren of Darkness/Satan, he's slowly losing his religion/faith in God (read: their "dead" exes: Lestat & Marius), while doubling down on the idea that they are damned and that all that exists is Hell/Damnation/Satan/etc.

He'd rather believe that baboons are roaming Europe than face another vampire who might reveal more about him than he's ready to accept.

He talks down to Claudia just like Lestat did; and constantly crushes her dreams by being a wet blanket. He gives her NOTHING positive or affirmative to look forward to.

Daciana's suicide is a wake-up call: she IS a good vampire (reltively speaking, ofc). She has dreams and wishes and loving feelings, too. She's visibly in emotional turmoil & pain, which Louis can relate to; acknowledging her as human, and finally looking forward to the future Claudia wants for all of them: companions sharing stories & knowledge & love; "we're a family?"

Louis COULD'VE followed Daciana into hopeless misery, but luckily he DOES have Claudia; them helping e/o to stay out of the fire.

And as sick as it is, Lou also has Lestat, and the comfort of knowing that no matter how bad he acts/gets, he's still alive.

There's still that glimmer of HOPE: "a spark in the dark."

As an aside:

Romania as the "ancestral home" of vampires is hilarious. Claudia's desperate to find out the truth--and she's close, for sure, as there are obviously vamps crawling all over Europe--but my heart just aches thinking about how mind blown Claudia would be if she found out that the REAL ancestral home of AR's vampires was Egypt.

Cinematic poetry, putting AR in the same frames where Louis talks about Dracula--only to drag vampire superstitions a few minutes in, as Louis and Claudia bicker over garlic & crucifixes. XD

#interview with the vampire #justice for claudia #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #religion #iwtv tvc metas #iwtv season 2 spoilers #must see tv #the hype is real #music

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