#but it looks like hes dying it pink in the last panels | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

periprose · 1 year

Text

Therapy

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky Barnes is your newest patient at your clinic. As a therapist, you know all about having to maintain decency and professional respect with your patients, even when they seem unruly. But Bucky isn't just any ordinary man– he's the top earner of the Russian mafia down in Brighton Beach, and he's temperamental and not really down with therapy. He's only seeing you out of necessity, and the last thing you're expecting is other strange developments in your relationship.

Genre: Deeply inspired by Tony Soprano and Melfi's relationship on the Sopranos, Mafia!Bucky Barnes, not really pro mafia, doctor-patient to friends to lovers, lots of psychology and therapy talk throughout, fluff

Word Count: 8.5k

Bucky waits as the secretary informs him that his therapist will be ready for him soon, and he’s sweating bullets, feeling like a child who’s been told to wait for a punishment from the school principal.

He has absolutely no idea what you’ll be like– he was just recommended a therapist by his physician, because apparently his blood pressure is unfortunately incredibly high for someone his age, and it’s going to become an issue later on if he doesn’t fix it now.

Of course, Bucky knows that stress comes with the job, so no wonder his blood pressure is so high. He can’t exactly be his gang’s boss if he’s having heart palpitations and needing to sit down every few moments when he should be intimidating his enemies and rivals. The Russian mafia requires him to be almost perfect at every instance, so they can keep their riches and luxuries growing. He’s one of their top earners, but this goddamn stress is starting to ruin things for him.

He’s come here under the guise that he’s out repairing his car, even telling his mother and his sister that, and his underlings aren’t going to argue with him regardless of what he says. It’s a good thing this office is in New York, so he didn’t have to travel to anywhere particularly suspicious.

But Bucky still feels so strange, so unlike himself, feeling both wary and somewhat angry by this situation that he’s in, where the grey carpet and the equally dull pink-grey of the walls makes him feel like he’s trapped. Trapped in this skyscraper, when really he should be down at Sam’s bar, clinking his drink next to Steve’s and watching the sun set on Brighton Beach.

And he would be, if it wasn’t for the constant, clenched fear in his heart, the pit in his stomach that never seems to go away despite his attempts to fill it with drinks and the women and other vices, and he feels a chill– he wonders if he will ever successfully remove himself from this lifestyle, or if he even wants to. Bucky sometimes believes that it’s more likely he’ll die here.

Bucky thinks for a moment that he should leave. Now, while he still can, because he thinks this appointment is probably pointless.

“Mr. Barnes?” You open your office door, and Bucky sighs and stands up. “Right this way.”

He notices you don’t exactly look how he envisioned. You have a no-nonsense appearance– none of that frilly new age bullshit he was expecting, no crystal bracelets or spiritual tattoos or extra piercings– you have a khaki blazer on and tidy slacks. Your hair is coiffed in a way that says respectable, but you also don’t have the time to try too hard with your looks. Your glasses make you look intelligent, but also scary in how you peer at him.

He follows you into your office– everything is in a cushy shade of brown, from the carpets to the sofa chairs, way up to the wood paneling and shelves surrounding your desk, and the framed certificates displaying your knowledge, and it's immediately more comforting than the outside room. Bucky wonders if that's by design.

He sits down on an armchair, and his fingers, out of their own accord, grip the armrests as if he’s dying. Hell, maybe he is.

"I've done a little bit of reading on why you're here." You start murmuring over your patient files on your desk as you look for his particular one. "Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones… ah, there it is. James Buchanan Barnes."

"...Bucky is fine." He clenches his jaw– no one has called him James in literal decades, and he's not going to let some fancy doctor like you start. Bucky barely wants to be here as it is.

"In this office, we have a level of professional respect that needs to be maintained." You correct him gently, not because he did anything wrong, but just as a careful reminder. "I will address you as Mr. Barnes. Is that okay?"

"Sure." Bucky feels tense, waiting for the hour to go by any faster than it currently is. You look at him– not in a way that makes him feel as if he's being sized up, because he'd definitely make a backhanded comment about that– but in a way that articulates some form of curiosity.

It's to Bucky's displeasure that he can't tell whether or not it's just simply the look of a therapist, or if you’re really, truly interested in him. He nods at you– you understand he wants you to get on with it.

“Okay. So you’re here because you’ve been having high blood pressure, and heart palpitations.” You scan over the note written by his physician– scrawled in a hasty cursive– and look back up at him. “You’re in good shape, and you’re a bit too young to be having age-related heart problems.”

“Nice observation, doc.” Bucky retorts, and you half-smile at that– your best patients have always been the snarky ones, and you figure it’s because they have that sense of humour that is sometimes needed for therapy. “Obviously I’m stressed the fuck out.”

“Stressed, Mr. Barnes?” You cross your arms, and sit down in front of him in your own armchair, starting the session legitimately. “And why do you think that it is?”

“I said it was obvious. Aren’t you a doctor? Shouldn’t you be smarter than this?” Bucky shakes his head, wondering why he has to delve into something so clear. “My jobs, doc. They take too much out of me these days– it’s a wonder I don’t just end it.”

You ignore the perceived slight against your intelligence. “Why can’t you end it, Mr. Barnes?”

“...There’s too many people counting on me.” Bucky sighs in exasperation. “My mother, she’s not gonna be able to fend for herself if I’m not bringing in the income– I’ve considered putting her in a home, but she thinks I’m trying to get rid of her– and my baby sister, Rebecca, she’s used to a certain, uh, lifestyle now. It’s not very fair of me to take that away from her.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “That’s not even counting the rest of my family.”

“Your family, or your ‘family?’” You mimic quotation marks, meaning his crime family, and Bucky swallows. “Mr. Barnes, I’d like to remind you. Don’t say anything that would require me to break the patient-doctor confidentiality agreement.”

Bucky takes this to mean that you know what he does for a living, and he’s not stupid– he was never going to get really into that, say anything that would really, truly implicate him, he knows all about the laws around snitching– he just thought to the rest of the world, his reputation wouldn't precede him quite as much.

“Okay. Should I start with where it all began, or just what’s on my mind?” Bucky wrinkles his forehead as he thinks, and you leave the floor open for him to begin wherever he likes.

Bucky starts with how his latest “room cleaning” (you assume he’s putting up a front as a janitor) went south, because there are certain stains that you can never get rid of.

“Usually, I’m quick on my feet– I know the rules and laws around disposing of “stains,” and I only have a limited amount of time before the smell starts getting worse and neighbours start asking questions.” Bucky illuminates for you, and you get the feeling stains don’t exactly just mean blood, maybe body disposal or something like that.

“This time, though?” Bucky continues, and his voice gets raspy, as patients’ often do, when they start elaborating and getting to the difficult parts of their experiences. “Steve asked me what was wrong, why was I frozen in place, and I leaned against the wall, couldn’t say anything.”

“I was feeling that… y’know, that loud sort of thumping–” Bucky suddenly motions to his head, unable to look quite at you, instead feeling the sensation he was describing. “Like a heartbeat, but in my head?”

“Yes. I know what you mean.” You write this down as well. “Those are signs of your heart palpitations– most likely the pressure in your head was induced from a panic attack.”

“Right.” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat. “It was too loud to even keep my eyes open, Jesus– it was scary, I started yelling at Steve and then I… I turned over to the side, and puked.”

“So you’re struggling with maintaining your composure. Letting loose with anger, panic, other aggressive emotions.” You note, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but it’s worse than that. That stuff can be… useful, in my line of work.” Bucky cracks a few of his knuckles. “I can’t exactly do my fucking work if I’m puking up shit, right?”

“Sure. But we’re here to focus on why. On what’s going on with your mental health.” You gently prod him to keep going.

“My sister, Rebecca, she’s saying she’s gonna go audition for movies.” Bucky explains, with a sideways, sarcastic smirk that has you thinking this guy doesn’t look half bad. “Not adult movies, mind you, doc– I immediately thought that and tried to talk her out of– but real Hollywood productions, something that a New Money socialite like her could potentially get into, for real.”

“Tell me what the conversation was like.”

“Well, Rebecca’s been going to acting classes, and she told me that it was just a hobby. Just something all the other girls in Brighton were doing.” Bucky nonchalantly scratches his cheek, but his jaw clenches as he continues. “But she sat me down, and said ‘Buck, my teacher says I have a real good shot at making it. I know how you feel about this, but I can’t just sit and spend the rest of my life doing nothing.’ Listen, doc, she has a point– I’ve always felt a little bad that Rebecca just sits there, looking pretty. But I didn’t want her to go and do this, and–”

Bucky inhales. “I couldn’t speak to her. I felt dizzy, and I sat down, and I felt like I had to… I had to either run or fight this thing before it got too far.”

“Fight-or-flight.” You affirm, and you point at him with a well-groomed fingernail. “Hm. That sounds like the real issue.”

Bucky frowns at that.

“Huh?”

“You’re not just afraid of losing your sister– you clearly have a fear of what the future entails. You’re exhibiting symptoms of PTSD.” You clarify, and Bucky shifts around in his seat, wanting more of an explanation. “You’re in a constant state of panic because you don’t know what life will bring you.”

That explanation rings through him, and he’s drawn to a silence.

“But why now?” Bucky eventually mutters, staring down at the carpet again, this time focusing on a piece of lint that hadn’t been vacuumed. “Isn’t life always uncertain?”

“Well, PTSD is built up because of past trauma. Anything can really induce it again– something that’s triggered you appropriately, whether it be through similar emotions or similar events.” You think that over, and then nod. “It sounds as if you are experiencing a relapse in trauma… perhaps due to the nature of your work, or because the lack of control with Rebecca– possibly leading to a blown cover or her newfound independence– and most likely of all, it could be because you have not let go of those feelings and use them in response to many different situations. It’s not uncommon, Mr. Barnes, to become used to traumatic responses as ‘how it’s supposed to be.’ If it’s all you know, you won’t expect any different until it’s too late.”

Bucky realizes that that’s exactly how he felt when he was sitting in the waiting room. Like all of this was useless, an attempt to fix something that he felt was totally ordinary. If it wasn’t for the extremity of his recent reactions, he would’ve just kept going on like this.

Something about this revelation pisses him off.

“I believe we should try to focus on this and work through it.” You check the clock, and then smile professionally at him. “That’s all the time we have for today. Any parting questions, thoughts, ideas?”

Bucky is still silent. He is mulling over the fact that you’ve already seemed to figure him out, at least partially– he wanted more of a challenge, more of something to use against you so he could successfully call therapy a bunch of bullshit. He feels a sense of relief that the hour is over, but also annoyance over the fact that he wants to keep going.

“...Thanks, doc.” Bucky bids you goodbye, and you nod and walk him to the door.

You feel the animosity in the air, but you know that’s not rare, especially considering who your patient is.

Mr. Barnes is terrifying when he glares at you.

His third session had started off with a story about a “coworker” he had to have a talking to, and when you pried just a bit deeper, wanting to know what exactly the coworker had done, he inhaled sharply, and stared you down with those blue-grey eyes.

You don’t know how to respond to his silence, to his mob boss intimidation tactics. Bucky might be the most difficult patient you’ve had so far, and you do not want to push too far and hurt yourself in the process.

You maintain your poker face, needing to do so to maintain the safe space you have made not just for Bucky, but for yourself. If he ever came forward too quickly, attacked you– it would be the end of your relationship with him.

“Why did you stop speaking, Mr. Barnes?” You break the silence, and Bucky continues to stare you down. “I thought we were getting towards a–”

"You think I'm stupid, huh?" Bucky scoffs at you. "You want me to reveal everything about myself, right? This isn't enough to make me make a fool of myself. Doesn't matter if you keep offering me little platitudes, or if your office is nice and warm, or if you happen to be a very pretty, smart doctor lady. It's not gonna fucking work on me."

You look taken aback for just a moment, and then smile neatly at him. "Wonderful, Mr. Barnes. I think you're making significant progress."

"Really?" Bucky furrows his brows. "You're not gonna tell me I'm rejecting change, or some shit like that?"

"Funny you should mention one of the main pillars of therapy." You bite your lip as you think. “No, this is actually a part of it, is it not? You are formulating a response to the change, which means you are getting results, somewhere inside you. You don’t have to tell me what exactly it is, Mr. Barnes, it’s evident in the way you reject it.”

“God, how do I get you off my back then?” Bucky sighs and then laughs a little. “Okay, fine, doc. I’m only trying this shit so I can do my work, get it? Don’t try to rehabilitate me.”

“Noted.” You pretend to write that down, but actually write three times three equals nine. Just a random sentence that looks like something important.

You won’t be upfront about this, because you don’t want to scare him away– but therapy is not some sort of quick fix. Rehabilitation will have to be apart of Bucky Barnes’ regime someday, at least as the end result of his therapy, or he’ll never have the mental strength he needs to move on.

Several of your clients have had to build up the right state of mind in order to then remove themselves from the situation. Bucky can’t be any different.

“Alright. Sorry.” Bucky doesn’t usually apologize, ever, but something about how your eyes– normally so reserved in their emotions– became wide-eyed, slightly fearful of him, made him want to take a step back and stop. “Should I keep going?”

You’re taking a moment, because you want to know why he snapped like that. What exactly did you say? Should you avoid the phrase next time? How do you help Bucky and protect yourself? Is it worth delving deeply into his past, when you risk getting hurt by his tendencies?

Every therapist has this moment, you know that. Some of your colleagues have passed on patients to you when they felt that it was too much for them. And you have an inkling that Bucky is going to be the one to watch for you.

You think that Bucky doesn’t like when you ask for specifics. Or that he’s getting frustrated that you’re getting to him, so he pushes back– but really, just like you said, if Bucky was truly not being changed by any of this, he wouldn’t be responding at all. You decide to be patient.

“You can keep going if you would like to.” You respond quietly, carefully, and Bucky nods and continues on with his story.

“So the guy– the coworker– he’s been harassing one of my other coworkers, right. And that little guy is pretty wet behind the ears, too young to really stand up for himself.” Bucky is shaking his head in quiet disappointment. “So the second he came too close– did too much that he shouldn’t have done– I ended it.”

“I see.”

“And it’s not that I didn’t want to do it– I did wanna end that particular situation, doc. It was just that the kid wasn’t doing enough to fight back, but after I did it, everything felt…” Bucky trails off, staring at the floor, his eyes beginning to water. “Different. Bad. All this shit I do is for a reason, and I usually… I like it. But the kid started wailing, crying, and for a second, I felt really shit about the whole thing. Like I shouldn’t have gone that far.”

You take a moment to write that down, that Bucky is beginning to feel some semblance of regret.

“But you know what’s crazy, doc? Even though I feel bad about it, I still want to do it. Doesn’t that sound insane?” Bucky swallows, and he looks at you, maybe for comfort, maybe for an explanation. “I can’t stop– I won’t stop. I just need to keep going and stop being such a pussy about it.”

“You’re focusing on the wrong aspect, Mr. Barnes.” You chime in, and he shakes his head, tapping at his arm rest. “Why did you feel bad? What about this younger man had you feeling, well, out of sorts?”

“I told you already, doc, he was screaming and crying and it was just– it was too much.” Bucky repeats, but he feels himself growing smaller, suddenly feeling tiny, just like when he was a young man starting out in this world. “I guess… maybe, just maybe it brought up some bad stuff inside me.”

“Yes, this is the problem. Being in these situations will take a toll on you– even if you still need to do them, Mr. Barnes– and so you’re beginning to feel the memories roll back in. It’s all a part of how you’ve been unintentionally triggering yourself the last few years, I’m guessing, because you can’t simply forget the bad times forever.” You point out to him, and he shuts his eyes.

“Yeah, so I’m a fucking psycho? There’s a whole bunch of things about myself that I don’t even know?” Bucky scoffs at himself, feeling very unmasculine and more like a baby.

“Don’t tear yourself down that much.” You remark, not unkindly. “I myself have had many bad, sad, unspeakable times– people are more broken than you realize.”

“Yeah, really?” Bucky looks mystified. “What kinda trouble could a lady like you get into? You’re very clever, and you’re probably well-off… I’d figure you’d keep your nose outta bad shit.”

“It’s not that simple, is it?” You lean back in your chair, pick a loose thread off your blazer. “Sometimes bad shit picks you, Mr. Barnes. That’s why we should not blame ourselves for things outside of our control.”

“Hey, don’t leave me hanging.” Bucky shoots back suddenly, sitting more present and aware of you than he had before. “What happened to you, doc?”

“That’s not why we’re here, Mr. Barnes.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Bucky is half smiling, looking more roguish and understandably a little intrigued. “You’ve been hearing all about me, the least I deserve is some reciprocation.”

You blink. “Mr. Barnes, you’re paying me to be here for you. My advice is–”

“Alright, alright. Letting it go now.” Bucky raises his hands in a gesture meant to stop you from continuing. “Keep your secrets, it makes you more mysterious. More hot.”

You raise your eyebrows and then laugh. Just a little snort– and Bucky smiles.

“Okay, Mr. Barnes. We’ve got about seven minutes left, so I’ll tell you a little about myself.” You start, and Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“You’re that desperate to keep me from finding you attractive? What is this, patients and doctors aren’t allowed to–”

“They’re definitely not.” You silence him, but you can tell from his expression he likes the challenge. “Anyways. I’m thirty-three years old, I have two degrees, a PhD in psychology and a bachelor’s in social work– I did both at the same time– I’ve lived in New York my whole life, and my mother still believes that I haven’t done enough. Always going on about how I’m wasting my potential.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky pinches his forehead. “It’s always the smart girls like you who get way too much hate thrown at them. Even with two degrees, she’s like that? Want me to talk to her? Have a little one-on-one?”

“No, no.” You start laughing for real and then have to compose yourself, but Bucky has a different expression now, a sort of soft look in his eyes, and you find yourself turning a little warm. “I appreciate that, Mr. Barnes, but there’s no way I could let you do that.”

“Well, at least you considered it.” Bucky smiles and you feel a strange fit of passion inside you, that this guy who hardly knows you is willing to go that far.

That perhaps, even as a shadowy, veiled observer, meant to impart advice and be relatively untouchable… you could be touched, too.

You swallow, ignoring the thought that he’s rather handsome.

You’re out shopping for a new dress. It’s your sister-in-law’s birthday, and you know she wanted a bit of a fancy dinner for whatever reason. She’s turning 31, so there’s nothing special about it, but your brother, Viz, insisted that you go along with it.

“Wanda, Wanda, Wanda…” You mumble under your breath. She loves red, so you know you have to stay away from that colour. You’re leaning towards a navy-blue, simple dress with no details, just to be hidden in the background with.

“Hey, doc. Didn’t think I’d see you here.” Bucky suddenly ambushes you from the aisle, and you blink before refusing to make eye contact with him.

It’s fine that you’re his therapist, but in public? You worry about the perception on your work. Bucky is kind of infamous– sometimes your secretary will ask for gory details on what he does. You’ve never shared anything, but you also know that Bucky himself is relatively confidential about the whole thing.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes.” You utter quietly, and he tuts and grins at your expression.

“Why do you look so scared?” He snorts, and with an overly familiar touch, his hand is on your shoulder.

You know you should be pushing him aside, so not to ruin the careful, purposefully respectful relationship between you two, but it’s also in public– Bucky has no reason to follow your rules here– and he’s not one to be trifled with.

“Not scared, just, uh, taken off guard.” You admit, and he laughs a little. “I’m just dress shopping.”

“I can see that.” Bucky gently pulls the dress you’re holding so he can look at it carefully. “That’s not you, I don’t think. The style is too frumpy– you look better in what you wear in the office.”

“Oh, really? So what is ‘me’, Mr. Barnes?” You wonder how long Bucky has been checking you out, supposedly enough that he knows your style.

“Mmm… something like this?” He holds up a dress that just barely can be called one, black rhinestone straps being held together with skinny strips of fabric that would barely cover your breasts or ass, and you roll your eyes and put it back on the rack. “I’m kidding, just kidding. That’s more the local strippers’ vibe, I know.”

“You’re revealing a bit about your habits, huh.” You look at him pointedly.

“Hey, blame the job. That’s where most dudes want to meet up.” Bucky scans through the rack and then picks up a much more you dress, something maroon, little embroidered flowers and filigree in the threadwork, and fitted enough that it would show off your body. Shorter than you would’ve liked, but you figure that’s Bucky’s gaze coming in.

“Wow.” You reach out for it, and Bucky gives you a smile that you’re sure has dazzled many, many women.

“I’ll, uh, let you try that on. I’m heading to work, but I’ll see ya around, doc.” Bucky flashes a quick wave at you and heads on out, and you’re left feeling like you wanted more out of him.

The next session with Bucky, probably the ninth or tenth, he’s a lot more agreeable. A lot more open about what’s going on.

“My ma, you know, she’s getting into a bit of a hostile nature. I don’t know what spurred it on.” Bucky shakes his head and looks towards the ceiling. “She never used to get so upset over some of these things– last week she got upset because the wallpaper of her new sitting room was too dark or something– and I think she’s losing it. She’s losing control and doesn’t know what to do.”

“You’re right, Mr. Barnes. How does that affect you?” You lean in as you write this down. “How will you respond to that?”

“I think I get it, you know, doc? I feel like I can’t control everything all the time either.” Bucky begins a rhythm, showing his understanding of the situation. “She’s not wrong that it’s annoying when the little things don’t work out… sometimes it’s like all the small things are building up and then everything feels shit and you have to start screaming.”

“Good. Yes, exactly.” You nod your agreement, and Bucky nods and keeps going.

“I don’t know what I can do. Sometimes it feels like she’s got something, some undiagnosed illness, because even if I support her, she’s not always listening.” Bucky sounds despondent. “I say that she’s not at fault for what happens to her. That she’s not crazy, just in a bad place. But she tells me to fuck off, too, and I don’t… I can’t say I don’t deserve that, because I know I haven’t been the best son. I am the one of the things she can’t control, and even if there’s been some good, some helpful stuff… I still know she loathes me.”

“It’s difficult to come to terms with some of the negative things you may have done to her.” You feel more invested in Bucky’s story than you thought you would– you can see tears building up in his eyes. “But I commend you for doing your best, Mr. Barnes. I hope you can recognize this is a big milestone in your own personal development– even if it is difficult to rebuild your relationship with your mother, you are still there for her, and you can see what she needs. You must understand that your mother’s reaction to you is outside of your control. You can simply try your best to continue on with this knowledge and her, or move on past it– I believe you will make the right decision, though.”

Bucky sniffs a little, and wipes his eyes. “Thanks, doc. I’m glad we have these talks– you make me feel smarter.”

You half-smile at that. “I’m only showing you what you are already capable of, Mr. Barnes.”

He snickers a little. “My ma would like you.”

You feel a swell of pride and fondness that Bucky would say such a thing, even if you have no idea how true that it is, and you do your best to just keep that repressed. You can’t go on as his therapist if you’re starting to get too involved.

Bucky asks if he can pay you double for your services and you insist that he doesn’t need to do that. You feel as if you’ve gained more than just a well-paying client– you enjoy your sessions with him now.

Wanda’s birthday dinner is swanky, at some upper-class Italian place down by Brighton. Wanda is half-amused, half-irritated that you’re wearing such a lovely red-toned dress, but she says nothing of it.

Viz, your brother, is kind of weird around you. He seems to notice something about you.

“Anything different at work? Maybe a pay raise, something like that?” He asks out of curiosity at the dinner table, and you shake your head. “Ah, well. You just seem so smiley, sis.”

“Yeah. Just glowing, and at my birthday, too.” Wanda jokes, and you don’t have any answers.

You feel as if you know the reason why– and he shows up just as you’re thinking it.

Bucky is dressed in a nice blazer, dress pants, looking much more slick than he often does at your office. He comes in with most likely another member of his gang, and together they go sit in a corner booth.

You feel your face flush a deep red– he looks gorgeous, almost as if he could ditch being a mob boss and become an actor or a model instead. You can’t help but glance at him, hoping he’ll catch your eyes.

Eventually, you get up to use the restroom. You stumble a little on your heels– and it’s that motion that causes Bucky to look up again.

He’s taken aback– it’s you, but you look stunning, far more beautiful than he had ever seen you look during your sessions together, and that’s saying a lot because you were already incredibly distracting before, and a part of him is jealous and wonders why you’ve held yourself away from him like that. But Bucky is more rational now, and he knows that you haven’t done anything to make him attracted to you. He’s just like that.

He notices, with a bit of a possessive, satisfied flair, that you’re wearing the dress he picked. Bucky was right, it does suit you a lot, and he enjoys being able to make out your figure while having a bit of it left to his imagination. He sees the dip of your collar, where your cleavage is just beginning to come out, and bites his lip, hoping that he’d get to see more soon if he was so lucky.

You pass by his table, pulling your shawl a little tighter around you, and Bucky waves at you. You seem to blush– and he likes it a lot, likes being able to make the smart, always-one-step-ahead doctor flustered– and it’s like your roles have been switched, that you are now looking for his approval.

He gives it you readily. “You look great, doc. Love the hair– and the dress.”

“Ah… thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You beam warmly at him, and continue on your way to the washroom.

“Who the hell was that?” Steve asks, scratching his beard.

“Uh, right. That was my therapist.”

“That was your therapist?” Steve splutters, and Bucky shoves him a little. “Jesus, man. I need to get me one of those. She was hot.”

Bucky agrees with him, but still tells him to fuck off. He doesn’t want to share you.

He motions to one of the waitresses, and tells her he’d like to pay for your table anonymously. When the bill arrives, many hours later, Wanda is incredibly confused on who would pay for her birthday dinner– she’s convinced it must be a secret birthday gift, and you only take credit for it because you don’t want to be found out like this.

You had no idea Bucky would do that for you.

A few weeks later, at another session, Bucky seems easily drawn to you. More than before.

“Rebecca’s getting ready. She gets a little too dolled up nowadays– but she knows no guy is going to talk shit with her now.” Bucky admits, and you wonder where this story is going. “She can tell I’m different, she keeps asking me what’s going on.”

“You’re very free to tell her what’s going on, Mr. Barnes.”

“Yes… but…” Bucky omits the fact that Rebecca seems certain he’s into a girl. She’s always had this weird uncanny ability to tell when Bucky’s got his eyes set on someone, whether it be some random girl at the bar, or someone like you– you’re one in a million for Bucky.

Someone he really, truly likes.

He clears his throat– he knows it’s inappropriate, it’s wrong, but he can’t help himself. You are too sweet, too lovable and kind and intelligent in ways that he’s not entirely familiar with, so it’s entirely too easy for him to simply give in and fall for you.

He knows the boundaries you set. Respect, professional respect for the space that you’re in. It would be especially bad because of the nature of his work– he knows that even if he could protect you, you probably don’t want to be involved in that lifestyle.

“I don’t want to break your cover, doc. It’s best if I just tell her nothing about it for now.” Bucky concludes, and you shrug at that. “Anyways– I found out that she was going to go out with Steve, that ugly ass motherfucker that I still keep around for some reason, and I just yelled at her. I thought I was over it, but I’m not.”

“Have you considered that your sister is an adult who knows what she’s getting into?” You suggest. “She might not be the one to get hurt. Perhaps she wants the same thing he does– as you’ve said before, Steve is rather good at hooking up with women and running away afterwards.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s terrible– he loves girls and doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he’s full of commitment issues.” Bucky waves Steve’s issues aside while you are impressed at how quickly he was able to suss that out. “Rebecca is gonna be the death of me. She can live her own life, I’m not concerned about that– it’s that I know she’s doing this shit to rile me up.”

“Ah, I see.” You hum over that. “You could simply pretend not to care– many people stop those kind of actions when they see it’s not having an effect.”

“That’s true.” Bucky still shudders. “Still, if they fuck up– both of them– I will spend the rest of my life hearing their arguments.”

“Why not try to find an alternative person for Rebecca to date, then?” You think for a moment. “Or maybe she could find an actor of some sort. I don’t believe she means for this to last in a long term way.”

“Okay, that could also be true.” Bucky admits, and his eyes find yours. “Maybe I’m just looking for the worst outcome.”

Bucky seems better and better with every session– in this case it seems like his personal problems have been rectified just halfway into it– and he still spends the rest of the hour talking to you.

“You still worried about your brother’s new kid?” Bucky asks, remembering how last time he left the session he heard you yelling into your cellphone about it.

“That was a private conversation, but, uh, yes.” You decide to answer him honestly. “Yes, I am worried. My brother can sometimes be very– unemotional, detached, and it’s bad for his first child to grow up in that environment.”

“Hey, at least the kid has you. Therapist aunt– I bet you’ll help out in some ways.” Bucky points at you, and you agree with that. “Talk to your brother more. He’ll listen if he sees that you’re serious.”

You know Bucky’s right, but you have to wonder when you started taking advice from him– it’s almost as if he’s giving you little mafia tidbits, like intimidating your brother by persisting at the conversation– and you actually don’t mind it.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes.” You get up to bid him goodbye.

Bucky has an unreadable expression as he leaves, and he gently, but firmly, grasps your hand before going out the door, a grip that feels strangely intimate, and you’re left standing there with an urge for more, your mouth agape in a bit of shock.

Bucky calls a week later sounding incredibly apologetic.

“I’m sorry, doc. I can’t make today’s session.” He sounds strangely heartbroken.

“Hey, that’s alright, Mr. Barnes. I’ll see what I can do in terms of refunding you.” You hope that’s all he called for. Recently there was something in the news about the Russian gangs of Brighton Beach having a kerfuffle with the cops– you can only assume that’s what Bucky’s gotten into, and you feel kind of guilty that you let yourself get so close to him.

“No, that’s alright. Keep the cash, I don’t mind that.” Bucky yells something incoherent, there are alarming gun-shot like sounds in the background, and then he comes back to the phone. “Listen, doc– I’m sorry, you can do without me as a patient. I don’t wanna risk anything with you, and if that means you gotta let me go, then do it.”

You are silent for a moment.

You’re hopeless, and you know it.

All it took was for Bucky to be the one who was genuinely concerned for you– for him to put you first when he’s surely in a dangerous situation right now– and you’re smiling like a damn fool, wishing that you could just let him go. You don’t want to.

You know you’re appealing to a dangerous man, but you don’t care.

“It’s okay, Mr. Barnes. Our sessions can continue.” You murmur, and Bucky laughs on the other side of the phone.

“Alright, doc. I had a feeling you didn’t want to let go of our progress.” He states, and you wonder if he knows about your feelings for him.

He might just be thinking that you are entirely sophisticated about this whole thing. He doesn’t know that you’ve dreamed of him, silly domestic dreams where Bucky is the husband to your doting self, or ones where you tell him your fears and he listens, and vows to protect you, or extremely explicit dreams where he simply shuts you up with a kiss and spreads your legs. You do not know how to stop these– you feel that you have gained too much by liking him. It’s been a while since you’ve crushed on someone and felt that it could go somewhere.

At the very least, you do want to at least ensure his success as a patient of yours. You will get over this, it’s just that… you still have a sheepish smile even after Bucky has hung up the phone, and that’s not good.

You make a note not to go any further than this.

At your next session, Bucky is despondent, clearly not telling you something that bothers him. He spends most of the session rather upset and quiet.

“Doc, do you think I’m a good man?” He says it with not a hint of irony.

You fall quiet. You don’t know if a murderer will ever be considered a good man, and you don’t want to make that moral conclusion. You’re not a god.

“I don’t think that’s up to me, Mr. Barnes.” You start, and Bucky immediately pelts you with more questions.

“But you think I’m morally repugnant, right? That’s something I read on the news the other day.” Bucky scoffs at himself. “I can’t believe I thought I was better than that.”

“You can be, if you want to be. I’m not saying it forgives your past transgressions, but–” You fix your vision on him. “You have to make the choice to be a good man before you can ask others if you are.”

“And you think I have that potential?”

“...Yes. I’m not just saying this as your therapist, Mr. Barnes.” You swallow and then answer him honestly. “I believe if you want to be a better man, you have it in you to do so. You want the truth, right?”

Bucky nods, and leans closer in.

“Being a good man, a good person, can not be synonymous with being apart of the mafia. I’m somewhat apologetic about this, but–” You wince at your own fears at his reaction. “Eventually you would have to leave, not just to be a better man, but to be a healed person, both mentally and physically.”

“...” Bucky stares you down for a bit.

“Okay, doc. I hear you.” He leans back in his seat, and you let go of a breath you had no idea you were holding. “I’ll try to take your advice.”

You’re not sure how much faith you can have in him. Something about the way Bucky stares at you and leaves this time, it screams control issues again– perhaps this is the last time you’d ever see him. You brace yourself for a no-show next week, and a phone call cancelling his appointments.

It saddens you– you’ll miss him.

Unfortunately for you, Bucky shows up at your next session with a bouquet of flowers. Chrysanthemums- you’re very sure Bucky has done this because of the framed photo in your office of them. He’s being a little too thoughtful, and you’re worried.

“Mr. Barnes. You’re a little early.” You start off, and sit at your chair.

“I’ve paid for the hour, don’t worry.” He grins and then approaches you, looking at the floor, your face, and then back at your desk again. He’s clearly nervous.

“Go out with me, doc.” Bucky offers, and you shake your head, just out of principle.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just feel that you’re desperately searching for a way to fulfill–”

“Enough of the shrink talk! Jesus Christ.” Bucky scowls, and then fixes himself, standing upright as you back up a little. “Do you have any idea how I feel? How I think about you at every second? You’re fucking up my work, too–”

“That’s not really my fault–” You try, but Bucky shushes you, walking towards you and grasping your hands so quickly that you cannot help but look up at him again. His blue eyes are squinting, peering so desperately into your own, turning grey with how serious he is.

You’re mildly frightened, but you would be lying if you said you never saw the signs of his attraction before. How his gaze lingered on you for far too long, how he would occasionally comment on your beauty, how he would constantly compliment your intelligence… you at first thought that perhaps Mr. Barnes was bad at recognizing the difference between a woman who was into him, and a woman who simply had emotional intelligence. You could blame the way that society expects women to mother their partners for that.

But lately you had been feeling something new, something you didn’t suspect would happen. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that– therapy is a personal practice after all, you can’t blame yourself for your own feelings– but you never thought he would reciprocate so clearly, holding your hand like this. He always seemed enigmatic until now, and you wish you could change things.

Even worse, you could tell he was making progress– he was really trying to be more than what he thought of himself. He could be kind, sweet even, and it’s with some embarrassment and fondness that you find yourself looking forward to his appointments. Lately you’ve caught yourself smiling about him for no reason, even though you feel this relationship– a budding one between the two of you– could change things for the worse, and you don’t want that for him.

Bucky traces your knuckles with his thumb, and he leans in towards you, whispering very, very carefully.

“I like you. I think you’re very special in a way that cannot be found in other people. I don’t want you to be scared of me… I just want you to know that I’m interested in you.” Bucky kisses your hand, and you are drawn to a silence, unable to figure out what to say.

“Mr. Barnes–” You start, and then stop yourself. “Bucky… I don’t want to be the reason why you didn’t get better.”

“But I am better, don’t you get it? God, for a doctor, you can really be dense.” Bucky snickers and then holds your hands closer. “I like you. I think you’re wonderful. Smart, beautiful, a real challenge. I think you’re why I’m better, and not just because of therapy– Jesus, that’s fucking cheesy but it’s true– sometimes I know I can’t keep being the White Wolf, the boss of this gang, because you make me think it over, and I want to do right by you and what you’ve taught me.”

“So you’re going to remove yourself from your gang?” You ask honestly, peering up into Bucky’s eyes to see if he’s telling the truth. He looks so solemn– so sure of himself.

“I already knew that I needed to, doc. I knew it when you said that I was hurting myself by being there. Of course there are some things that I like about it–” He cuts himself off, and presses his forehead to yours, grasping your cheeks. “The gang isn’t going to survive very long, anyways. Everyone knows it can only last so long, and a lot of them are moving on into the show business.”

“I didn’t think Hollywood was so transparent on their mafia connections.” You whisper, and Bucky snickers at your response. “But what about your heart palpitations?”

“They’ve been reduced by a lot. I used your trauma response workshopping thing and it helped me.” Bucky takes on a funny little smile. “And I think the only thing fucking up my heart now is you. I used to have it figured out, you know? But I can’t continue another day being that guy. Let me take you out, please.”

Bucky’s final plea rings through you, and you can’t find it in you to reject him this time. He’s got you wrapped around his finger– and being so candid, so honest about how he felt, really every therapist’s dream– you search his eyes and it’s no surprise when Bucky leans in to kiss you.

Your eyes are wide open as he does, in shock, because you’re not expecting him to do this, and he moves– his hands wrap around your waist and he inhales as his tongue sweeps against your own, and you kiss back before you can tell yourself not to.

Bucky pulls back, breathing hard, and you feel yourself turn warm at his reaction. You watch as his face comes towards yours again– you have to pull away, too.

“What is it?” Bucky sounds a little wary.

“If we continue like this– I can’t be your therapist anymore. I can’t do both things, it would unethical and hard to separate.” You swallow, and then nod. “Promise me you won’t use me for therapy anymore, Bucky.”

“I… of course, doc. I would never expect both from you.” He sounds sorry about it, at least. “I’m not trying to use you– I really, really like you.”

He hums as he leans in for another kiss and this time you let yourself have at him– why not let yourself have a little fun, right, even if it’s in your place of work– and Bucky lifts you up easily, his mouth connecting to your jaw, and then neck, before setting you down at your desk.

“I think I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks.” He shares, and you look affronted.

“Are you telling me you weren’t focused?” You push his chest, but Bucky holds your hands back.

“Of course I was focused, I just had a different subject in mind.” Bucky brushes aside a piece of your hair. “You can’t tell me I’m the first man to have fallen for you like this– I have to think that in an enclosed space like this, most guys are checking out the pretty doctor.”

“Uh… well maybe there’s been others, but–” As you say this, Bucky’s eyes narrow a little and you remember that he is kind of the jealous type. “None of them have been as forward as you. None of them asked me out.”

“Good.” Bucky leans in and kisses you again, and you’re very glad your office door is shut and locked.

Bucky lifts you again, easily, his mouth connecting with yours and then to where your collarbone just peeks out of your top, and he sits you down on his lap on the armchair where he often states his opinions and thoughts on his life. Bucky seems to be admiring you– you can’t escape his gaze as he looks at you from side to side.

“If you’re not a mob boss anymore… all I ask is if you’re serious about this. About me?” You ask, so earnestly, that Bucky has to feel some crushing regret about how he never quite told you the truth.

“I never… I never did all that stuff with girls. It was a front, you know, it is a front for a lot of gang members. They gotta show that they’re desirable.” Bucky shakes his head. “But I was more focused on, uh… cleaning up ‘stains’, talking to ‘coworkers’, you feel me? I was addicted to that violent, electric feeling. Never again, though.”

“Okay. I trust you.” You’re not sure why you believe him so strongly, but you do, and even if every red flag in your therapist knowledge is currently being raised right now (trauma bonding, love bombing, manipulation, the list goes on and on)– you think he’s being honest. You do believe based on everything Bucky has told you previously, that he doesn’t mess around with girls, and he is trying to leave behind his lifestyle. You can even see it in his latest heart analysis results, as his physician showed you recently.

You’re so grateful that you helped him in this way. That you got him to reach his fullest potential. And a little evil, selfish part of you likes that he chose you, too, as he leans in and kisses you again.

638 notes · View notes

prettypeppermint · 2 months

Text

amazing grace.

for t. shelby a prelude to 'the gift of silence. (how sweet the sound)'

“My, what a dear sight: Thomas Shelby, Peaky Blinder and founder of Shelby Brothers Limited, fucking a whore on the same desk he signs business deals on.”

Your languid body, draped with the tender silks of your night slip, leaned against the door frame. The strong oak plowed against your supple shoulder and tugged at the pink lace pooling in your clavicle. A slim cigarette drooped like a petal from your rosy fingertips which rested near your naked thigh.

You watched, unamused, as Thomas repeatedly rutted into the thing, his eyes staring directly into yours. Despite the dimness of it all--of the sex-stained chamber and the way the dying lamps made the room appear dipped in oil--his sharp, diamond eyes still cut through the haze.

You took a quaint draw of your cigarette and fixed your gaze on the girl, tilting your head at the way she convulsed and thawed into the mahogany. You pushed yourself off the frame and let yourself in, crossing the threshold into sin.

Your bare feet made slow steps across the dry panels and stopped in front of her. You used your hand free of the cigarette to pet the crown of her head, smoothing down her jostled, earthy locks.

You shushed her softly, quietly, though it came from a dwelling deep within your heart. Your fingers tightened at her roots and pulled her head up so you could see her disheveled face. "You're a pretty one," you stated, observing the way her nose sloped perfectly into her cupid's bow. Her shaky, glossy eyes could barely keep your gaze as they kept rolling to the back of her head. Obscene moans and small cries escaped her bobbing throat.

You took another puff from your smoke. "I know you think you've caught a big fish, but really--Thomas Shelby isn't any less a minnow than every other man in this Godless city when it comes to pretty lasses like you." Your voice was befitting of the night--quiet and something of the tide.

You traced her tear-stained cheek with your thumb. "Do you know why you're here, bent over his work desk in the first place, love? It's because the last pretty thing that wandered into Mr. Shelby's trousers put all our heads on the line--right after her own, pretty little blonde one."

Immediately after the last sour-coated words left your lips, the girl burst into a million ecstacies, and Thomas gave her one last soundless pound before leaving her empty and hollow on the nippy wood.

You let go of her head and it dropped to the desk--as if she craved its cold companionship.

Your eyes found Thomas's.

"So this is who you are now? A whore fucker is no more than a whore, himself, y'know."

"Who I fuck"--he zipped up his knickers and took a swig of Irish whiskey left out from the morning on his desk--"concerns no one. Least of all you."

You slowly snubbed your cigarette out on his expensive, lacquered desk. "Don't get cute," you said, pulling out a couple extra shillings than girls like Lizzie are used to seeing after a long day. You stretched at her unbuttoned collar and pressed them into her bra. "On you go, love. Don't come back.” You said the last part mainly to yourself, but it didn't go unnoticed in the weight of the room. You loathed her life for her.

A minute sigh, heavy with something dire and secretive, escaped Thomas's nose as the lax girl collected her stray garments from off the floor and flitted out of the room. He never looked at her, though she seemed to burn for it.

Thomas leaned the small of his back against the edges of his desk, staring off at something distant in that vacant way he always does.

"It seems as though everybody in the city respects Thomas Shelby except yourself,” you said.

You never called him Tommy, and you never would. Nicknames are for kin and lovers, and he was just pristine, clean-cut Thomas.

He didn't respond. He didn't move save a subtle tensing of the muscle in his jaw. You made your way next to him, propping yourself up on the desk. Your legs dangled in the air as the hem of your slip rode up your thighs. He passed his whiskey glass over to you without sparing you even a glance, and you took a sizable swig.

Since it was evident he wouldn't be doing much of the talking, you started up.

"Men are weak. They get dumb in the head when anything with a cunt passes by. A primal urge--makes you animals." You looked at the wooden wall and imagined you were seeing the same thing he was as he stared right through it. A moment of silence--a hidden breath--hitched and made the room swell--the wood crack.

"I loved Grace, too. In my own way," you continued softly, matter-of-factly. You handed the glass back to him. He could tell you've had a little too much already. "I saw something in her that I had been chasing my entire life. It made me admire her."

"And what's that," his voice croaked, raspy from the silence that grew familiar to his throat's walls--like a tumor.

"She had love." Slowly, as if unfolding like a picture, you began to see the invisible landscape Thomas saw in the grain of the walls. "It made her strong. Gave her something to fight for, and then later something to lose."

This, Thomas realized, was the most you've confided to him in years. You looked so vulnerable, so lush in your unguarded, slightly slouched form. He saw glimpses of your Irish youth in your tired yet glistening eyes.

You were never a predictable woman.

A silence spanned and stretched at the air in the room. The more it did, the hotter you got.

"I've never had that, Thomas. And you should be grateful you did for at least a little while, because even if you fail at your multiple hands and end up rotting in the canal, you would have died a man who knew love. So stop slouching and moping and fucking sorry whores and get back on your feet."

He didn't like the way curses sounded coming from your mouth--from that pretty little voice. Your usual mellow demeanor had faltered for the first time in front of him.

You didn't wait for him to hand you the glass this time, as you swiped it out of his grasp and downed the last ounce of amber fire. "You're Thomas fucking Shelby. But right now you're just pathetic."

At this, his hand clasped around your slender neck, almost simultaneously with his lips as they crashed into yours. He repositioned himself between your legs so his knee could pry and tease at them. His callused hand was strong and warm as it crept from your throat to that sweet nook between the back of your neck and the bend of your jaw. His fingers cupped your cheek and raked through your freshly washed hair. Your slip had collected in a wrinkle of crests at your hips and you subconsciously waited for your exposed thighs to be seared with his radiating palms. But he stopped himself. He pulled away. And yet again, there was that vacant distance.

"Don't tell me about not knowing love. I loved Grace the way you've always loved me." His voice was so low you had to furrow your brows to make out every word--every syllable--so that you could ensure you weren't going crazy. "I see it. Every day. I fuckin' feel it every time you look at the back of my neck. You love me. And you're filthy for it."

For an impossible measure of time, you saw him for something he wasn't.

His thumb swiped past your chilled earlobe, bringing your forehead to his. "She sang these songs. And I heard in all of them your stories."

You wanted to shoot him. And kiss him. And kill him. Hell, you just wanted him.

"But I could never have you. No, not when you put on such a tough act with a face like that and make a mess of yourself and everything else--messes I needed to clean up and protect you from." With this, he gave your face a little shake with his hand still embedded in your locks.

It was impossibly gentle and genuine and moronic. It was simply just impossible.

His whiskey-licked breath stung with every lap he took at your salted wounds. You both stayed like this until the ticking of the clock became jilted and painful.

You looked into his wayward eyes one final time, swallowing a heavy sigh before slowly slipping off the table, past his burning body and out the door.

It was as good a goodbye as any.

All humans have ever needed was love, so why is it that when it's finally within the palms of our hands--no matter how much we cherish it, kindle its erratic flame, breathe life into it--it always seems to betray us?

76 notes · View notes

reality-liver-n0 · 5 months

Text

Balalaika: Black Lagoon's Monster

This post is going to be another long one so strap in. Once again, it's soley on Balalaika, but I may stray off a bit too.

Since I already adressed in my last big post about her differnces in manga and anime, this is going to center around how well her depiction (normally) is in the maga. Don't get me wrong, Anime Balalaika is terrifying as well but the manga in some panels takes it up a notch.

I'll share the specific panels that made me decide to cover this topic anyway.

All of these are terrifying. Legitimately I forgot how brutal the manga panels were in this. I'll go down each one and point out how I think they're effective in their use of envoking fear.

In the first image she is grinning with her teeth bared, and you can see how sharp they are. It's like she's a shark that got the first whiff of blood. Take notice of the man (I honestly forgot his name).

His teeth are depicted as well but there are just two that seem pointy. Even so, they're not as jagged or rigid as hers, in fact they look more blunt, akin to a prey animal.

Honestly her lipstick makes the whiteness of her canines pop out more and I'm wondering if she actually even thought of the tactical advantadge it gives in terms of intimidation. Probabaly not, but hey, let me headcanon here. I would assume she chose pink since it's more natural yet it still pops. And I'm not sure how well the red lipstick would go with her red suit, which would obviosuly be a lot duller due to its fabric.

Anyway, both her and the man's eyes are not shown. I'm not an artist but it's very important here and I think I can explain why.

Eyes are the window to the soul. Or at least the most reliable way to know what emotions someone is feeling. You can't quite fake a look if your eyes stay the same. So by removing the access to emotions, it acts as a blocking point. We don't see their eyes, therefore we can't really see the extent of what they're feeling. We can only assume or place ourselves in the situation to guess what emotions might be present.

A good refernce would be the monster under the bed. You don't know what it looks like, but you use all experience or imagination possible to create one that will scare you. So by not seeing Balalaika's eyes or his, we can only conjure up worse images than what could actually be presently there.

Eyes are also what most classical artists use to convey pain. Here are the most notable examples.

We literally cannot even comprehend the type of pain this poor man is in. Ok, maybe not that much but choosing to limit the pain to the rest of his face does hide whatever expression he is making. Even so, there's not a whole lot to accurately measure his pain. There is only his teeth, grinding in pain, and blood. Not a whole lot to go off of.

But one notable detail is his feet. They are not touching the ground. In fact, he is actvely trying to stop himself from choking to death in her grip. Also, her heels make her considerably taller since his feet appear to be sliding against the ground. He's probabaly only a couple of inches off the ground but consider Balalaika.

She's 5'10, only wearing heels, already disarmed him with her back turned, and during this entire exchange with Rock is holding him steadily above the ground. That may not mean much but to me it's a lot.

He is a full grown man. The estimated average height for Japanese males is 5'7 and their weight is 138lbs.

Need I remind you that she kept this man up so he was actively choking, and still was able to snap Rock around onto a car hood with one hand.

This guy is fucking dying and she's not breaking a sweat. (Queen behavior tbh)

Onto the second panel. I want to focus on Balalaika's face. Her eyes have an emotion I can't find the word for. Playfulness I guess? Or some type of manic state of power or happiness. You can just tell by her raised brow and the slant of her eyes that she's just toying with Rock here. It's all a display of her raw strength.

The next panel is worse in my opinion. Her entire scarred side is blacked out. Sickingly, her right eye looks more like a socket since the scar overlaps it. And the blackness of her suit makes her look like some grim reaper. Overall, I'm scared shitless.

Yet the final image was the last straw for me.

That look from her, the solid stare that is directed at Rock (the audience in effect) is terrible. She doesn't have the same joy from the prebvious panels. That could be due to her mouth being hidden but it's one of rage and suffering. Look back to the classical depictions of eyes. Looks a bit similar, right?

Also, personally the one that looks the most alike is the Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. Which to me is so ironic that it's sad.

Another sad thing is that the pupil size in the last panel, or specifically in the right/scarred eye can be a result of the scarring. Which to me seems to be affected a lot under bright light or is just permanetely damaged in that imitation state that pupils do when introduced to it. I would say the former, just to fit another headcanon neatly; her office only holds seemingly softer lights, notably the orange/yellow one on her desk.

Finally, the worst and most important fact is that in these panels Balalaika admits it's been a while since she's done hand to hand combat. What?! She just took an armed man down and she's not even at her peak soldier state. As Boris says, playing mafia does dull the senses.

So yeah. Rememember that we have literally never seen Balalalaika attempt to be as physically pro-active as Roberta. She hasn't had a reason too. It's just jaw-dropping to think what Balalaika's true combat prowess is since we've only seen glimpses of it. Better yet, how good was she as a sniper to get her nickname?

Only our imagination can help us there, but considering the feats of Roberta Balalaika's sniper shots must be inhuman.

#black lagoon #balalaika #big boy post #This woman is so scary but I love her for it #analysis

41 notes · View notes

lazer-screwdriver · 3 months

Text

Ur a genius— take THIS moffat

(Rory and the Doctor talk around an unspecified thing for 1.2k words. Working title: Rory and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day)

The console room of the TARDIS was dark and quiet.

Not the kind of dark and quiet it sometimes was, when things got very bad and things went pitch black and silent as the grave, but a normal good intentional dark and quiet. The kind that made you think of after hours and nighttime, though the TARDIS didn't have any windows and - for all Rory knew - it could've been high noon outside. Like part of the ship, the Doctor leaned over the console in the center, repetitively fiddling with a set of switches as though he was trying to make something happen and failing.

"Oh good, you're here, I was worried I'd have to go exploring through the TARDIS to find your bedroom or something. Do you ever sleep?"

The Doctor looked up and blinked at him, visibly surprised at Rory being here at all, much less addressing him. "Sometimes, why?" He checked his watch "I thought you and Amy had gone to bed.....do you need me to check under your bed for monsters." He straightened up and grinned, apparently excited for the potential duty.

Rory ignored him. "Amy's asleep. I want to talk to you"

"No monsters then? Good, there shouldn't be any on the TARDIS. Not anymore- if there were we'd have an even bigger problem than your horrendous socks."

Rory continued to ignore him. "Doctor, in the caves, when I was…....dying...what was that."

The Doctor's smile dropped off his face, turning back to his switches. "What was what?" His voice was still lighthearted, the perfect tone to brush things off, and Rory would not have it.

"You know what.”

"Oh that." The Doctor watched him out of the corner of his eye as he stalked closer, leaning on a panel of the console next to the Doctor's. "Telepathic link."

"Yeah I'd got that much, thanks. Rory snapped. Rest and food and a shower had all been beneficial but he was still far too sore to be talked down to at the moment. "Doctor, l've been contacted telepathically before, you know I have. That wasn't that. So what was that."

"It- It's hard to explain." The Doctor swept a hand through his hair agitatedly, apparently given up on avoiding the topic. Rory gave him a withering stare and he blanched, putting hands up in surrender "I'm not being difficult! You don't have a word for it, humans aren't a telepathic species, there's no equivalent. Like explaining marriage to a sea slug - not that you're a sea slug, you're more like a funny little cuttlefish - ahaha cuddle fish do you see what I did there-“

"It's a time lord thing" Rory cut him off before he could start assigning sea creatures to himself and Amy too, somehow more confused than when he'd started. "Like marriage."

"No! Kind of. Not really. It's not strictly monogamous or romantic or-or sexual it’s just-“ The Doctor wrung his hands, seemingly unable to look Rory in the eye. "Well, intimate. Like pillow talk, sharing secrets. Just more intense.

Rory nearly snorted. *Yeah, I gathered."

"It's not something l've done for a very long time. Not since...not since becoming the last." Messed-up hair flopped over his face as he bent over a different set of knobs and buttons this time. Confusing and overwhelming ending up sad - Rory could practically hear the quip about how he should be used to his sex life being like this.

“…not even with River?" Rory could see the Doctors ears turning pink as he bent further down over the console, murmuring nonsense about power fluctuations to himself and pointedly not answering.

“Well.” He sighed “I suppose I'm flattered.”

"You should be." The blush spread over his cheekbones.

"It was good." The random vaguely mechanical noises and flurry of busywork movements taking up space in the corner of Rory's eye stopped dead. He could feel the Doctor's eyes burning into the side of his head but refused to look over. The man’s gobsmacked, flustered expression was clear enough in his mind's eye, he didn't need the real version to rob him of his momentum.

I mean-" Rory scrubbed his hands over his face, regretting starting this conversation at all. "I know how you get about blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault, and I just wanted to say-" He could barely get the words out, like trying to cram into too-tight pants. "I mean obviously the circumstances weren't ideal but I-" God this was embarrassing. "I enjoyed it. You didn't assault me, or anything."

The silence dragged itself out - the Doctor frozen still and staring intently enough that Rory had to fight the urge to look over his shoulder for a weeping angel. His toothpicks-and-string confidence wavered under the assault, forcing him to instead steal a glance at the other man to convince himself he wasn't about to have a trapdoor pulled out from under him. "I'm glad I didn't die." He finished lamely.

"You dragged yourself out of the arms of your loving wife to tell me not to feel bad about sticking my fingers into your funny little brain?!" The Doctor exploded back to life with his usual commotion, rigid silence shattering back into the standard vaguely-exasperated silliness.

All the tension went out of Rory with it, letting himself breathe properly as his head tipped back in relief. He hadn't reached airlock levels of offense just yet. "Shut up, Doctor, I'm being serious."

"Of course you are." He buzzed around the control room as through he'd never stopped, clearly gearing himself up to start rambling. "That's Rory, always serious, always so sincere, don't you get tired of it? I suppose the girls must like it otherwise you would never have managed to get A-"

The Doctor cut himself off, stopping dead in his tracks for the second time as something clicked in him. He crept back into Rory's line of sight and glanced up through his eyelashes at him, a surprisingly effective imitation of a dog that'd chewed through someone's shoes, shoulders up by his ears and hands hovering over the console. "Are you going to tell Amy?" Rory nearly laughed at the sharp return to the subject, imagining how that conversation would go.

"God I hope not, but probably." He sighed. He was just awful at keeping secrets from her, even if the actual conversations were always mortifying. The last time he'd had to do something like it he'd burst into tears and she'd had to swear up and down that she forgave him before he could calm down enough to tell her what it even was. They'd only been 12, but still. "Ohh I'm never going to hear the end of it." The Doctor giggled helplessly at Rory's lamenting, making him break out into matching weak laughter. Thank god, a high note to end on.

"Speaking of- I'd better get back to her before she comes looking and we both get it. Goodnight, Doctor." Rory pushed himself off the console as the Doctor gave him a two-finger salute and a smile, already dreaming of his soft bed and softer wife a few rooms away.

"Goodnight, Rory" Just loud enough to be heard over Rory's socked footsteps on the glass and metal. "And-" he could practically hear the fidgeting. "Thank you.”

The way his voice shook kept Rory from turning around, instead flashing a thumbs up over his head and letting himself wander into the TARDIS back to his bed, more than content to be done with the night.

#I can’t be bothered to mess with the html I put in for when this goes up on ao3 #use ur imagination for the italics #zap.txt #eleven #rory williams #the unspecified this is (deeply unsurprisingly) nsfw. yayyyy sex pollen yayy

4 notes · View notes

honeybeeloxs · 11 months

Text

Crown of Leaves

Ashley Freund x Ashlyn Halperin

Part two of Big Gulp, enjoy.

The Phoenix Tanning Salon smells of Body Lotion, Goggles coated in flammable alcohol.

Ashley and Ashlyn walk into the room, opening and shutting the door. Ashlyn removes her coat and hangs it up, putting her bag on the coat rack. The weight of the bag was too much for the coat rack. It started to tip over. Ashlyn then puts it on the bottom to stabilize it. Ashley walks to the other side of the room to start the beds; The lights flicker on as the fan blows; Ashley taps the control panel and sets the timer for Fifteen Minutes. “Dude, he said no drinks; if you spill that shit, we’re gonna have to clean it up like last time,” Ashlyn says as Ashley picks up the Tanning Bed cared; Ashley taunts her by drinking from it and shakes the cup, “Happy Bitch, there’s nothing to spill.” she then puts the Big Gulp on the desk between the two beds. Beneath the desk was an electrical box; it was gray and empty for the most part, but big thick cables ran from it, which led into the wall socket and out of it to the beds. An LCD buck booster read. “Warning–This device should never exceed 250 VAC.”

Ashley moved back to the coat rack before sitting her jacket on it, Ashlyn behind her, and moved to the electric thermostat ducking over the plastic palm tree. “Dude, why does Yuri keep it so cold in here?” she said, “Maybe it’s cold for the machines or whatever,” Ashley responded as she dug for her phone, seeing Wendy hadn’t called. Ashlyn sighed, “A few degrees won’t hurt….” she said before pushing the thermostat from a Seventy to a Seventy-Three. Ashley had already started taking off her shirt, but her action was interrupted when Ashlyn whined, “Shit! I forgot my iPod,” She and Ashley regularly take turns using iPods, but today she forgot hers at home. “Ugh, Sucks bitch, I mean! They have CDs!” Ashley said as she closed her Tanning Bed lid and latched onto the board above her bed, standing on her tippy-toes. “Ugh…” she scoffs in disgust, “Celion? Britney? Are we like the only cool people that come here or what?” Ashlyn zipped down her denim skirt and stopped. “Yeah,” she said before continuing. Ashley put weight onto the board; The shelf dropped to a quarter as the anchor screws drilled into the L brace holding the frame were ripped a little from the drywall; Ashley grabbed the last CD. “Greatest Hits from the Seventies–Have a Nice Decade!” she looks at it momentarily, “Whatever,” she says as she lets go of the board, making it wiggle out of the wall more.

Rain pours down on Yuri as he argues with Tanya; he kicks the wall in frustration. Yuri heads inside, removing the crushed Coke can and replacing it with Tan Lotion, which says, “Dying for a New Tan!” The door shifts before slamming down on the Lotion, making the lid make a POP sound as lotion spills over the alley; Ashley slides the CD into the player before sitting on her bed, unhooking her bra, and tossing it aside; Ashlyn looks at her and makes a questioning face, “Why are you wearing underwear? Ashley smiles, “Steinmeintz gets off on Tan lines.” she smiles, “Whatever….” Ashlyn responds and smiles before putting her goggles on; both girls pull the lids down, letting the blue lights take over. The door flattens the Tanning Lotion; white cream oozes out before the backdoor finally locks. Yuri is too distracted to notice it; the Irony of it all is that Tanya is the only girl who has given Yuri a chance. However, she was remarkably jealous, thinking he had a whole block of girls waiting.

“Hey Wen, Camera’s ready?” Wendy turned to see Julie standing in a pink floral knee-length dress, “U-Um, just a second!” Wendy stammered out, looking at her sister and the computer. Julie crossed her arms and paced around the hallway, “Y’know… Amber and Perry are about to pull up.” Julie’s tone was annoyed, “How about I take it tomorrow? When you’re not busy.” Julie said as she stopped and walked into Wendy’s room, “O-Oh… Okay, Thank you, Julie….” Wendy says as she turns around, meeting Julie’s smile, “Shit, they’re here… Listen, I’ll see you tonight.” she says as she turns on her heels and walks out of the room. Wendy flinched as the front door slammed shut. Wendy flipped through the photos until she came upon Ashley and Ashlyn’s, their mouths wide open with glee while they held onto a colossal palm tree inflatable that Ashley had just won at one of those cheap water gun games. However, Wendy felt off; something was off… The light flare is exposed; orange filters over the two girls laughing, washing them in a fiery orange glow. She chewed at her lip; She knew they had invited her to the Tanning Salon and that Ashley had given her cellphone number. Where did she place it? Oh, in the trash bin next to her, of course. Wendy got on her knees and dug through the container, but her lamp light flickered, distracting her; she finally pulled the number out and frantically searched for her phone.

Ashley and Ashlyn groove in their tanning beds as the opening scream of “Love Rollercoaster” nosedives into the funky, groovy bass line. On the desk between the two beds stood the Big Gulp cup, full of ice. Beads of condensation covered the cup, pooling around the base and forming a small puddle; a large bead rolled down the cup and fell into the reservoir, breaking it into small arms; the most extended arm rolled down the desk into the edge of the table where it met the wall. The trail pooled briefly before slipping between the desk and the wall, dripping into the empty gray buck booster box. The box hummed before white sparks flew from underneath it, spraying sparks everywhere. It stopped. The tanning beds started to heat up, and the fans kicked in, blowing hot air out of the beds. The room heated up. The LCD of the thermostat had already begun to climb, Seventy-Three, Seventy-Four, Seventy-Five, Seventy-Six, Seventy-Seven. More water fell from the cup into the Buck Booster; a loud bang and more sparks flew from the box. The Red LCD in front of the Buck Booster flickered before winking out for a second; a shadow over the walls traveled before it flashed back on. The numbers started going up– 240 VAC, then 245 VAC.

The air conditioning finally kicked in; The coat rack swung from side to side before eventually losing its balance; the top of the coat rack hit the plastic palm tree. The plastic tree hit the wall, the crown of leaves hitting the wooden board filled with CDs and hand towels. The L brace gave out, the board ripping from the drywall and landing on Ashley’s tanning bed. Ashlyn began to get uncomfortable. Finally, the beads of sweat on her forehead and breast made her anxious, “It’s a little too warm in here now, huh?” Ashlyn asked Ashley, who took out her earbuds, “Huh?” she asked; Ashlyn, uncomfortable, started to move her legs, “I fucked up. I set it too hot in here.” From the fallen bag rang Ashley’s phone, with it reading ‘INCOMING CALL–WENDY’ Wendy on the other line, anxious, biting her nails, the ringing stopped, “Hello!” said Ashley; Wendy sighed in relief, “Hey Ashley, It’s Wendy.” Wendy heard Ashley snickering and whispering to Ashlyn to stop before… “SIKE! Leave a message!” Wendy sighed as she slumped in her chair, “U-Um... Hey, this is Wendy; just call me when you’re done… I’m sorry I was too late.” Wendy hung up, but as she put the phone down on her desk, her lamp exploded, white sparks and glass flying everywhere. She turns around, facing the fiery glow overpowering the two girls.

Ashley lifted the bed lid, but as Ashley’s cover rose, the CD board slid off the top of her bed, twisting as it fell into the L brace of the bed, the bottom of the CD board banging against Ashlyn’s bed. Ashlyn pushed her lid, slowly opening it; the bottom of the board slowly slid into the bottom half of the L brace. The girls lifted their lids with no avail, Ashlyn burning the palms of her hands, “Ow!” she said as she tried again; Ashley tried, but the board latched onto the L brace and stopped her; Ashlyn let out a high-pitched scream. Panic arose as Ashlyn attempted to stop the fan from blowing hard, only making a grinding noise and cutting her fingers. The temperature rose from 245 VAC to 300 VAC to 325 VAC. Ashley pounded her feet against the wooden board covering the other end of the bed. She screamed as the top of the bed started to crack; the VAC rose to 355 VAC, which made them shatter, cutting her skin while Ashlyn’s skin began to get brownish as sweat dripped from her body. Still in the alley on the phone, Yuri looked up, and the scream came again; Yuri rolled his eyes before hanging up. Yuri walked to the backdoor, pushing it to no avail; he sighed, jogging to the front of the Salon. He grabbed the handle and twisted it; The door was locked, and he looked at the paper loosely hanging from it, “Be Back in Thirty. ♡” Yuri went to his back pocket for his keys, but his keys weren’t there. He looked through the door, “Hey, Open Up!” he yelled.

Ashley slid up to the top of the bed, slamming against the in-built fan. Ashlyn protected her face from the heat, using her arm to shield her. The girls kicked on the bed lids, but Ashlyn started to jerk and scream louder; the plastic goggles were melting. Ashlyn’s front bulbs began to crack while Ashley tried to find a way out, slamming the lid up and down, hoping the top would open. “GET ME OUT!” Ashley screamed as she started to slam the cover-up and down faster; the bottom bulbs were beginning to crack under pressure; the VAC rose again, resulting in the bulbs shattering. Ashley fell into the base of the bed with sparks flying and glass cutting the bottom of her body. Ashlyn screams with her goggles melted into her skin as her bed finally shatters; bulbs inside the bed split, which incinerates the girl, and with the VAC climbing higher, Ashley’s bed short-circuits and lights her ablaze, clawing at her skin; Ashley looks out of her bed with Ashlyn screaming in agony. They would have called to each other, proclaimed their undying love for each other, and forgiven each other for every catty comment they made over the years. Still, the bulbs shattering like firecrackers on the fourth overpowered them; they were beyond words now. They could only scream.

#Ashley Freund #Ashlyn Halperin #final destination

5 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 2 years

Text

Watchmen Issue By Issue: Fearful Symmetry

Hello all you happy whores and policticans screaming up to save us while some asshole whispers back no, i’m jake, I review comics and animatoin and i’m continuing my yearlong look at watchmen after catching up last week

Previously on Watchmen: Dr. Manhattan reflected on his life and built himself a dope ass house. Prior to that his leaving left Laurie without a place to stay, Dan still nursed his crush on her and Shach Attack visited former Dr. Manhattan foe and current cancer victim Moloch the Glukon the retired supervillian and naturally harassed him because that’s how he rolls. Also we were introduced to pirate comic tales of the black freighter which is going to seep in every so often , epseically this issue. Yarr.

So now we’re back where were were we have an intresting issue format wise again. This time though instead of being a device to tell the story like showing us how dr. manhattan’s brain works to understand him better after three issues of him being hauntingly and unknowably alien, this one simply has a clever art gimmick. The entire issue is a reflection of itself: the first page mimicks the last and so on. It’s an amazing gimmick and while it , as far as I can tell dosne’t really play into the story, which is a more straight instalment after last time, it does look damn impressive and I applaud gibbons and moore for having that kidn of commitment and forethought. I’ll also give you a quick panel comparison of the first three and last three to give you an idea of how this works

It’s a truly haunting bit of poetry and even if you don’t know the gimmick, the reflection begining and ending it is inspired. We’ll get to Love Shach’s downfall later. For now join me under the cut to start the issue as we take a look in the mirror and see who looks back.

So we open with a beautiful shot as Roschach breaks into Moloch’s house.. then torments the dying old man by shoving him in a fridge and questioning him about things he dosen’t know about

What is suprising is.. he actually DOES show remorse for the first time in the comic, letting Jacobi free from his torture and apologizing. It’s clear from the following narration, which reveals Roshach, like yours truly at the time of writing this review, is running on no sleep and needs some rest to recharge. It shows while he’s a cruel, judgemental asshole... he DOES have his own warped moral code. Jury’s still out if that code icnludes eating a beach full of dicks for lady liberty but my guess is “Probably”.

Anyways we cut to a horrifying scene of some cops, the same ones from Comedian’s murder, investgating a murder suicide of a father and his children, who he was trying to spare from the oncoming firey armageddon. Things with russia are escalating and one of the detectives notes this is only the START of horrors like this, people trying to escape before the end comes.

So we get more of Newstand guy and Pirate Comic Kid as the two hang out with Newstand guy annoyed the fronteirsman is late. Their part in this issue is, like with issue 3, to provide a birds eye view of things: Newstand guy is still horrified about how bad are going and is annoyed the kid and others like him are sinking further into media to escape from it. And given how most people remembering the 80′s try to remmeber the awesome films and comics, much like this one, and not the horrible politics or increased racisim, I can’t say he dosen’t have a point, one that resonates as i’ve been guilty of drowning myself in escapisim to escape my issues, something I still struggle with. The world is an ugly place and sometimes it’s easier to run form it than try to face it.. and sometimes you need said escapisim to cope, sometimes you use it too much as a crutch. All depends on the day really. He also has a protestor with some pink tirangle group, whose symbol is seen, threaten to knock his head in if she dose’nt get her poster, promoting a lesbian led anti rape event. This woman is only in the comic for a few panels

As for said escapsim, tales from the black freighter continues to be dark as our hero moves corpses around, heads to see, monlogues plenty more , and grabs a fucking gull out of the sky and eats it raw.

Then for an encore when set about by sharks on his raft SKEWERS ONE IN THE FUCKING BRAIN and uses it’s death throws to keep himself adrift. Holy shit that’s badass. It has nothing to add to the plot other than symboliism but it still earns it’s keep. I’ll also go ahead and cover the suplemental this time: it’s simply an article on tales rich history, how in this unvierse the courts didn’t try and screw comics over with a comics code of authority and instead sided with it and as such EC comics not only surivived but is the main publisher of the pirate boom that insued. It’s not nearly as deep or intresting as the last two, but it is a bit of fun and a nice look into this universe if nothing else.

Anyways as you can tel li’m covering most of the plots on their own as their more isolated this time: they don’t really crash into each other so it’s simply easier, at least for this one issue. Picking up with laurie her situation is...

Since the goverment took all her money and being homeless is STILL better than being with her mother. So Dan offers her a place and deals with his crush on her. That’s about it for them but the first scene is neat since it’s against a mirror and we see the diaouge often in reflectoin. It was kind of confusing to follow but I admire the artistry.

We also get some extended focus on Adrian for once, as he deals with the toy company wanting some villians for his line.. then an assasian who he beats effortlessly but seemingly fails to save from killing himself. This WILL be important later, but for now it’s just a funa ction scnee and his respponse “Tell them to cancel the villian line.. I have no enemies” is just pure badass.

The Bulk of the issue though is Roschach getting ready, unaware he’s watched, and general stuff. The above scene though does prove his theory and Moloch seems ready to talk giving him a note to meet him at a prescise time at his place depsite you know, being terrified of the guy

Turns out the how is that Adrian mystery conspirator man left a tip with the police he’d be there and killed moloch ahead of time to lure him out. What follows is a tense and awesome fight scene as Rorschach makes his last stand against the police including lighting one on fire and facing them down... granted alan dosen’t want you to forget this a dumbass so his move is causing a fire.. that forces him otu of the building and into the waiting cops instead of trying to find any other exit.

The actual arrest though is horrifying, with his face, the homeless doom man I didn’t attempt to hide was Rorshach (whose actually not homeless... my bad), just in pure horror as he SCREAMS to give back his face and put the mask back on.. while the police don’t care who he is. They just got him.

Final Thoughts; This issue is the weakest so far.. which is to say it’s still gripping, enjoyable and the gimmick is utterly masterful. IT’s not a BAD issue.. it’s just slightly weaker. It feels more like stuff happening to advance the plot than the gripping character stuff we’ve been getting. NOthing really NEW happens other than adrian’s badassery: We’ve seen Roshach rant, Dan have a massive crush on laurie she fails to notice, evne newstand man. We’ve seen most of it before. It’s the standout bits though that remind us we’re in a masterpiece: the final fight with roschach, the symetrical setup, and tales of the black freighter being utterly engaging despite having nothing to do with the plot but foreshadow it. Overall a perfectly servicable issue just one that has the misforutne of coming between two far more unqiue issues.See you next month

#dc comics #alan moore #david gibbons #rorshach #nite owl #silk spectre #ozymandis #tales of the black freighter

4 notes · View notes

mushroomjar · 2 years

Note

🌼

[Image Description: The first 4 photos that popped up on my Pinterest home page.

1: A photo of Liz Vicious, a white girl with shoulder-length dyed-red hair. She wears a black crop top with vertical silver stripes, a black miniskirt, a studded belt, black stockings, a black faux fur coat with animal print details on the inside, an animal print bandana wrapped around her neck, black eyeliner, and red lipstick. She holds a cigarette in her right hand.

2: A photo of a light-skinned person laying on their bed, tummy-side down. They have long side-swept black hair, black eyeliner, and a septum piercing. They wear a black crop top, black shorts, one black sock with Jack Skellington's skull plastered on it, one pink sock with some cute white and pink drawing plastered all over it, and a silver pearl necklace. Plushies and posters can be seen in the background.

3: The four-panel Gru's plan meme. Gru is presenting before an easel labeled "Find an identity I'm comfortable with". He gestures confidently with a finger pointing up in the air and continues to look confident for two more panels. In the second panel, the easel says: "Change new name and pronouns". In the third, it says: "Come out". In the last panel, the presentation is still labeled "Come out", but Gru looks back at the board, seeming taken aback and upset, with his hands falling limp.

4: A cropped screenshot of a TikTok that shows a green 3D character and text overlaid on top that reads: how tf do poly relationships work like when yall break up do u vote them out like among us? pls I need to know

End Image Description]

Ask game (text is a link)

#cat answers #ask game #aren tag #cigarette tw #smoking tw #scopophobia #my id

4 notes · View notes

yolacricket · 1 month

Link

0 notes

doodlelupin · 2 years

Photo

full id under cut!

[Brief ID: A 4 panel comic of Juno and Rita arguing over outfits. Rita is shown to be wearing an elaborate outfit with lots of pink and rainbows and grins, saying: “Hiya boss!” Juno is frowning at her, asking: “Rita, Are you sure thats... professional?” Rita replies “When was the last time you washed those pants?” Juno looks shocked and says: “... fair enough” End Brief ID.]

[Image ID: A 4 panel comic of Juno and Rita arguing over outfits. Rita is a short woman with light skin, a heavier build, and curly brown hair with two low buns and bangs across her left cheek. Juno is a person with an average build and darker skin, a scar across his nose. He has curly hair with a dark undercut and the top dyed a light red. The background of the panels is a light pink, and the space between panels is a darker pink.

Panel 1: Almost full body shot of Rita, cut off at the shins. She is wearing a light pink dress with small hearts all over it, a yellow waistband, and yellow trim around the bottom with white lace below it. She has a slightly darker pink sweater over top with a fluffy white collar, white knee high socks with a lacy trim, and a little pink bow clipped into her hair. She has a rainbow necklace with chunky beads and a ring with a pink bauble, and a bag on her shoulder that looks like a yellow and pink plaid teddy bear with pink details and a zipper across its forehead. She is grinning with her eyes closed, one hand behind her skirt and the other holding it out to show it off, saying: “Hiya boss!”

Panel 2: A shot of Juno from the chest up, frowning at her, asking: “Rita, Are you sure thats... professional?”

Panel 3: A close-up of Rita with one eyebrow raised and a slight frown, saying: “When was the last time you washed those pants?”

Panel 4: A closeup of Juno looking shocked saying: “... fair enough” End ID.]

#juno steel #rita [redacted]#junoverse #tpp #the penumbra podcast #this was kaisers idea fgsdjkg #againnnnn <3 #thank uuuuu <3 dfjkghkgds #i made this forever ago and put off posting it cuz i hate writing ids for comics lol

109 notes · View notes

jasontoddsreanimatedcorpse · 3 years

Photo

The Foxes!!

I do not know why Kevin’s panel looks like that, the actual version is no different to the rest. If I figure it out, I’ll add it.

Do not repost without explicit permission.

Image description below the cut.

[ID:

Nine square images, all with the same orange background, aligned in a three by three grid. Each contains a digital drawing of one of the foxes with white lineart in a minimalist style that does not include shading or face details. Each has the corresponding fox’s last name in black block letters along the top, and their jersey number in the same lettering around the middle. The names and numbers fade down so that the bottoms of the letters/numbers are transparent.

The first image on the first row is of Dan Wilds, aligned to the left. She has dark brown hair that is curly (type 3a) her skin is light brown, and she wears an orange sleeveless top with a small cutout on the chest. She is positioned as if he is leaning slightly forward, causing her shoulder to be slightly raised. She is also wearing large hoop earrings and is turned towards the right, where her number is (01). The drawing cuts off around her mid chest.

The second image on the first row is of Kevin Day, aligned to the right. He has tan skin and very short dark brown hair that is swept back. He is wearing a long sleeved green top with an orange chest pocket, and is facing towards the left, where his number is (02). The drawing cuts off around the bottom of his chest.

The third image on the first row is of Andrew Minyard, aligned to the right. He has very pale skin, and short pale blond hair that curls over his forehead. He wears an orange shirt and a black leather jacket. He is facing down towards the left where his number is (03), and has a cigarette in his mouth. The drawing cuts off around his mid chest. In the centre of the lower edge, you can also see the top of his hand, holding a lit match near his cigarette.

The first image on the second row is of Renee Walker, aligned to the left. She has lightly tanned white skin, and cropped white blond hair that ends just below her jaw. The tips of her hair are dyed pastel pink, orange, purple, mint and indigo. She is wearing an orange tank top, and facing to the right, where her number is (09). The drawing cuts off around her mid chest.

The second image on the second row is of Neil Josten, aligned in the centre. He has pale skin and orange curly hair, that flops to the right of his forehead. He is wearing a black shirt. He faces straight ahead, with his number (10) being split so that the 1 is on the left of him, and the 0 is on the right. The drawing cuts off around the top of his chest.

The third image on the second row is of Matt Boyd, aligned to the right. He has brown skin and short dark brown hair (type 4c). He is wearing an orange button up shirt and is facing to the left, where is number is (04). The drawing cuts off around his collar.

The first image on the third row is of Nicky Hemmick, aligned to the right. His has tan skin and light brown hair that is swept back, with a strand falling into his face, ending roughly just under his cheekbone. He is wearing a light purple short sleeved shirt and blue jeans, sitting down with his arm resting on his raised knee, which is only just visible in the corner. He is wearing an orange wristband. He is facing to the left where his number is (08). The drawing is cut off around the middle of his stomach.

The second image on the third row is of Allison Reynolds, aligned to the left. She has pale skin and long blonde hair with a side part, that tumbles loosely over her shoulders and chest. She is wearing a loose, dark blue short sleeved shirt. She is also wearing a necklace with an orange pendant, and a thick orange ring in the upper part of her ear. She is facing to the right, where her number is (07). The drawing cuts off around the bottom of her chest.

The third image on the third row is of Aaron Minyard, aligned to the left. He has pale skin and pale blond hair in a similar style to Andrew’s (curling over his forehead). He is wearing an orange hoodie underneath a black jacket. He is facing to the right where his number is (05). The drawing cuts off around the middle of his stomach.

Each drawing also has a small signature, written in white and slightly translucent, placed randomly. It says “Erin B” in messy handwriting.

End ID]

297 notes · View notes

eiirisworkshop · 3 years

Text

DragonCon Gothic: 2021

(Sequel to this.)

-Loki is everywhere.

-You keep saying “last year” but you mean the 2019 con. Everyone understands. Everyone else is doing it too.

-Scooters clog the sidewalks. You hate them. You are tempted by them.

-A ducky squeaks nearby.

-Most people are in masks, some begrudgingly, some casually—some have incorporated masks into their cosplay so beautifully the costume is incomplete without it.

-A battalion of stormtroopers pass. You wonder if their helmets are CDC approved face coverings. You imagine wearing a mask under a helmet. You’re glad you’re not a stormtrooper.

-You ask a question at a panel. The panelist looks you in the eye and says, “No, you should just kill people.” You can’t help but agree. This is a writing panel.

-You can tell exactly who spent all quarantine working on their cosplay. You know they still finished it last night.

-You are in a panel. The person in front of you is dressed all in the Marriott Carpet, from facemask to shoes. You cannot remember how long it’s been since the Marriott had that carpet—you know many con goers now have never walked upon it. You cannot remember what the carpet looks like now. You are in the Marriott. You look down at the floor. You look up again as the panelist speaks. You have already forgotten what the carpet looks like now.

-There is a family of Marriott carpet dinosaurs. The dinosaurs are in cosplay.

-You are waiting for MARTA. You are not at Peachtree Center. You are in full cosplay. Down the platform is a girl with pink hair. And a sword. You catch her eye, she nods. You nod back.

-You are waiting for a panel. Nearby, a track leader is arguing with another member of staff. Rooms are down to 2/3 capacity. According to the hotel, the room your panel is in holds 300. It’s set up to hold 82. The track leader keeps insisting that 2/3 of 300 is not 82.

-You have seen 5 shirtless male cosplayers within 3 minutes. Only 2 are characters who don’t usually wear shirts. Maybe it’s just summer in the South and the cosplayers have gotten smarter, or maybe the men really have gotten sluttier over quarantine.

-A mother is dressed as Misty from Pokémon, her baby is togapi strapped to her chest. Ash follows behind them with a diaper bag.

-A father is Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, his baby is Grogu strapped to his chest. Cara Dune follows behind them with a diaper bag.

-Apparently, everyone dyed their hair blue over quarantine.

-You have never seen so many men in the Starfleet minidresses. They really did get sluttier over quarantine. You’re happy for them.

-A woman in an extravagant ballgown walks into the bathroom with three other people. They are there to hold her skirts.

-You are at an audience participation panel. The moderator calls on Loki. The eight Lokis in the room all look at each other before asking for clarification.

-Harley Quinn rides by on a scooter.

-Walking through the food court is Weird™️.

-There are several plague doctors on the train. Two are in bird-nosed masks and hoods. They are going to the con. The rest are in scrubs and N95s. They are going to work.

-Every panel starts with “welcome back.”

-It’s been two years. You’ve forgotten your hard learned lessons. You wear the cool looking shoes. You relearn your lesson.

-Spider-Man’s suit rips. He summons a Cosplay Medic armed with needle, thread, duct tape, and battery powered Ryobi hot glue gun. Four more people with cosplay problems descend on the Medic. He fixes everything, using materials in ways they are not intended to be used.

-A man in a brown trenchcoat and Converse approaches a man in a red cape and blue scrubs in a skybridge. “Doctor,” the man in the cape says, nodding. “Doctor,” the man in the trenchcoat says.

-The shawarma place is covered in Avengers memes, as it should be.

-Someone is dressed as the Evergiven. They are blocking the skybridge. You’re not even mad.

-At least a dozen Harley Quinns pass by in ten minutes. They’re all going the same direction. You wander what the group noun for Harleys is.

-The group noun for Lokis is a mischief.

-There is no wait to get into the dealers room. It’s Weird™️.

-A small child cries, overwhelmed in dealers. The child can’t be much more than a year old. They’ve probably never seen this many people in their life, of course they’re overwhelmed. You haven’t seen this many people in what feels like a lifetime. You are overwhelmed. You buy a plushy.

-Two Lokis pass on the street. “Hi, me!” greets one. “Variant,” the other says with disdain, then smiles.

-The Hard Rock is by reservation only.

-You see an amazing cosplay. You desperately want to compliment it. You cannot remember the name of the character. The cosplayer walks away before you can call it to mind. You walk the opposite direction. You remember the name.

-The moderator attempts to begin the panel—there is immediate squealing feedback. Everyone cringes so hard you can see it through the masks.

-There is someone in a sportsball jersey and a Joker mask.

-You do not have the Con Crud. Through learning to guard against COVID, you have learned to defeat the Crud. Your cosplays will include masks from now on.

-Monday, in some ways the con begins to die down, in other ways it goes on. Feathers, badge ribbons, and a surgical mask tumble down the street. Life goes back to….whatever passes for normal these days.

-You are so glad to have been back.

#dragoncon gothic #dragon con #dragoncon #dragoncon 2021 #dragon con 2021 #Eiiri made this

192 notes · View notes

purplemanbehindtheslaughter · 2 years

Text

EYES ON ME-

So I listened to “Eyes on me” The new Vox song it’s catchy as fuck but Val is being a bitch and he’s controlling and I hate him so I’m writing this. He seems so mature until in the song hes like “Pay up motherfuckers” which made me and one of my best friends start dying in laughter, and also i have a meme of him on my phone where he ordered a fcucking mcdonald’s happy meal and was like “Hey im supposed to have a toy with this” Then a toy smacks him in the face and in the last panel its just him happily playing with a sailor moon action figure while alastor’s over here like “Of course im hanging with a fucking idiot-”. (Also does anyone else think Vox sounds like a teenage boy or smthng?)

Also I ignored the part that said “A monster I’m in love with despite all the pain” Because as much as I like writing things as the characters would say them, I hate writing anything about Valentino unless it’s hostile towards him, or the bitch fucking dies.

(yes i simp for vox i feel really fucking bad for it but its literally something i cannot fucking control)(this is way longer than usual, damn)

You knocked on the door.

“Vox?” No answer. “Vox, open the fucking door, I ain’t got all day. Vox?” You demanded again, but there was still no answer. You were starting to get worried. He usually opened up the first time you called. You timidly opened the door, and your worry increased when it was locked. he never had the door locked. You growled and tried picking the lock, but you were fumbling too much to successfully do so and eventually kicked the door down, only to gasp and cover your mouth.

Vox was sitting on his chair, his screen-face cracked, and he was leaning over with his eyes barely open. You rushed over.

“Vox! What the hell happened to you?!” You rushed up, tenderly touching his cracked screen. He hissed in pain and opened his eyes to see you.

“Hey, (y/n). How are you doing?” He gave a forced smile and you scowled.

“Who. Who did this to you? Answer me!” You clenched your fist, anger running through your veins.

“It... was Val. I made a little mistake, it doesn’t really matter.” He said. You shook your head violently, standing up.

“I’ll be back shortly. You stay here and try to get some rest.” With that you left in an angry rampage, your sadistic side showing more and more as all these wonderful, dark thoughts flooded your brain.

Later-

You knocked on Vox’s door, and heard a weak “Come in.” From the other side. You stepped in, covered in blood with a plastic bag.

“Hey. I got stuff to fix your face.” You chuckled at how that sounded coming out of your mouth. You opened the bag and pulled out a new screen, and a few things of tempered glass screen protectors. You instantly got to work on his face and had replaced his cracked screen within the span of a couple minutes. You finished by smoothing out the air bubbles in the screen protector. He gently touched his face and smiled when he felt that the cracks were gone.

“Thanks, (y/n). Why is there blood all over you though?” He asked, gesturing to your outfit. You smiled cheekily.

“It was kind of a yandere move, but it was really just protection. Let’s just say you’re no longer bound to that son of a bitch and you can do whatever the hell you want to!” You said excitedly. Once Vox figured out what you meant he wasn’t sure whether to be happy, sad or relieved.

“You mean... you killed Val?” He asked. You could’ve sworn there was hope in his voice. You nodded quickly. He smiled and chuckled a bit.

“I’m free now. I... I can’t believe it. I’m really free!” He jumped up and hugged you, really glad. You giggled, bringing your hand up to you face.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. We can do whatever the fuck we want with this place now he’s gone, and someone don’t like it, they got me to deal with!” You stood up triumphantly. He laughed, and you failed to notice the light pink on his screen-face.

“You are one special demon, you know that, right?” He asked, looking up at you. You beamed.

“I pride myself on it. Wait, isn’t this the pride ring? Ahh shit, another terrible, unintentional pun.” You rolled your eyes, making Vox laugh once again. You liked it when he laughed like that; it made you feel like you were actually doing something right, or if you did something wrong, it would all be okay. You felt your face heat up a bit and looked away bashfully.

“How are you so confident? Nothing ever phases you, like you don’t even care, but in a good way. How?” He smiled, confused. You gave the same careless, beaming smile you always did.

“Oh, it’s because I don’t care. Why be scared of someone or something you’re gonna forget about in the span of two minutes? It’s stupid, so I don’t do it.” You explained like that actually make any fucking sense. He laughed.

“You have a point, I guess. If you do tear the studio down, what are you planning to do with it?” He asked you, completely changing the subject. You thought for a little bit, then chuckled innocently.

“Well, I was thinking a new leader would be nice. I was thinking, oh I don’t know, maybe if you’d be willing to run things around here?” You suggestively poked his shoulder.

“What would I even do?”

“Well, I was thinking you could start a new tech company, like you always wanted to. Now that that pesky, overgrown smurf is out of the way, there’s literally nothing stopping you from taking over.” you made a fair point. He nodded.

“I think you might be onto something. But what about you? You’re the one who killed him; you should be the new leader.”

“Nah. Leader-ing was never my thing. It’s no fun being out of line when you make the line. Besides, I’m a little too reckless for that shit.” Just to prove your point, you took out a bloody knife, stained from years of just being plunged into multiple parts of multiple different demons and humans. Let’s just say for the sake of the story that there was a reason you and Velvet got along so well.

“I should be used to it now but it’s still so weird how you just carry that around wherever you go.” He sounded disturbed as he chuckled a bit, and you did to.

“Oh come on, why me? You live with Velvet for god’s sake, you’ve known her for longer than you’ve known me and you aren’t disturbed by her!” He pretended to be offended with a laugh.

This was it. The perfect chance.

“I guess I’m disturbed by you because you’re beautiful and you look perfect when you’re really not. It’s off-leading, whereas Velvet looks like a clown, and is the kind of person you’d expect that from.” He said, kind of nervous at the first part, but decided to just go with his gut. You apparently didn’t hear the first part, and he really wanted to face-palm.

“How don’t you expect that from me? Do I look innocent to you, or are you like some blind little bitch? How the fuck do I look innocent?” You asked. You always hated being called “cute” or “innocent”.

“I never said innocent, I said perfect. To the blind eye, any other demon would think you’re a pushover, and that often leads to their death. What I’m trying to say here, and what you’re clearly missing is that I think I might love you.” His voice was so quiet at the last part that you barely heard him.

But you heard him.

And you didn’t know how to respond.

“P-perfect? Y-you think I-I’m p-perfect?” You stuttered, blushing. He nodded slightly.

“You... you’re beautiful, and I... I love you. I really do.” He sid, rubbing his arm. You almost squealed, but instead settled for throwing your arms around him, enveloping him in a tight hug.

“I will never let you get hurt again.”

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #vox #valentino #eyes on me song #profanity #velvet

55 notes · View notes

holykillercake · 3 years

Text

Emergency Light

ᴋᴏʙʏ x ᴍᴀʀɪɴᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

word count: 2.6k

summary:

Female reader developed a crush on Koby since he stood up against Akainu in Marineford. Someday at a party at the marine´s, you get drunk, too drunk. Koby takes you to your room before a disaster happens. You two get stuck in the elevator while everyone is busy partying.

highlight: You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

warning: 1. ¨Do not press random buttons.¨ - LAW, Trafalgar; 2. Trafalgar Law is not part of this story, but his wise words are worth of quotation.

notes: *knock knock* Hi, guys! After a terrible writing block, I finally finished @pure-kirarin´s lovely lovely request, which I used as summary since it was really good! I really hope you like it! <3 A little disclaimer! At some point, the ¨too drunk¨ part vanished from my brain, so our reader is just... drunk, hahaha.

𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤, 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖!

¨Y/N-san!¨

You were wiping a sweat drop from your forehead when the pink-haired boy appeared beside you, offering an isotonic drink and a warm smile.

You did your best to hide the tiny heart attack you had.

¨Koby-san!¨ you shouted, smiling awkwardly. ¨Oh... is it for me?¨

¨Of course! You have been working really hard these days.¨

¨Thanks.¨ you took the drink from his hands. The heat and condensation caused a layer of cold sweat to wrap the bottle. ¨I just don´t know why they are making us help prepare this party. They have a team for this, Koby-san! Besides, we´re Captains now.¨ you pouted the last bit.

¨Yeah...¨ he scratched the back of his neck. ¨well, at least we get to spend some time together!¨

¨I know, I just-¨ you stopped talking as his words processed in your brain.

You felt your blood vessels dilating on your cheeks, leaving a hot sensation on your face.

Perhaps he was just being polite, or maybe you were making a big deal out of this, but you couldn´t help. You have been fond of him for a while now, and you couldn't stop that involuntary reaction of your body when he said such lovely things.

Koby realized the words that came out of his mouth, and the scene that followed made even your spirit giggle. His eyes opened wide, and you could almost feel his throat running dry with all his stuttering.

If that was a blushing competition, you would be down to the second place.

¨W-We´ve been on separate missions for ten months, right? I m-mean... and it´s not dangerous or anything, and-¨

¨Yeah, you´re right, Koby-san.¨ a smitten smile blossomed on your lips, and you tried to hide it by sipping the refreshing drink.

As stated by the boy, you had spent almost a year in different locations of the Grand Line, leading missions of your own. That was the kind of thing you had to do as promoted Captains.

You had no idea where Koby ended up going. These subjects could not be discussed over snail transponders, just for precaution. In fact, you barely spoke to him during this time. There were only a few nights when you would exchange coded messages.

Since you became Captains, your tasks have kept you apart for much longer than before. You couldn't help but miss him and wonder how he must be doing during those times.

You have already met thousands of Marines. Some even stronger and more agile than him, but no one had his willpower. You would put your hands on the fire for that.

Whenever you felt unmotivated or helpless, the memory of the boy standing up against Sakazuki, putting his life on the line to honor his fallen comrades made your blood burn hotter.

He did what no one else had the guts to do.

Too blinded by the bloodshed, in the end, the number of casualties made it clear that accomplishing the task was no reason to celebrate.

When the sole of your shoes stained with blood and the blade of your sword sliced through anyone who didn´t wear the justice symbol on their back, you questioned if the Marines had finally lost their purpose.

You should be civilized and do justice, but not at the expense of soldiers who had families to return to. If the target had already been eliminated, why were you still fighting?

A chill ran down your spine when, for the first time, you looked up and faced the massacre. It was as if before, you could look at everything and, at the same time, see nothing.

If Koby hadn´t stood up at that moment, you wouldn´t be here today. Maybe for leaving, maybe for dying. But his act of braveness and courage returned a bit of your hope.

You wanted to see how far he could go, and hopefully, you would be by his side.

Before, you used to watch him, along with his colleague Helmeppo, getting beat up and beat up by Garp and always put himself back on his feet.

You wondered if they were training kamikaze marines now.

From your room, you had a perfect view of the training circuit, so you could see the cycle repeating itself over and over again. Boys, seduced by the idea of absolute justice, strength, and power to fight bad guys, came to Marineford willing to prove their worth. They would fall a few times before the sparkle in their eyes started to fade.

Eventually, they would fade too.

Those boys, however, fell and fell, being punched to a pulp, then patched back together only to suffer on Garp´s hands again. Watching them became your late-night entertainment, and seeing their improvements and growth turned out to warm your heart.

At some point, you were assigned to be their opponent, and from that moment on, your days became brighter. They would share the craziest stories and tell the funniest jokes. Or not so much tell jokes. They were naturally clumsy and fun.

Although, if you could choose, you would prefer to spend more time with Koby. Nothing against Helmeppo, he was just too much sometimes. But apparently, they came in a two-for-one pack.

***

It has been only a few hours since the party started and you reached the jackpot. You had taken all your frustrations on alcohol and rice cakes, and it showed.

Every ten seconds, the memory of what you wanted to do disappeared, and that was somehow hilarious, making you explode in laughter and cause commotions. So for every ten seconds during the first hours, one of the last remaining sober in the enclosure had tiny cardiac arrests.

Everyone was drunk enough to have a good time without causing any trouble. But the detail worth mentioning was that your party had started a little earlier, under the statement that you needed a little incentive to help you through the night.

It meant that your energetically loud phase was close to reaching its end, giving place for your sleepy and distracted persona. Your eyes felt heavier by the second, light dizziness fogging your brain, but it felt relaxing.

¨You know Koby is a type of meat?¨ you said, resting your chin on the table and giggling to yourself.

¨Y/N-san, I-I don´t think that´s the name of it.¨ his face turned red as he shifted on the cushion, adjusting his posture.

¨Ugh, you´re so nervous Koby, you should relax.¨ you sang the last syllable. ¨Look at Meppo, he´s relaxing.¨

Your lips bent in a goofy smile as you watched your comrades building an okaki tower on Helmeppo´s head. The blonde had passed out on the table a few minutes earlier, too exhausted and drunk. He looked so peaceful in his sleep that a yawn escaped your mouth, catching Koby´s attention.

¨Y/N-san, you should go to bed already. Y-You look tired.¨ his voice trembled when he took sight of your sparkling but sleepy eyes, rosy face, and messy hair.

¨Hmm, no... I´m still good.¨

Another yawn.

¨Come, I can walk you to your room before you relax like Helmeppo.¨

Your brain was working in slow motion, so by the time you thought of answering him, your grip was already tight in his. A little tighter than necessary, but you were afraid your wobbly legs would cease, and honestly, he didn't object at all.

The air outside the salon made your nostrils hurt within every breath, not because it was freezing cold but because the alcohol made your body run hotter than usual. Your ears felt like they were clogged, but that was merely the tingling silence on the empty hall.

When he guided you inside of the elevator and pressed the corresponding button to your floor, your gasp, which echoed through the narrow walls, made Koby jump back, scanning for any sign of danger.

¨Oh my God, look at this, Koby!¨

He watched you walk closer to the panel, completely mesmerized. ¨Uh... what, Y/N-san?¨

¨Wow! They never did this before!¨ you shouted, falling on your knees and leaning in like a child on an ice cream shop showcase.

The boy kept staring at you, who pressed the buttons in a row with shimmering eyes. What was in that saké?

¨They never did...?¨

¨Look!¨ you clicked some more. ¨When I press the buttons... they light up!¨

A moment of silence fell upon the two of you, and although Koby always felt comfortable in your presence, he wasn´t sure what to do now.

You, on the other hand, didn´t seem to mind, too focused on your groundbreaking discovery.

¨Y/N-san, they have always...¨

¨This is so cool!¨

¨Y/N-san... I don´t think you should...¨

¨What does this one do-¨

A loud shriek escaped your mouth when the shaking of the elevator took you off balance, making your butt meet the floor in a thump. The lights flashed a few times before everything in your sight was pitch black.

You heard Koby call your name, asking if you were hurt, but all you could do was hold still, fearing for your life. The alcohol made the bouncing feel like a devastating earthquake.

¨Y/N-san!¨ you felt light pats on your shoes. ¨Are you ok? I can´t see anything!¨

Koby crawled on the floor, using your foot as a way to locate you.

¨Koby, stop moving.¨ you whispered, but he seemed not to hear, lost in his rumbles. ¨Koby, stop moving!. We´re going to fall.¨

¨Wh-no! Y/N-san, are you hurt?¨

¨No, I don´t think so.¨ you answered, head swirling and heart racing in your chest.

¨Y/N-san, did you press the emergency button?¨

¨No!¨ you stopped for a second, failing to hold your drunken giggles for yourself. ¨But that´d be a great idea right now. I think I remember where it is!¨

You twisted your body towards the panel, ignoring Koby´s attempts to stop you, and started to touch the many buttons, searching for the emergency one.

Click.

Click, click, click.

¨It´s not worki-¨ you squealed when the elevator struck again, piercing sound of creaking metal cooling every disc in your spine.

¨Y/N-san, please stop pressing the buttons!¨ Koby cried.

The feeling was too strange. You felt everything rocking slightly, no light was coming in, and the adrenaline made it difficult for you to calm down and adapt to the darkness.

Your breathing had already become irregular and heavier when the emergency light turned on. It was dim and greenish but better than nothing.

¨Oh, no.¨ he said.

¨No, no. Don´t say oh, no.¨ You shook your head.

¨Y/N-san, that´s the emergency light.¨

¨Yeah, so...?¨

¨So the elevators are not a priority now.¨

¨And that´s bad...?¨

¨Well, yes, because the energy is being used somewhere else.¨

You stared at him for a few seconds. All of his words made total sense, and in a normal situation, you would be able to handle it without further complications.

¨Koby, I don´t know if you´re getting somewhere...¨

¨Y/N-san, there was probably a problem with the generators, and they had to redirect the energy consumption.¨ you nodded, starting to connect some dots in your head. ¨I think they are sending everything to the kitchen beca-¨

¨Wait.¨ you said with a terrified expression painted all over your face. ¨We´re stuck?¨

He saw the panic grow in your eyes.

¨Y-Yes. B-But it should be back soon, don´t worry. Someone will come.¨

You remained in silence for the first hour, mainly because you kept falling asleep.

Little by little, the effects of the alcohol on your body began to cease and your temperature to cool down. Added to that, the darker the night fell, the chillier it got. So at some point, you couldn´t sleep anymore because your bones wouldn´t stop shivering.

Koby handed you his coat as soon as he took notice of your discomfort.

¨No, you don´t have to-¨

¨Y/N-san, you´ll end up getting sick.¨ he spoke, leaning a bit forward so you could take the piece of clothing.

¨Thanks.¨

A huge smile rose on your lips when the coat fell on your shoulders. It was incredibly warm and had his soothing laundry fresh smell.

Maybe with a hint of meat from the party.

It served you like a cape, so you pulled the collars closer to your body and curled up to retain the warmth. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel like it was him.

That granted you another nap.

Still, after about twenty minutes, something woke you up. This time it was a sneeze from Koby, who leaned against the wall, hugging his legs close to his body.

Guilt hit you right in the guts.

You crawled towards him, gently poking his leg.

¨Koby-san...¨

He raised his head and mumbled something you didn't understand. Maybe he asked if you were ok.

¨I... I´m still a little cold... c-can I sit by your side?¨

¨Uh? Yes, of course.¨ he shifted on the same spot, only to return to the previous position.

His voice was a little nasal and rasped, probably from the cold. You hoped he wouldn´t get a sore throat.

The coat became a blanket that you used to cover both of your legs, although he made sure you had gotten the bottom end since it had more fabric.

¨Are you feeling better, Y/N-san?¨

¨I am, thank you.¨ you whispered.

¨Y-You can lay on my shoulder... if you want.¨

You smiled and did as he suggested, curling up closer to him. It took you very little to fall asleep once you rested your head on his shoulder. His body began to feel warmer, and he even asked if you wanted to hook your arm with his to maintain warmth.

Using the last bit of boldness provided by the saké, you reached for his hand. You had this sensation, deep down, that the feelings you carried for him were reciprocated. But you could deal with this some other time. For now, you focused on calming down the fireworks inside of your chest.

[EXTRA SCENE]

A roaring noise followed by a ray of light fished you out of whatever dreams you were having. You pulled the blanket up to cover your eyes and snuggled deeper into the warm body in front of you.

Nothing crossed his mind at that moment. All you wanted to do was get rid of the light and have a few more hours to sleep. However, a sound like a throat clearing caught your attention.

You blinked a few times, images of last night taking form in your memory. The last thing you remembered before blacking out was you leaning against Koby.

I must have slipped to the floor at some point.

Your hands were wrapped in a turquoise fabric, and it didn't take long for you to realize that the fabric was wrapped around someone.

Koby's scarf.

Koby!

You ended up lying in front of each other, sharing his uniform. Your face a few centimeters from his chest.

After yawning a couple of times, you opened a distance to look at him.

His face was wrinkled, brows furrowed, and lips turned into a pout. The round glasses were no longer on his head, and the bandana, like his hair, was frowzy.

So adorable.

A louder throat clearing made you turn your head. The groggy smile on your lips disappeared instantly with the image of the elevator repairer, Garp, and dozens of other marines staring at the two of you.

#one piece #oneshot #opfanfic #Marines #Koby #koby x reader #coby?#sakazuki #sengoku #monkey d garp #helmeppo

165 notes · View notes

rattlerinthewheel · 3 years

Text

Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #bingo fill

75 notes · View notes