#serrator modes
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I’m your little scarlet, starlet, singin’ in the garden
Relationships: John Price x Male Reader
Synopsis: John finds a million ways to say I love you
A/N: Daddy issue readers beware
Master List
The day utterly sucks. Wake up, get dressed and get breakfast. Sleep eluded you all night long with eyelids shutting the early morning, only to be wide awake again with the morning alarm and sunlight filtering through the curtains. Grumbling from the other sergeants you shared a room with are part and parcel of mornings and the sounds of shuffling when they got up and ready.
The communal toilets were packed to the brim. You nose upturns at the smell of piss and deodorant from the entrance. The smell is enough to send your stomach roiling in disgust and at barely past eight in the morning; it is too fucking early for this shit. Throwing in the literal towel, you decide to come back later to try your luck at a less congested toilet. The 141 enjoyed their private toilets and rec rooms, and while you worked with Price and his men, you are—technically speaking—not a part of the 141.
Sergeant by rank, combat medic by trade. Assigned under base command and on loan to Price, you did the work of the devil and enjoyed the luxuries of nothing. Your commanding officer, a prick of a Major, fought tooth and nail to keep you under his command when Price requested for your transfer.
Begrudging was Price when he lost the fight.
Sleeping in a noisy and constantly busy bunk was hell and you rub the last wisps of sleep from your dull, pallid eyes. The roar of the cafeteria, normally a dull drone, is a sharp knife serrating on overwhelmed senses. A grimace pulls on your face when you see an unknown soldier take the last available seat at the table with the men you worked with prior. The tray clatters onto another table with a migraine forming in your head.
---
“That’s all, come back in three days if the wound doesn’t start healing.” The injured soldier on the bench grits his teeth just as you tighten the bandage around his arm.
He stares at you expectantly. You probe him to just ask his question. He says something about a medical record. Right. A medical slip excusing him from anything physically laborious. Usual protocol for injured soldiers. Ten minutes later with the printout secured, you dismiss the injured soldier and take a sip of water.
The headache is pulsating, evil festering from the deepest recesses of the mind in a barb to the front. Your hands grip the table for support and rummage through drawers for anything to quell the pain. Someone coughs and you look up to find Price at the door. He is a ray of hope spilling into the space as his smile is fond and endearing. Behind him, Ghost and Soap are there too, peeking into the room from the door.
“Hope you aren’t too busy, sweetheart,” Price drawls in that thick, charming accent of his. You tell him it’s never too much for him and he enters the room.
He smells wonderful and you pick up hints of lilac and jasmine. He smells wonderful and suspiciously similar to the bodywash you gifted him over a month ago. You tease him about finally upgrading his hygiene and earn yourself a few snickers from his men. Price shoots them his signature unimpressed look that morphs into a grin.
“It’s wonderful, sweets. Really appreciate the gift, love.”
Oh.
His smile is resplendent, much like his disposition this morning. It fades slightly when he gestures for Ghost to move forward. You slip into medic mode when he lifts up his shirt to expose the red gash running up his chest.
It’s angry and painful and by the looks of it, quite recent too. A fresh pair of gloves are on and Ghost sits obediently on the gurney. You gently prod at the surrounding flesh while assessing the pain he is in. Ghost gives you single word answers and you grab clean gauzes and bandages. Price is an anxious man, hovering beside you while you gently cleaned the wound. Soap holds the lieutenant’s hand and aside from the occasional jerks and hisses, Ghost remains a good patient and you gently bandage his wound.
“Don’t overdo on the training and make sure to keep the area clean and free of pressure for the next three days, minimum.” Your words emphasise minimum, knowing Ghost’s tendency to disregard his own injuries and medical advice. More than what is good for him.
“He’s going to behave. Ah’m gonnae make sure he doesn’t do anything dumb, promise.” Soap perks up and Ghost shoots him a look of withering ire, prompting a laugh from the sergeant and a huff from the captain.
With nothing else, you discharge Ghost and Soap follows the LT out of the room. Price shows no intention to move as he takes a seat on the couch in the room. You tie the used gloves and throw them into the bin and wash your hands.
“How’s my lad doing today?”
You roll your eyes and tell him that it has been a difficult morning. Between the pounding headache and grievances you had with the way things are run by the surly Major. Price smiles empathetically and he pats his thighs. It’s another hour to lunch and the medical wing is quiet at the time being. No harm in sitting with Price and on his warm lap. He chuffs when you scooch to lean your flank on his abdomen. Large hands encircle your chest and they pull you in for a warm hug; the owner of which is extremely happy to give you kisses on the nose then the lips.
His beard is rough and tingly and you let him know. His amused chuckles are tinged with adoration across the tranquil blanket enveloping the room. No complaints when you’re spilling into my mouth, his scandalous retort earns him a chaste kiss on his cheek and a pout on your lips. The mirth in his eyes are a molten gold and you see yourself in the waterfall of Price’s joy in being this close to his lover. His hand trails your flank and fingertips traces up your face to your temple.
Before you can ask him, rough fingers capable of unadulterated violence on the battlefield display a grace dancing across temples in a soothing manner. You moan on instinct at the slowly receding headache under the gently pull and push of Price’s ministrations.
“John, ah, where did you—”
“Learn to do this? You aren’t the only one with medical experience here, sweetheart.” His voice is helping to ward off the discomfort and he brings your face close for another deep kiss.
You are putty under his ministrations and he takes the opportunity to rest one hand on your hip while the other soothes and calms.
“Our poor medic, worked to the bone by his cruel commanding officer.” You laugh as Price admonishes you to listen. “Won’t happen if you are under my command.”
Your chuckles are interrupted by the occasional gasps when Price’s fingers untangle the knots in your mental faculties.
“Well, Captain, what about me is so important to fight with the Major?” Price grumbles something about an unappreciative asshole and you giggle.
“Hardworking. The most faithful combat medic in the company and,” the glint in his eyes is teasing, “the most handsome.”
Smooth talker, but he doesn’t take any heat.
“Tough and disciplined, I’ve never seen anyone so steadfast in their duty to save lives and protect their teammates.” His whispers are gruff and in puffs of warm air against your ear.
“Not afraid to speak up against idiots, like the bumbling fool assigned as his commanding officer.” Price reminds you of the time you yelled at the Major for even suggesting abandoning the 141 on a mission gone wrong. You tell him it is nothing and his sweet lips are firm and plush against yours.
“An asset, through and through.”
“All mine.”
“Stop embellishing, John. I’m not that impressive. Just your usual, everyday medic.” You jokingly sigh and look into contented eyes shining with the pride of the Captain. The same pride that made Price, well, Price. He heart is telling him to rectify it—the way your perceived yourself.
“I only tell the truth and I will keep speaking it. You can’t stop me, love.” Kisses attack you and your squeak of surprise is drowned out in a tilt of the head. “So beautiful and so fucking hot on the field.”
“I’m sure there are much more capable medics than me serving the country, old man.” A finger is on your lips to shush your words.
“None of that now, love. We are talking about you, not some wanker. If it takes this old man every minute of his life reassuring you, then I will.” Then he starts and it’s an avalanche, clearing the negative thoughts and doubt from the roof of your heart.
“I’m so honoured to know someone like you, love.”
“You are the best thing that I have ever chanced upon.”
“I am so proud to be your Captain and more so, your partner.”
He grasps your head gently and cradles your head against his chest.
“This heart beats for you, love. Can you hear how it yearns for you?” It echoes with the rush of rivers, the gentle crashing of waves on shores of his heart you trod with steps of affection and care.
You nod and Price gives you one of his realest smiles. The kind he reserved for only a selected few, including you. You feel something swell in your at the dopey look on his face.
“I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Proud of your accomplishments, the effort you put into your work and this relationship.”
“I’m so damn proud to be together with someone like you, darling. Never change, love.”
“You make this old fart so very happy and there’s nothing I won’t do for you. Nothing is too much or too far.”
“Love you so much. So, so much. My good boy.”
My love.
Tears are obscuring the vision of him in a glow that gives him an ethereal look. Your angel, descended from the heavens. He wipes away the tears and rests his forehead on yours. It brings him close, so close and he strokes your cheeks gently. You run a finger through his beard and cup his cheek in a sweet embrace. Time is lost upon the two of you and nothing else matters.
Nothing but the beating of two hearts in sync in a rhythm you labelled as John.
“The boys trust you. And I do, too. There isn’t anyone else out in the world I trust as much as you and …”
“I want you to know that I’ll always be thinking of you.”
“John, you can’t—”
“Always in here.” His hand envelopes yours and brings it to his chest.
“You have me, until the end of time and for as long as you want.”
“Eternity isn’t long enough then.”
The kiss is akin to light pouring from urns of gold and showering the two men in a lustre the shine of the sun and the intensity of fire. He whispers something along the lines of never enough. The nasty headache fades into a dull ache then into nothing. Being with Price is worth the awful mornings with idiot sergeants and the annoying Major assigned to be your boss. Anything, everything is worth being able to spend time with this man called yours.
“I love you, dearest.”
“I love you too. My bear.”
His eyes twinkle at the term of endearment. A bear? He clarifies. Exactly, and he has a beard to match. He gives your hand a squeeze and you push up for another kiss.
Not just a bear.
Your bear.
#fanfic#cod mw2#captain john price#john price#john price x male reader#john price x reader#male reader#x male reader#x reader#price fanfiction#call of duty
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Bar Shift: part 2
Barely proofread, but it's here! Finally I've pried out the first two parts of this little idea from my head. Part one is here: Part 1
Once within your room, you angrily threw off your casual dress clothes and began assembling your working attire. You opted to leave your hair down for your shift, wanting to showcase the amount of work you put into its presentation. Bar shift was more casual than the floor or behind the doors of the kitchen. It was known by the majority of the staff as the “party shift”, often being the one that brought in the most amount of berry to the till.
Searching your many clothes for work-appropriate bar attire, you stumbled upon something appropriate and began forming a cohesive arrangement. You sulked over to your vanity and brought out your collection of makeup and began applying it in a way that would last well into the night, adding dimension to your face with different natural tints and darkening your eyes to look more sultry under the bar lights.
Once slightly happy with your application and checking yourself once more in your room, you left to begin your shift on the bar. You hastened your step, switching fully into ‘work mode’ and checked in on the roster sheet – ensuring to harshly scribble out Cole’s name from the roster list and add your own at the bottom, noting the time down you started.
The beginning of your shift went smoothly, you made small talk with the regulars and introduced yourself to the newcomers while serving them with a flirtatious smile. As the sun began to lower itself onto the horizon, the dinner shift was in full swing; leaving the bar slightly barren.
“Hey, sweety,” you acknowledged your coworker, prompting her to turn to you, “I’m gonna go on break, ok? I’ll be back in about a halfa.” You tapped your hand on her shoulder and she nodded to you, returning to the task of sifting through the bar dishes and polishing the glasses before the night life began.
At this stage, you had been on your feet with no break for the past nine hours – only dipping out to go to the bathroom or retrieve something you needed from the kitchen. You passed the kitchen on the way to the staffroom, hearing an echo of: “Order up, table 103!” from Patty, prompting you to let out a laugh and shake your head in response. Table 103, being the non-existent table number that was often called from the pass when a pretty woman made their way over. Several members of the kitchen crew peaked their head up and snickered at you, prompting you to wave at them and continue on to take your break.
You passed Sanji, noticing he was wearing his waiter uniform and slicing up some complimentary bread close to the kitchen. You ran your hand over his shoulders, causing him to look up to you and give you a warm smile in response.
“You going on break, princess?” he asked you before turning back to cutting the bread with a large serrated blade.
“Yes chef,” you said with a slight flirtatious tone, reaching down and beginning to assemble the sliced bread into the empty basket for Sanji to bring to the guests. You took a small, porcelain ramekin and began to pour a portion of oil into the dish, topping it with a small amount of pink sea salt.
“Then off you go, then,” he said playfully, taking the ramekin from your hands and ushering you out of the floor and towards the staff room. You laughed a little, turning back to him.
“What time do you go on break?” you asked him, raising your brow slightly.
“As soon as I drop these off to the corner table and take their order,” he replied with a broad smile, gesturing to a booth with four guests; three men and one woman.
“I’ll see you back there, then,” you smiled at him, turning back around and briskly walking to the staffroom. Once making your way to the corner room, you began assembling a small assortment of food onto two plates from the prior made ‘family meal’ you assume was put together by Patty by the looks of it.
You placed the plates on the staff table and made to grab a mug to fill with the filtered coffee from the hot urn in the corner of the room. The door of the staffroom flung open, revealing your tall, blonde coworker as he sauntered over to the staff table.
“One of those for me, princess?” he asked you, gesturing to the plates on the table.
“Yes, love. You want a coffee too?” you asked him, pouring the dark liquid into your mug.
“I’d love one,” he said, taking a seat at the staff table, watching you as you picked up another mug and filled it to the brim with the caffeinated substance. You walked over to the table and placed one mug in front of him and the other in front of the plate you set aside for yourself. Before you could pull the chair out from under the table, Sanji rose back to his feet and moved the chair outwards, gesturing for you to sit in it.
“What a gentleman,” you commented with a small smirk, thanking him with a nod and taking a seat.
“Anything for you,” he flirted back before resuming his position on the seat adjacent to where you were sitting.
You and Sanji were very much accustomed to minor, and sometimes major, flirtations with one another. Being in the hospitality industry, words of charm and flirtatious advances were often commonplace as it would bring more berry to not only yourself but to your head chef. Feeding the bellies and the egos of the diners was a skill that went hand in hand, and you were more than grateful to Sanji for the ability to practice these particular skills with him.
You both sat in a shared, comfortable silence as you consumed the family meal with one another.
“I saw the redhead on table 12,” you slyly mentioned in between bites, prompting Sanji to turn his head up to you.
“Oh?” he responded with a quirk of his brow.
“Really pretty,” you offhandedly commented, staring at your dish and fishing for a pea that escaped your spoon.
“Not as pretty as you, cheri,” he smirked at you, prompting you to scoff and nudge him.
“No, I’m serious love,” you said, looking up at him and tilting your head to the side, “she looks like your type.”
“You don’t know my type,” he quipped back at you with a coquettish Cheshire grin. You rolled your eyes and retrieved your mug, taking a sip from the porcelain container. You sighed as you felt the caffeine enter your system, imbuing your body with a gift of energy pulled from the recesses of your body.
You looked at the time and noticed you had around ten minutes before you were due back at the bar.
“When’s your next rostered day off?” Sanji asked you, fishing for a cigarette from his inner jacket pocket. He retrieved your lighter he was yet to return and flick the flint to ignite the end of the cigarette.
“Oh, I don’t know. Never?” you replied, taking the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own. You inhaled deeply, maintaining eye contact with the blonde chef and returned the cylindrical object to his fingertips. You exhaled, ensuring you did not blow the nicotine riddled smoke at him but to the side of the room.
“Surely you’ve been scheduled off at some stage?” he asked, bringing the cigarette to his lips and deeply inhaling.
“Well,” you shrugged in response, “you know me, love. I never turn down a coverage shift.”
You collected both your and Sanji’s empty plates, utensils and mugs and brought them over to the sink and began washing them with scorching water, running a brush with dish soap over them and ensuring they were completely clean before placing them on the drying rack.
“Well, that’s it for me I’m afraid,” you said, drying your hands on a tea towel and smoothing over your top. You turned to face Sanji, noticing he was wiping down the staff table with a damp towel to remove any crumbs or blemishes from the surface.
“Just a halfa?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow up to you, “you’ve been on for nine hours.”
“Yeah, and I’ve got six more to go,” you shrugged.
“You’re working close?” he said, pausing his cleaning and looking up to you.
“Yeah, Lara hadn’t been feeling well so I offered to close for her. She’s heading off as soon as I’m back,” you said while scrunching up your nose.
“Leaving you with Jacob?” he asked you, throwing the damp towel onto the table.
“That’s right,” you said with a smile, “we’ve got good rapport. We’ll make it work.”
You gave him a pat on his shoulder and made to exit the staffroom, only to have your movements halted by a hand firmly grasping your wrist. You creased your brows and turned back around to look at the blonde chef in front of you.
“Are you ok, love?” you asked him, bringing your own hand to rest on the one grasping your wrist. You gave his hand a small squeeze in comfort, offering him a smile to further reassure him. His eyes bore into your own, lips slightly parted as he gazed into your eyes.
“Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me,” he said, shaking his head and releasing your wrist from his grasp, “You’re working yourself too hard, is all.”
You offered him a genuine smile and placed your hand on his left cheek. You reached up on the tips of your toes to place a brisk kiss on his right cheek, holding him there for a moment. After releasing his soft cheek from your hand, you sunk down onto the balls of your feet and smiled in reassurance at him.
“You’re so beautiful when you care, Sanji,” you complimented him before stepping your body away from its close proximity to his. You could see a slight pink tinge cross his nose, cheeks and ears; prompting you to smile at him broadly.
“Come and see me for a drink when your shift is up,” you said, turning away from him, “I’ll make you something nice for your knock off.”
You briskly exited the staff room, made your way onto the floor and sauntered up the stairs to the bar where Lara was waiting to do a hand over with you for her portion of the bar.
Sanji was left stuck in his place for a moment before his enchantment was broken by an interrupting guttural cough. He turned to see the figure of the head chef, Zeff leaning against the doorframe of his office.
“Got something to say, old man?” Sanji taunted Zeff, reaching his hand up to rub over his face and fix his hair in an attempt to rid his features of any unwanted pigment.
“Not a damn thing, little eggplant,” he replied with a smug look, scratching the whiskers on his chin and smoothing over his braided moustache.
Once Lara completed handover with you, you placed your hand on her shoulder and wished her well on her recovery from sickness. You made your way over to Jacob who welcomed you to the bar with a warm embrace.
“I’m so glad I’ve got you tonight!” he exclaimed in delight, “this shift is going to be an absolute breeze.”
You laughed at him and went over to the sound system and began to create a small set list to blare over the speakers in the bar area to set the atmosphere for your upcoming patrons. Once you had managed to complete the list of rotating records, you ignited the speakers and swayed your hips a little to the rhythm.
As the night flew on, more patrons exited the restaurant and flooded into the bar. Both you and Jacob began to bounce off each other, juggling bottles as you created cocktails, shots and poured tankards for your guests. You paid special attention to a customer who introduced himself as a pirate captain who continuously ordered goldfish bowls full of fruit-forward cocktails. You would laugh at his many tales of adventures on the high seas, only halting your laughter as your attention was required of the other guests around the bar.
You sang along to the words relayed over the speakers near the bar and continued to create a pleasant atmosphere for the customers with your flirtatious service. Small touches here and there were exchanged in a friendly manner with some of the regulars who knew you by name, which you reciprocated as one would do old friends.
You began to collect a variety of discarded glassware to bring back to the bar to wash, placing each item in the rack you carried. You saw the redhead sitting with a man with three swords and green hair drinking a bottle of rum, their table littered with several empty shot glasses.
“Hello loves, can I take some of these glasses from you?” you asked with a warm smile.
“By all means,” the redhead said, sitting back to recline in her seat.
“But leave two,” the green-haired man grunted out, his hand hovering over one of the glasses.
“Absolutely,” you smiled, reaching forward and collecting three fishbowls, six shot glasses and an empty bottle of rum, “would you like a refill?”
“No-,” the redhead began, her words being halted by the swordsman.
“-Yes,” he declared. You arched your brow in response.
“I’ll just leave it for now,” you smiled, turning your attention to the redhead, “come and find me if you change your mind,” you added with a wink.
“Are all the staff here so flirtatious?” she asked with a hint of slight agitation.
“Only the fun ones,” you retorted with a shrug and a slight laugh. You turned back toward the bar and began sorting through the glassware to prepare them to be washed by your ‘bar back’, Tori.
You gave Tori a smile and turned back around and began preparing drinks for the new wave of customers littering the bar. You noticed a newcomer facing the bar, not yet being served with a drink. The pirate captain continued to spurt tales of daring adventures while he finished another fishbowl of mixed liquor.
You turned your attention to the newcomer, noticing his broad hat shielding his face from your vision.
“Can I get you something, sir?” you asked him. He tilted his head up to reveal his yellow, hawk-like eyes staring at you with an uneasy intensity.
“What varieties of red wine do you have currently,” he asked you with a quirk of his left eyebrow, continuing to bear his gaze into your own. Heeding the uneasy feeling no mind, you leant your arms onto the bar and brought your gaze closer to his own.
“It depends, darling,” you challenged the newcomer, “are you more of an aged vintage or late harvest kind of man?”
He hummed in response, leaning in with a slight smirk.
“Do I look like the type of man to have my dessert before dinner?” he taunted you with a slight hint of flirtatious contest.
“You look like the type of man who could have anything he wants in any order he desires,” you retorted, quirking your own brow and looking at him through half-lidded eyes. You allowed a small pause before you began listing the vintages you kept behind the bar.
“Our lighter reds are pinot noir, sangiovese and tempranillo,” you backed away from the bar slightly, maintaining the hold of your gaze into his own yellow eyes, “and our more heavy bodied varieties include cabernet sauvignon, shiraz and we’ve also currently got a fifteen year barrel aged grenache, syrah, and mourvedre combination if that more your fancy.”
You offered him a slight sigh while you fetched a large crystal chalice from the cabinet you kept below the bar, kneeling slightly to retrieve the object. You stood again to your feet with the glass.
“Our late harvests include a sauvignon blank and merlot combination, but we’ve also got a reserved tawny port and refined muscat if that more your style,” you quirked your head to the side.
“You know your wines,” he commented, relaxing into the bar stool beneath him.
“It comes with the job, darling,” you jested with him, placing the glass in front of him, “what will it be?”
“The GSM,” he said, clasping his hand around the wineglass stem, “please.”
“Right away,” you purred at him, turning to journey to the wall of the bar containing several bottles lying on their sides.
“Thank you for taking that one,” you heard Jacob utter from beside you, “I couldn’t take his intensity.”
“Oh, tush,” you disregarded the comment, “you can take sailors, marines, and pirates but you can’t handle the gaze of a single shirtless swashbuckler?” you teased him. He mocked a silent laugh at you before turning and continuing to ready the glassware that had been washed and dried by Tori.
“I heard Sanji made you breakfast,” he asked you with a knowing tone, “how did that go?”
“What do you mean, how did that go?” you asked him to confirm, “how do you think it went? You’ve sampled his cooking. It’s superb.”
“Not what I meant,” he nudged you, placing a corkscrew into your open hand for the bottle you were preparing to decanter, “I feel like all of the front of house know you’re sweet on him.”
You froze slightly at the words before you began using a small blade to cut away the wax on the neck of the wine bottle.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you uttered, removing the wax and aligning the screw end of the corkscrew with the wooden cork.
“Playing coy? So unlike you,” Jacob accused with a smirk, “I’ve seen the way you look at him. We all have.” He nodded his head to Tori, of which you met her gaze. She scrunched her nose and nodded her head with a smile.
“That obvious, huh?” you asked, twirling the corkscrew to the appropriate depth of the bottle and commenced levering it from its place within the neck of the bottle.
“So why don’t you make a move?” he asked.
“Haven’t you got somewhere else to be?” you retorted. He shrugged his shoulders and encouraged you to continue speaking.
“Fine,” you relented, popping the cork from the bottle neck without leaving wooden residue within the deep crimson liquid. You brought the neck of the bottle to the crystal decanter and began slowly oxidising the liquid by pouring it into the pitcher.
“We work together. He’s the sous chef, I’m the front of house manager. Sometimes I do kitchen duties, sometimes front of house, sometimes aiding Zeff with his managerial duties,” you began, focussing your attention on the liquid slowly pouring into the crystal chasm, “today, bar shift.”
“So?” Jacob asked you, opening his arms in question.
“Our whole job is to flirt,” you expressed, “we are to appear available, but never be available.” You crouched down to focus more on the angle of the neck entering the decanter, focussing on the moment any grape sediment that would seek to enter into the refined liquid.
“Believe me, I want nothing more than to act on my impulse with him,” you said, lifting the bottle up from it’s place in the lip of the decanter, “but as everyone on this ship knows, I never get a day off to keep for myself, let alone foster any time into a relationship.”
You grabbed the now semi empty wine bottle and discarded the dead yeast sediment and grape residue into the regular bin before tossing the bottle skilfully into the recycling bin. You paid no mind to your coworkers while you swirled the deep red wine within the decanter.
“So, you actually want him then?” Jacob questioned, “not just playful banter?”
“Oh, won’t you just leave it alone?” you asked him in response, poking out your tongue at him, “c’mon, we’ve got customers and the chefs and wait staff are probably going to want their knock offs soon.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jacob smirked at you as you made your way back to the intimidating swashbuckler with his perfectly prepared decanter full of red wine.
Part 3
#black leg sanji#sanji x reader#sanji#one piece#one piece live action#x reader#smoking#drinking#tobacco#nicatine#flirting#pining
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Journal des Dames et des Modes, Costumes Parisiens, 10 mai 1829, (2693): Chapeau de paille de riz du magasin de Mme La Rochelle, Rue de Richelieu, No. 93. Robe de gros de Indes garnie d'un volant à tête découpée. Poignets de mousseline plissés et brodés. Collection of the Rijksmuseum, Netherlands
Hat in 'paille de riz', from the La Rochelle shop. Dress of 'gros de Indes', decorated with a wrinkled strip of fabric, which is serrated at the top. Pleated muslin cuffs with embroidery. Further accessories: necklace with key pendant, gloves, flat shoes with crossed straps and square toes. The print is part of the fashion magazine Journal des Dames et des Modes, published by Pierre de la Mésangère, Paris, 1797-1839.
#Journal des Dames et des Modes#19th century#1820s#1829#on this day#May 10#periodical#fashion#fashion plate#color#description#rijksmuseum#dress#collar#gigot#hat
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Here are some anatomy pages for a bestiary I have been working on for you guys!
Behold! The mimic Bestiary!
The first chapter deals with Camera Mimics and how their bones are shaped. We can see that the vertebrae have stretchable fibers located in the neck and discs. Allowing for them to lunge at their prey from a distance with their necks.
Their jaws are connected via a hinge with a special muscle located inside of the hole and it can open around 90-120 degrees depending on mimic size, giving them a LARGE mouth! Inside of this mouth are serrated teeth that slice flesh from their prey and they even have serrated claws as well! Camera mimic skulls also have a "cycloptic" appearance, since all of their visual organs are shoved inside there to mimic a Cameraman unit.
Next up is the Speaker mimic! Speaker mimics actually have a pair of separated jaws that move inside their skull through the opening in the front, which are curved backward to allow the mimic to tear off large chunks of flesh.
There are no places for eyes in the Speaker mimic skull, but there is plenty of room for a brain, muscles, jaws, and even hearing canals! The frills on the side of the head can also have a various type of bone structures, from "root", "fragment", and "finger" bones that allow for movement.
The hands and claws of the speaker mimics also extend greatly when in wing mode and the wing flesh seems to be a modified epidermis that has taken the role of both clothes and a wing membrane.
(Tv mimics are a work in process atm lol)
Finally, we have a universal system that all mimics share. A digestive system! Unlike normal organic beings that have an entrance and an...extended "exit", mimics don't actually have intestines! They have several unique guts that allow them to hunt their prey and significantly reduce getting ill from anything they eat.
They have an entry chamber organ that softens the food items, this usually includes bone, teeth, hair, and other hard bits--like metal. Then the nutrients are moved to the breakdown gut, which amplifies the breakdown process. Creating a mush that is then delivered to the actual stomach. From here, the food can be digested normally, or placed into the storage gut for long term keepsake. This organ is usually used in preparations for a long migration or for a nomadic lifestyle. Meanwhile, the "pseudo-kidney" and powerful liver removes the toxins from whatever they have eaten and it is repurposed into energy or carbohydrates, sometimes even into certain aspects like venomous saliva, so nothing goes to waste.
This means that a mimic wastes nothing and can eat LOTS of items, organics, or inedible stuff. As well as store food for long trips internally. Since their bodies absorb everything, they have no intestinal tract nor extensive lower organs that humans have.
This concludes your mimic anatomy lesson 101! : )
#haxorus imp#hax speaks#cosmica galaxy#cosmica-galaxy#skibidi tag#skibidi toilet mimic#skibidi mimic#mimic anatomy#my art
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look for the name: GÜLSEREN
a.w.a.k.e. mode asymmetric faux-fur trimmed jacket in grey
gerald lajoie "arrow" maroon and teal baroque jacquard mini skirt
toga pulla black leather hard oxfords w/ perforated and serrated detailing throughout
tom ford "café rose" eau de parfum
jwr co. antique edwardian-era german chainmail coin purse bag
#gülseren#name#request#outfit#hope you like !#meaning: rose dealer; one who gives out roses#a.w.a.k.e. mode#faux fur#gerald lajoie#edp#perfume#tom ford#turkish rose#skirt#toga pulla#footwear#jwr co#edwardian#chainmail#purse#bag#queue
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Having listened to the Graphic Audio full-cast audobook for All Systems Red, it was fun but I have some thoughts about the voice acting and direction. So now I’m just daydreaming about “if I had Billionaire Money I would buy the audio rights to TMBD and direct and produce another full cast audio version with voice actors handpicked and paid lavishly by Me.”
The cast being:
All Systems Red:
Murderbot: Kevin R. Free is the voice of Murderbot to a lot of people. I would think very hard about this but it would be a foundational return to form. However I feel like I want to reach out and find a non-binary VA because it's a niche that's been tragically underrepresented in Murderbot VAs. I joked before about Vico Ortiz playing live-action Murderbot but do they want to try their hand at voice acting?
Mensah: Cecilia Lynn-Jacobs. Voices Captain Lovelace on Wolf 359. Has incredible talent and range and does the Intrepid Galactic Explorer so well.
Pin-Lee: Emily Woo Zeller. An audiobook narrator I've consistently liked.
Ratthi: Stephen Dookie. He plays the part of Polites in Epic: The Musical and he's excellent in a very sweet, upbeat, friendly way.
Gurathin: Sungwon "ProZD" Cho. I'm picturing somewhere in the range of his Miles Edgeworth voice for this.
Arada: Michelle "Vixy" Dockrey. She's a singer not a VA but her voice sounds so nice.
Overse: Tanja Milojevic. Her range is incredible.
Bharadwaj: Rukhmani Desai (Captain Tripathi, The Strange Case of Starship Iris. She has that calm, reasonable, rational, desperately kind character voice she plays well in Starship Iris that I think would go well for Bharadwaj)
Volescu: Zach Valenti. The vibes are right.
Additional voices by Tanja Milojevic and Zach Valenti. Yes all of them.
Artificial Condition:
ART: Janelle Monáe and I mean it
Tapan: ItMe of InCo Podcast
The ComfortUnit: also ItMe because an important part of listening to faer acting is realizing in awe how fae voices so many characters at once and make them all sound distinct.
Tlacey: kinda thinking Ariela Rotenberg. she does smugly confidently evil very well. However we cannot discount casting ItMe for this role also
Additional voices by Tanja Milojevic and Zach Valenti.
Rogue Protocol:
Don Abene: Emma Sherr-Ziarko. She also deserves to be an intrepid space leader again.
Miki: ItMe again in InCo Season 2 Updated SAWA mode
Wilken: me. I want a part. I could totally be a badass evil space assassin
Gerth: does Gerth even have any lines.
Additional voices by Tanja Milojevic and Zach Valenti.
Exit Strategy:
Serrat: Zach Libresco. this casting + Janelle Monáe as ART were what drove me to make this post in the first place.
The Combat SecUnit: Ellen McLain in GLaDOS mode. All 2 lines it has.
Network Effect:
Amena: Ishani Kanetkar (The Strange Case of Starship Iris, The Godshead Incidental, excellent VA for a proud and curious but scared young person)
Iris: Jordan Cobb (Janus Descending, Primordial Deep, excellent VA for a gritted-teeth calm scientist in a strange and dangerous place)
Seth: Avery Brooks (I know it is not the 90s anymore. but. Captain Sisko. I can imagine <3 )
Martyn: Alexander Siddig / Siddig El-Fadil (Dr. Bashir). They're TV actors but! I want them as the Ship Captain Husbands
The rest of ART's crew: other podcast VAs I love who I haven't come up with a role for yet. Kristen DiMercurio, Beth Eyre, James Oliva.
Supervisor Leonide: Claudia Christian (Commander Ivanova on Babylon 5 <333 )
Eletra: Michaela Swee who is very busy working at An Actual Hospital but I have a billion dollars in this dream scenario so I can pay her to take a day and record like 4 lines
Ras: Zach Valenti. This is very important.
Three: Jackie Andrews who plays R. J. McCabe on Starship Iris and Elinor Lopez on The Pasithea Powder has the right Vibes For This
Zach Valenti as the Additional Voice of every goon and target who gets the shit scared out of them and/or dies.
Fugitive Telemetry:
Indah: Molly Olguin maybe. she could Be Indah. Absolutely means we need Jackie Hedeman to have a role in FT too.
Tifany: Michelle Agresti (Wolf 359, Arden)
Aylen: Tracey Sayed (also Arden)
Jollybaby, Tellus, Balin: I would open the floor to the delightful Murderbot fandom. Who wants to voice a Preservation bot
Additional voices by--well you know the drill.
#The Murderbot Diaries#fancast#ItMe InCo Creator I hope you're okay with me tagging you. I don't know your name#this is a sign for everyone to listen to Wolf 359; The Strange Case of Starship Iris; InCo; Arden; The Pasithea Powder; and Janus Descendin#whoof I put way too much time and effort into this
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nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) -- Part 4
Note: [eyeball emoji] Ya’ll better have some water bottles ‘cause this one is SPICY. But then it gets angsty again LMAO.
Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader
Content: 18+. Smut. MDNI
Warnings/Tags: foul language, banter/rivalry, slow burn, denial of feelings, protected sex, injury occurrence (minor burn), praise kink.
Chapter Synopsis: It’s been two weeks since your Ratatouille-Moment after trying Marcus’ cake and deciding to open your own bakery. You’ve returned to Chicago and to help a friend cater a birthday party. Your halfway through your work when Richie asks you what you’re doing at his daughter’s birthday.
Passion comes in many flavors, but you didn’t think it would taste so sweet.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four
(Read on Ao3)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And I’m thinking – I can take this dude. He’s tall but—"
“How tall?” Fak cut in and asked while hunched over, twisting a wrench along the pipe beneath the bathroom sink. “As tall as Conor Murphy?” He asked, referencing a player on the Chicago Blackhawks, who was notably over six feet.
Richie crouched beside Fak near the toolbox, “I don’t fucking know. I didn’t measure him. He was like as tall as me, dude.”
“You’re not that tall.” Fak said. He grunted with force before the nut finally came loose and clattered onto the white tiles.
He scoffed. “Fuck you. I’m six one.”
“Can you pass the flashlight? Thanks.” Fak peered into the pipe and checking for why it was clogged, “That’s like average.”
“Whatever, man. You didn’t see him. Anyway, as I was saying, I was about to clock this dude – right? Now, I’m not trying to white knight, okay? And before you get on my ass, I know what that term means. But it wasn’t about that.”
“What was it about then?” Fak encouraged, laughter in his voice, now fully invested in the story of the ‘douche from New York’ who visited with the ‘hot piece of ass from across the street’.
“I should’ve—” Richie mimicked punching someone while biting his lip.
“Because like you don’t come into MY house, right? You don’t come into my fucking house and start bossing people around - bossing my customers around and shit. He was asking questions and it’s like dude--order your fucking sandwich and leave. I’m not fucking Wikipedia for Sandwiches. I don’t need to fucking tell you what we make our giardiniera with.” Richie ranted.
He scoffed, then mimicked the Douche From New York, “Is it organic giardiniera?” He rolled his eyes, passing Fak a thin piece of wire at his request. “Like fuck off.”
Fak laughed, delighted. “He really said that?”
“He said that!”
“Wait. Why did you try to fight him?”
“I already told you. Because he was being a fucking—a fucking dick!” Richie gestured aggressively with his hand, “and I didn’t try to fight him. He left before I could throw down.”
Carmy stepped into the tight customer bathroom, “We good in here?”
“Yeah,” Fak tugged on the serrated, thin wire that was used to clean hair and other gunk out of pipes. The wire slid from the mouth of the pipe with a sucking, wet sound, and a wadded reddish-pink clump plopped onto the tile like the worlds’ most dejected jellyfish. Everyone stared for a second as comprehension dawned.
“What the fuck is that? Dude – “ Richie gawked, “is that a fucking tampon?”
Fak picked it up by the string with a gloved hand. “Yes, Richie. Yes it is.”
“Great.” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fak – uh – c-can you just put up a sign that says don’t put shit down the sink, please?”
“On it.”
“Thank you.”
“Who puts a fucking tampon in the sink? There’s a trash right fucking here.” Richie shook his head in disbelief and Fak giggled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You stepped off the plane and into the terminal while scrolling through your phone and dragging your rolling suitcase behind you. Your phone vibrated incessantly as airplane mode was turned off and service was back on.
It had been two weeks since you were in Chicago.
After your epiphany, you bought the first ticket back to Cincinnati and strolled through your favorite neighborhoods. You went to bakeries and grocery stores and cafes. You talked to owners, pastry chefs, and waiters. You talked to their customers when the opportunity revealed itself. You visited your friends. They offered their perspectives and gentle, unwavering support. You slept on their couches and air mattresses and in guest bedrooms. After a week in Cincinnati, you booked a flight to Washington DC to experience a bakery that won several local and international awards. You took a rental car to New York City where you spent the last few days repeating the same process of talking to pastry chefs, tasting food, and taking notes. Your notebook was ready to split at the seams.
Your brain was fogged with jetlag. Your stomach sloshed with coffee and half a granola bar. You had about a hundred things to do. Yet you still felt excited. It was good to be back in the city. Tim called you earlier this morning and informed you that the refrigerated cases you ordered (for displaying cakes) were installed. You shoved your suitcase into the backseat of the taxi and checked the time on your phone screen.
“Where to Miss?” The driver asked.
“Uh…shit. Let me check.” You pulled up the text from your friend, Margot, “50 East Walton St.”
You checked and replied to emails while the driver pulled away from the curb and merged onto the highway. Margot’s sister-in-law, Delilah, owned a bakery called ‘Sweet Sensations’ and after hearing about your business plan—Margot made the call to have you shadow with them. It would hopefully give you the hands-on experience you craved.
You generously tipped the driver and pulled your suitcase out from the back. Ordinarily, you’d go home first. But Delilah said they were catering a party today and if you could get here ASAP then that would be ideal. You were always up for a challenge.
Delilah greeted you at the back where deliveries were accepted. She was a tall, willowy woman with pale-blonde hair tucked beneath a hairnet. She wore pink cat-eyeglasses over her friendly brown eyes.
“I honestly thought you were kidding when you told me you were on the way.” She said, smiling warmly. “Did you have a nice flight?”
You exchanged pleasantries and small talk with her before getting down to business. She offered for you to lock your suitcase in her office and gave you a uniform to borrow. The uniform involved a bright pink t-shirt with the bakeries’ name written in flowing, white script that glittered under the fluorescent lights and a baseball cap with a cupcake on it. She provided you with a white apron that covered your lap. And after a quick once-over, she deemed your shoes safe and acceptable. The clothes fit, but they felt a bit like trying on your parent’s shoes as a kid. Awkward, out of place, too big and gawky. You tugged on the hem of the shirt.
“Now, we’re doing a six-year old’s birthday party. The cupcakes are already made so it’s just a matter of delivering them and helping to set up.” Delilah explained. “We’re a team so just ask any of us for help or any questions.”
“I really appreciate the help, Delilah.” You said earnestly. “Especially considering our professional relationship going forward.” You had big plans to include delivery in your bakery as well, but you wanted it to expand beyond the 713-area code. You held a personal goal of delivery services nationwide.
Delilah smiled wider, “There’s always more birthdays happening year after year. I think we’ll survive another sweet shop on the street.” She said with a playful wink. You found her ease and confidence to be calming and charming. You’re not sure when the thorn was pulled from your side at the thought of other restaurants and bakeries around you. Logistically, they were your competition. They were a threat to your profits and livelihood. It just didn’t stress you out as much anymore.
“Actually, I do have one question.”
“Mhm?”
You gestured to your outfit and the pastel-pink palette of the kitchen, the front of house, and nodded toward the lined up pink delivery vans.
“How much do you love the color pink?”
Delilah laughed brightly. “Oh, well, it’s only my favorite - can’t you tell?”
You smiled, “I mean…it’s only a little obvious.”
“Subtly never came easily to me.” She shrugged, “I figured I may as well embrace it.”
Your chest warmed. In some situations, you were about as graceful as a shovel to the face. It was nice to know there were others in the world as blunt as you were.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Delilah left you alone to arrange the cupcakes on the serving table. They were meant to be arranged on a three-tiered platter. It wasn’t too hard. The only tricky part was not getting frosting on your gloves. The cupcakes were incredibly delicate. It was counter intuitive, you thought, to have such fancy cupcakes at a children’s party. They were just going to smush them into the grass or something.
“No fucking way!” A familiar voice announced from behind you.
You spun with a cupcake in hand and met Richie’s bright blue gaze.
“What are you doing here?” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his tracksuit pants. He was wearing a Beef T-shirt which made you wonder if he called out of work today to be here. Wait, why was he here? Nevermind. It simply didn’t matter. Richie could go to whatever birthday parties he wanted to go to. You idly hoped The Beef wouldn’t suffer too much without him working the front of house. Then again, your mouth twisted humorously, maybe Richie’s absence would be an improvement.
You looked pointedly at the cupcake in your hand. “Setting up.” You turned back to your work and tried vainly to ignore Richie. See, something you learned about Richie was that he loved the sound of his own voice. You couldn’t just turn away and expect him to stop talking.
“I can’t believe you’re catering Eva’s birthday.” He said, chuckling, “Small world, huh? Small world.”
You carefully picked up a cupcake and gingerly placed it on the platter. They were frosted in a twisted two-tone of lavender and light pink with silver sprinkles. At least, this batch was. The second tier was light blue and dark purple frosting with dark chocolate. The final tier was a gluten-free option with white vanilla frosting.
“So, what happened with your spot? You’re not doing that or what?” You heard a telltale click of a lighter behind you.
“I’m helping Delilah.” You said in a reserved tone. “My spot is fine.”
“So, you and Carmy?” He queried with obvious interest. You wished you could throw a cupcake at him. Once my bakery is up and running, I will make a cupcake, and I will smash a cupcake into Richie’s face just to see what happens. You swiped your frosting-tinged fingers onto the front of your apron and shot Richie your coldest glare.
“Don’t you have something better to do than to gossip?” It was a weak retort, but you couldn’t help it. Your mind ruptured on the very real possibility that Carmy told people about you and about what happened between you. And why wouldn’t he? Guys talked about their casual sexual encounters all the time. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a secret. You needed to get your head back into the game. You huffed and returned to the cupcakes.
“Hah! I knew something was going on!” He snapped his fingers. “He’s been different since meeting you. I fucking knew it. I knew it.”
“Nothing is going on.” You said firmly.
“Oh yeah? Then why’s he such a little bitch baby?” Richie asked. It was probably a rhetorical question. You bent over to reach for another cupcake out of the container and whipped your head to look at Richie – he was smoking and looking smug. The urge to throw a cupcake was astronomical.
“Wow! And here I was convinced that the role of bitch baby was your position.”
“Hey.” He pointed two fingers at you while holding his cigarette between them, “You don’t know shit about my positions.”
You snorted. “I’m sure it’s nothing fancier than missionary with the lights off.”
“Whoa!” Richie shouted, throwing his hands in the air, “I’ll have you know—”
“Nope!” You interrupted. “I absolutely don’t want to know!”
Richie barreled on, “that people call me insatiable, okay? Yeah?” He said, raising both eyebrows and pointing at you again.
You pressed the palms of your hands over your ears, not caring if you got leftover frosting on your face or in your hair. It was a small price to pay for the relief of deafening Richie’s sex-escapades.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Yes, you can! I know that you can!” He said, stepping closer to you, and the smoke from his cigarette swirled between you in whorls of gray like frosting pushed from a piping nozzle.
“I can’t!” You lied, shouting over him. “No one wants to hear it, Richie!”
“Oh, they fucking hear it, alright? The whole neighborhood hears it.”
Despite his height, you didn’t feel overwhelmed, nervous, or cornered. It was like arguing with a string bean. There was nothing threatening about him. You laughed incredulously, which unfortunately revealed you could hear him, and Richie’s eyes brightened.
“Aha! I knew you could fucking hear me.”
“I can hear you but I’m not listening.” You clarified.
“You guys okay over here?” Delilah asked with a tight-lipped smile. You and Richie looked at her in tandem.
“Yup.” He said.
“Yeah.” You said.
You noticed Carmy walking toward the table and your heart plummeted to your toes. Fuck. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him for two whole weeks. You thought and hoped that time and distance would lessen the visceral effect he had on you. Unfortunately, it did not. His dark hair was messily curled around his face, a patchwork jacket covering his frame, and a giftbag dangled loosely from his long fingertips. A surge of heat flooded your face at the memory of those capable, confident hands.
Jesus Christ. Get it together. You are working at a kid’s party. God! You mentally berated yourself. I should’ve fucked some random stranger while I was in Cincinnati then I wouldn’t be dealing with this.
You risked a glance at Richie. He wore a self-satisfied grin on his stupid fucking face. Your heat-flooded face clearly betrayed you.
“Shut up.” You hissed at him.
“I didn’t say shit.” He quipped.
“I can read minds.”
Richie blew a raspberry with his mouth, “Pfft.” He then waved an arm over his head, “Cousin! You made it!”
You focused every iota of brainpower and hand-eye coordination on the delicate, delicious cupcakes. You weren’t ignoring Carmy. You were just busy with your work. You were staying on your side of the street.
Carmy and Richie spoke briefly before an obvious - “Hey,” from Carmy was sent your way. You spared a quick glance over your shoulder.
“Hey.” Once your back was turned to them, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips together with a soft, harsh exhale through your nose. It shouldn’t feel this weird. You wanted so badly to turn around and engage him in conversation, ask about The Beef, check-in with the random bullshit of his life because you…cared…a little bit. You squashed the desire with a heeled boot. There was nothing in the Rulebook of Professionals that said you couldn’t engage in small talk. However, your own Rulebook of Not Getting Involved specifically stated ‘keep your distance’.
“Where you been? Haven’t seen you around.” Carmy said with a sniff.
Delilah, bless her heart, unintentionally saved you. She said your name in that chipper, bright tone of hers and walked to you with quick, determined strides.
“I need a favor.” She said.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Our box of gluten free cupcakes – well – they’re currently all over the driveway.” Delilah cringed. “I was hoping you could go inside and whip another batch? Normally, I’d have Stacy do it – but she was stung by a bee and so Katherine and Ryan are rushing her to the emergency room.”
“Oh shit!” Richie brought a fist to his mouth, “Is she allergic?”
Delilah sighed with relief, sparing a quick appraising glance at Richie. “No, thankfully. But it stung her eye.”
“Gnarly.” Richie blanched.
You pulled your gloves off your hands and tossed them in the small trash bin by the table. “No problem.”
“The recipe is inside in the—”
“--Pink binder.”
“Pink binder. Yes! Exactly.” Delilah looked immensely relieved. “I’ll finish up out here. I already spoke to Tiffany, and she said it was OK if we used her kitchen.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You measured out the gluten-free flour into a glass measuring cup. You peered at the recipe to ensure you hadn’t misremembered the digits. It was quieter inside. Some of the children and their parents started to arrive and you could see Eva, Richie’s daughter, running around with an iridescent birthday hat. You watched Richie chase after his daughter and cackle boisterously. You smirked to yourself and rolled your eyes. While working, you wore the ‘Sweet Sensations’ pastel pink baseball cap backward to keep your hair out of your face and food.
Carmy leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen and the sight of him nearly startled you. Your heart did a funny, excited leap.
“Isn’t there a rule about creeping up on people when they’re in kitchens?” You said with feigned annoyance.
“I – I uh didn’t creep.” He stepped into the kitchen proper and looked over your spread-out supplies and ingredients. “How’s it going?”
“I don’t need a sous Chef it that’s what you’re asking.” You said while hand whisking the batter. If being cold and distant didn’t work to send him away, then maybe you could try being more of a bitch. You assumed it had a fifty-fifty chance of working.
He gestured lazily with one hand at the air between your bodies, “I t-t-thought we moved past this.”
“There’s nothing to move past, Carmy. We’re good.”
“We’re good?”
“Yeah.” You drank in the sight of him in stolen, quick glances, and felt your chest constrict each time. Your hands faintly trembled while holding the large, metal mixing bowl aloft and sectioning the batter into the small cupcake tins.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You scraped the last of the batter with the rubber spatula and held the bowl aloft to shield yourself so Carmy couldn’t see your face. You wanted to talk to him. That was the problem. You wanted to vent to someone who actually would understand. Carmy owned a restaurant. He knew intimately about the stress and heartache of trying to make something good and worthwhile. You wanted to bitch about Tim and his workers who were dragging their feet about the hot water sink. You wanted to talk about your staffing issues and desperation to find people who actually loved the work. You wanted to tell him about your adventures in Cincinnati, and DC, and New York, and the wonderful pastries you ate and the amazing people you talked to.
The faint smell of smoke singed your nostrils and your blood turned to ice.
“FUCK!” You dropped the mixing bowl with a loud, metallic clang. It hit the edge of your baking tray and sent a splatter of cupcake batter into the air, hitting the ceiling and dropping in wet globs onto the countertop. You yanked the oven door open and coughed at the pluming exhale of fine, black smoke. You were vaguely aware that Carmy was beside you and you stared – dejected – at the burned cupcakes. Their puffy little tops were charred beyond recognition and looked like miniature Mount Dooms.
You snatched a kitchen towel from the counter because it was closest. You didn’t have time to get an oven mitten. You realized your mistake about a second later. Your fingertips flared with pain and the pan clattered noisily as you tossed it forcefully onto the stove. The kitchen towel, riddled with holes, laid on the ground near your feet. The fire alarm chirped – shrill and relentless.
“Fuck. Ow!” You rapidly shook your hand and brought your burning fingertips into your mouth. It didn’t help, of course, because your fingers burned with pain and the interior of your mouth was warm. Carmy slid behind you, his hand trailed against your lower back, and he flipped the faucet on.
“Here, come here.”
In a daze of pain and frustration, you thrust your burned fingers under the rush of cool water and your shoulders slumped. Carmy’s large hand scooped behind yours, his thumb pressed into your palm, and gently maneuvered your hand beneath the stream of water. You clenched your jaw. You fucked up cupcakes.
“You know, I went to fucking Stanford. I graduated in the top 3% of my class. Everyone and their fucking richer-than-God uncle wanted to hire me.” You babbled and swallowing back the painful, sharp stab of disappointment and embarrassment. “But I can’t bake a single fucking tray of fucking cupcakes without setting off the fire alarm.”
“Shit happens.” Carmy said calmly, still carefully holding your hand, as water flowed through your fingers and pooled around his thumb in the soft well of your palm.
“Yeah, right.” You murmured derisively.
“The night I won Food & Wine’s Best New Chef; I started a fryer fire. I nearly burned the place down.” He admitted softly. You peered at him out of the corner of your eye. He lifted his gaze from the sink, from your hands, and looked at you. His eyes were honest and sincere.
“I remember thinking that if I don’t do anything…then this place would go down and all my anxiety with it.”
You inhaled sharply and your fingers twitched in his hand.
“Shit…” You whispered. It was another layer to the Carmy-cake that you absolutely didn’t want to discover and devour. Why couldn’t he just be a simple, arrogant egomaniac like the rest of the chefs you knew? It would make everything so much easier.
Carmy weakly chuckled, “Yeah, shit.” He cleared his throat, eyes on the sink again, and you could feel the pad of his calloused thumb sliding up your palm. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his profile. His large, handsome nose. His long eyelashes framing his sky-blue eyes. The way his hair curled around his ears. The moles on his fair skin. His thumb reached your middle finger and you let him move it with the light pressure of his fingers pressing into your knuckles.
“How’s it feel?” He asked.
“I’m considering amputation.” You joked with a brief smile.
His lips quirked in a lop-sided smile. His eyes fluttered to yours again. You were suddenly aware of your shoulder pressed into Carmy’s warm chest. His body crowded around yours, solid and secure, and the sound of screaming children outside deafened to a low roar. He blinked languidly and you watched awe-struck as his gaze dropped to your mouth. An intense, tingling sensation spread from the center of your chest and melted across your skin like hot butter.
You quickly pulled your hand from the water and wiped the water droplets off on your apron. You cleared your throat and hurriedly started to clean up the mess left behind by the knocked-over cupcake pan of wet ingredients.
“You should go celebrate.” You said offhandedly, your pulse erratic in your jaw, and your ears burning with heat. The sponge gushed with soapy water as you cleaned the countertop in wide, circular motions. You could feel Carmy’s gaze burning into the back of your head. Carmy should be out in the yard with Richie throwing glowsticks at children or whatever. Besides, you didn’t want Richie giving you shit and saying something like ‘Hey, yo! Were you fucking my cousin in my ex-wife’s house? That’s a fucking power move dude.’
He wordlessly grabbed the pan out at the sink and used a fork to pluck the failed cupcakes out of their tin and into the trash.
“Yeah, I’ll pass.” He said as the fork tines scraped against metal, “I’m good here.”
You wrinkled your nose. “You’re not getting paid to do this, you know.”
His eyes flicked up toward you, “I know.”
“Then…” Your tongue swiped across your lower lip, “Why stay?”
He shrugged and his eyes dropped to the pan, “I like being in the kitchen.”
You shook your head and bit the inside of your cheek. Part of you wanted to probe for more information, but that would break the rule of Not Getting Involved. You scrubbed the countertop clean of sticky cake batter with a furrowed, determined brow. You avoided looking at Carmy even after he finished cleaning out the wrecked pan and started wiping batter from the floor. Together, you fell into a strangely comfortable silence of monotonous work.
“You gonna try to make it again?” Carmy asked while drying his hands and jutting his chin toward the open pink recipe binder.
“I’d rather be fucked by the standing mixer.” You replied nonchalantly and Carmy laughed. It was a warm, fleeting sound. Your eyes widened and soap bubbles squeezed through your fingers. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, but you could see his faint smile lines and light flooding his eyes.
“That’s a vicious mental image.” He said, rubbing his lips together, and pressing down his smile. You caught yourself biting your lip to stop yourself from grinning. You turned your face away and began unlacing your apron.
“Yeah, well, I just speak from the heart, you know?” You balled the apron between your fists, “I gotta talk to Delilah. Um...thanks for helping me clean up.”
Carmy lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, “Yeah, it’s no problem.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After hearing about your kitchen catastrophe, Delilah asked you to drive to Sweet Sensations and pick up their on-hand gluten-free cupcakes. However, their frosting was caramel and not vanilla, and consequently Delilah gave Tiffany a discount on her order for the inconvenience. You had to admit you were impressed by Delilah’s efficiency and cleverness. She rolled with every punch that was thrown her way.
Once the cupcakes were delivered, you and Delilah left the boisterous party. You sank into the passenger seat with your feet up on the dashboard with a loud, tired sigh. You didn’t have time to say farewell to Richie or Carmy, but you doubted they’d take it personally. You were working. It wasn’t a social visit.
“You did great today.” Delilah said.
“I nearly burned down the client’s house.” You said tongue-in-cheek.
“Crazier things have happened.” She said sympathetically, “Last week, Ryan accidentally drove the van over a client’s sprinkler system, and it caused a minor flood.”
You laughed quietly. “Yikes.”
“That’s just this business,” She said with a smile, “You can have two wedding cakes prepared, one for the client, another for back-up, and then suddenly your power goes out and your calling every 7-11 to see how much ice they have.”
“Sounds like chaos.”
“It is.”
You sidelong squinted at her, “Everything in your tone implies you love it.”
Delilah favored you with another bright smile, “Oh, that’s because I do.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You sketched another idea in your notebook while watching The Great British Bake-Off then reached out to the remote and clicked pause. You pressed your lips together.
“Fucking…cupcakes…”
You tossed the blanket off your lap and grabbed your keys. You weren’t going to be outdone by fucking cupcakes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your phone was dusted with flour as you scrolled through a recipe. Your first batch was horrendous. You must’ve measured the flour to baking soda ratio incorrectly because they came out hard and inedible. The second batch was too dry. Whatever. Practice makes perfect and who cared if it was after 9PM? You were confident in this third batch. You slid them into the oven, double-checked the temperature and time, before pulling the oven mittens off your hands.
A text from your mom came through on your screen: ‘But why are you baking there and not at home?’ She included an emoji of a face with a question mark floating above their head.
You replied with one hand while shrugging on your zip-up sweater, ‘I need to know how these ovens function. They’re different than the ones at home and I need to be familiar with my own space.’
You pushed your front door closed and sat on the concrete stoop. You pulled your crushed cigarette pack from your pocket and lit one while gazing across the street. The streetlamps washed the asphalt in hues of orange. You could faintly see the kitchen lights from the interior of the Beef glowing out into the empty sidewalk.
You noticed Carmy throw two black bags of trash out into the dumpster. You smiled around the filter of your cigarette and looked back down at your phone. You had no reason to talk to him or interrupt his workflow. You were going to stay on your side of the street. You belonged here, frantically making cupcakes to prove a point in sweatpants and an overly large Sanford red t-shirt. You scrolled through and read an article about a French pastry called a ‘Mille-feuille’. It sounded cool. You doubted your own skill set could succeed in making one of those but that didn’t mean you couldn’t serve them.
Your eyes instinctively caught movement above your brow. Your heart stuttered. Carmy was halfway across the street and walking toward you. What could he possibly want?
“Need to bum a smoke? Or a light?” You asked loudly and wiggled your pack above your head when he was close enough to hear you. “Or are you here to tell me I should focus on – I don’t know – fancy steaks instead of pastries?”
“Smoke.” He said, “Richie and Tina already left and they’re the only other smokers.”
You clicked your tongue and held out your cigarette out to him. “You’re lucky I’m a generous soul.”
“Mhm.” He nodded while inhaling, the tiny ember faintly illuminated his face, and reflected in the dark pupils of his eyes. “Can I chill here?”
“Sure.”
You were going to stay on the side of your street, but you had no rules about Carmy coming over to your side. It was uncharted waters. You could tell him to fuck off and leave, you supposed, but you selfishly didn’t want to. His shoulder rested against yours in the small space.
The moon shone in pale light above the skyline. It was the witching hour. A time for secrets and shared smoke-breaks with carcinogenic smiles. Carmy exhaled smoke through his nose and passed the cigarette back to you. Your fingertips touched. Your eyes met. And you knew you were going to break a few rules tonight.
“Your hair is covered in flour.” He brushed his hand along the top of your head, flour scattered like snowflakes between you, and he rubbed his forefinger and thumb together. His mouth curved to a slight smile and his eyes gleamed with humor.
“When the bag opened it went—Poof!” You explained.
You flicked the building ash off the top of the cigarette and watched it drift across the sidewalk in flecks of gray and white. You didn’t imagine that moment in the kitchen. Carmy wanted to kiss you. You wanted to kiss him, too, but that was beside the point. You took another slow drag and licked your lips before the smoke left your lungs. You glanced furtively at Carmy. He seemed lost in thought with his wrists resting on his knees and hands limp.
“Do you want to fuck again?” You asked candidly.
Carmy looked at you. His jaw went slack, and his forehead creased. “S-s-seriously?”
Rejection was a scorpion sting on your heart. You snubbed the cigarette out on the concrete below you. You wanted to put your hood up and storm off. You should’ve kept your big, dumb mouth shut. You could’ve had a nice little smoke break, kept it professional, but now you revealed your secret, desperate truth and you couldn’t un-ask the question.
“I’ll take that as a no. Forget it.” You spat and quickly covered your hurt with deflection. Before you got up, or turned away, Carmy grabbed your chin between his fingers. It wasn’t a bruising grip, but it was strong and firm.
He held you in place and his knees touched yours when he shifted in closer. The shadowed walls and rumbling sounds of Chicago melted away like ice cream during a summertime heatwave. He leaned in and his nose bumped into yours. You shuddered, every nerve-ending coming to life, as you opened your mouth beneath his. Your heart fluttered at the soft press of his mouth. His tongue slowly slid into your mouth, and he hungrily drank in the soft, quiet moans that slipped free from your throat. Your palms slid along his chest and curled around his shoulders. You liked the discreet solidness of Carmy’s shoulders and arms.
“Stop – please stop putting words in my mouth. I hate that shit.” He muttered against your mouth in a huff of warm air.
“Noted.” You whispered before chasing his mouth with yours. You drew his lower lip between your teeth and smiled faintly at his sharp intake of breath. The intoxicating power-trip of making this capable, confident man whimper into your mouth made you dizzy. Carmy’s arm encircled your waist, pulling and drawing you impossibly closer. He smelled like fucking giardiniera and sweat and cigarette smoke. You wanted to drown in it. His tongue flicked across your upper lip, kissing you with a slow, torturous sweetness that made your core throb.
“In the kitchen,” He said, between one kiss and the next, “We say ‘heard’ when we want to communicate understanding.”
You wrinkled your nose. “Yeah, fuck off. I’m not doing that.” You said, keeping your tone light and playful.
Carmy’s lips smiled against yours, his hand left your chin and slid across your neck in a tantalizing, teasing touch before he cupped the nape of your neck. Your fingertips ghosted across the hollow dip of his throat, and you pushed one hand through the neck hole of his t-shirt to touch the warm, soft skin of his collarbones. His golden chain faintly scraped against the pads of your fingers. Any lingering trepidation about breaking your own rules dissolved when Carmy stammered your name. A pulse of blood rushed between your thighs.
“You’re so needy for me.” You teased, letting your head drift to the side as Carmy’s mouth skirted across your jaw and kissed your flushed skin. You wondered if he’d give you another hickey on your neck. You wouldn’t mind it…as long as you could give him a matching one. You doubted he had the time for girlfriends, but Richie’s joking words lingered in the back of your mind. Why would he assume you and Carmy were sleeping together if Carmy didn’t already have a reputation?
“I’m needy?” He taunted while pushing his hand beneath your large shirt. His thumbnail scraped across the underside of your breast, and you hissed, your back arching toward him. “Hm?” Your mind went blank.
A cheerful, and repetitive ringtone blared out of your pocket. Carmy pulled away from you as if he’d been struck by lightning. You pulled your phone out of your pocket with an annoyed, grumpy huff and pressed ‘Stop’ on the timer screen. You couldn’t believe you were getting cockblocked by cupcakes. Fucking cupcakes!
You got to your feet and offered a hand to Carmy, “You comin’ inside or what?” Despite your casual tone, you mentally cringed at the fear of rejection breathing coldly down your neck. He kissed you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to continue. Anyone could change their mind at any second and you wouldn’t hold it against him. You’d just nurse the bruised ego over a drink later.
You noticed him glance at your four bandaged fingers (the middle three and your thumb), before gingerly taking your hand and standing. The sense of relief was swift and dizzying. You rewarded him with a tumultuous smile.
“You’re welcome to try the cupcakes once they cool.” You said before pulling the glass door open and locking it behind you. You didn’t bother with a tour. You made a direct line to the kitchen, slipped oven mitts on both hands, and pulled the cupcakes from the oven with hurried purpose. You flipped the switch to turn the oven off. No reason to burn the place while you were getting dicked down. As you tugged the mittens off your hands, you glanced back at Carmy, who was looking at your kitchen with open admiration and awe.
“You really pulled out all the stops.” He said in quiet reverence. “It’s beautiful.” And you could tell from his tone that he wasn’t fucking with you. It was genuine. Your heartbeat quickened and you wanted to curse him for making a simple compliment illicit such a response beneath your skin. Two weeks ago, if Carmy had been in your kitchen, you would’ve dragged him out by the back of the shirt and told him to stop spying on you.
You weren’t going to bother for modesty. You weren’t modest or humble when it came to this project.
“It is, isn’t it?” You replied smugly. Carmy finally drew his eyes away from the equipment and shook his head in disbelief. You scooped a spoon into your vanilla buttercream frosting and tried an experimental lick. Carmy was watching you. You pointedly sucked the spoon clean with heavily lidded eyes and a small smirk. You noticed his eyes narrow and how he shifted his weight. Interesting. You released the spoon from your mouth with a soft ‘pop’ and smiled.
You brightened with an idea. “Hey, will you try this?”
He closed the short distance between you, “You want my professional opinion?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.” You shrugged. A knot of nervousness twisted inside your stomach. You watched him bring the spoon to his mouth and slowly pull it from his lips, a bit of frosting catching on the corner of his mouth. Your scalp prickled with awareness. It took every ounce of your self-control not to lick the leftover frosting off his mouth. He pressed his lips together, eyes cast heavenward, the nodded. Your breath snagged in your throat when he finally gave his answer.
“Too much vanilla extract.” He said. “Consistency is good, though. A-and I can tell you added lemon zest which brightens it.”
“M’kay, that’s enough America’s Top Chef or whatever.” You teased, grabbing the front of his shirt, and dragging him forward.
“You asked m-mprh.” You sealed your mouth over his. The spoon clattered onto the countertop and Carmy’s hands cradled your face. You could taste the frosting on his tongue, and it tasted so much better than when you licked it off the spoon. You walked backward, clinging to him, guiding him toward your office. Kissing Carmy was a bit like dancing. You had to let him lead from time to time and allow yourself to be pulled along by the pure, raw sensations. You were aware of his hands, roaming, squeezing, and grabbing you, and his mouth – sweet-laced with lingering icing – engaged in a playful, give and take of nibbling bites and breathless moans.
Your ass hit the edge of your wooden desk and you broke the kiss to tug your shirt over your head. Carmy’s hands covered your breasts, kneading them, and you thanked the preemptive laziness that made you forgo a bra this evening. His warm, wet mouth traveled down the column of your throat. You whined a little and squirmed. You wanted more than this. You grabbed Carmy’s wrist and tugged his hand, bringing it between your legs.
“Like I said…” He rasped, breath hot against your neck, “Needy.”
“Carmy…” Did you sound a little desperate? Maybe. Your skin flushed with heated desire and echoes of recollection of how he made you feel the first time. His mouth left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your chest and to your stomach. His hands caught the waistband of your sweatpants and he knelt on the carpeted floor before you. You blinked, as if a stunned daze, and held onto the edge of your desk as Carmy pulled your sweatpants and underwear off of you. You swallowed, eyes-wide, at the stark difference of your naked body before him. You clamped your thighs together and Carmy gently held the back of your knees.
His face looked quizzically up at you.
“You gotta take off your clothes too.” You shrugged, “It’s only fair.”
“I was plannin’ on it.” He gave you that slight, almost boyish smile again. He leaned back on his haunches and peeled the t-shirt off himself. Not confined to a dark car backseat, you can see every line of him, every muscle, his strong shoulders, and dip of his clavicle. His golden chain glinted softly in the warm, intimate light of your desk lamp. His hair mussed around his face from your fingers constantly running through it. His chest heaved softly with labored, quiet breath and you realized you were going to think of this – Carmy kneeling on the ground before you – every single time you walked in this room.
His rough hands caressed up the length of your legs, along your thighs, and you slowly parted for him. He dropped a singular soft kiss to your inner thigh and your body tensed. But it wasn’t anticipation. His tongue flicked across your swollen clit, and you gasped and froze. You couldn’t let him go down on you. You’d be at his mercy, within his grasp and control, his selfless actions bringing you to the peak without any ‘reward’ for him. Yes, yes, you knew it was fucked up to think of sex as transactional and as a powerplay – but you’d unpack that in therapy later.
“Wait.” You tugged gently on the back of his head, and he looked up at you from between your thighs. “I don’t…can we…not do that?”
“Yeah, yeah – yeah – of course.” He stood up, and your throat tightened at the absolute tenderness in his gaze. His hands came to rest on your waist, thumbs moving in slow, soothing back-and-forth touch across your warm skin. “You okay?”
“I’m good. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with right now.” You blinked rapidly in surprise of your own blunt honesty.
“Okay.” One of Carmy’s hands slipped between your legs and you gripped his shoulders tightly, your body trembling in anticipation. “This okay?” He asked softly.
You leaned back into your desk and spread your knees for him. You sighed happily with a slow nod, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. This was familiar. This was good. Through lidded eyes, you reached for the waistband of Carmy’s pants and palmed his cock while he touched you. His fingers were quick, deft, drawing moans and whimpers from your mouth with practiced ease. Like he memorized what you liked last time and applied it to this time. His mouth found yours again and you pulled down the zipper of his pants while his thumb drew tight, firm circles against your clit. Your fingers stumbled and you hiccupped a sharp, surprised gasp.
“Yeah?” He murmured against your lips before slipping his tongue into your mouth.
“Yeah.” You jolted, hips canting into his hand, as you raked your nails down his chest. You pressed your face into his, nose squished against his cheek, and panted until each breath was a moan. You trembled and your orgasm hit you with syrupy sweetness, slow and unfurling, pulling a guttural, embarrassingly loud cry from your lips. You dropped backward onto your desk, your spine hitting an open notebook, and released a satisfied sigh. You looked down and saw Carmy pulling his cock free from his boxers. Your body hummed with pleasure and delight.
“I have condoms in my bag.” You said, pointing to your backpack hanging on the wall. “Front pocket.”
“Not because I expected this to happen.” You clarified quickly, “It’s just good to have things on hand. There’s Advil in there, too. Because I’m prepared for anything.”
“You’re a boy scout.” Carmy chuckled softly and you tried to not think about how the sound of it made your body fizzle like being dropped into a glass of champagne.
“Exactly!” You gave him a mock salute.
He returned to his place between your legs, and you pushed the notebook out and away from underneath you. It clattered to the floor and spilled open with pages of notes. He peered up at you through his sweaty, curled hair and you bit your lip and smiled. You wrapped your legs loosely around his hips and dragged your hands across his muscled chest in admiration.
You were rewarded with the blissful sight of Carmy’s eyes rolling back into his head as he slid into you. Your eyes shuttered closed and the world whited-out into noise and feeling. Your back arched and Carmy leaned over you, his lips covered the side of your neck, and your hips bucked in response to his teeth meeting your skin.
“Are you—fuck, fuck, fuck” You lost coherent thought for a moment as Carmy thrust into you in earnest. “—are you giving me another hickey?” You gasped, fingers tangling into his hair. “You ass-asshole.”
“You want it somewhere else?” The tip of his nose grazed the soft spot of skin behind your ear.
“Please.”
He dragged his mouth to your collarbone and your hardened nipples rubbed against his damp, sweaty chest. You clung to the back of Carmy’s head as his tongue laved over the spot just below your collarbone and dangerously close to your heart. He drew the delicate, pliant skin between his teeth and sucked hard, making you see stars, and your thighs clenched around his hips. The desk groaned beneath your combined weight and a cup of pens clattered to the floor.
“You feel so good,” He breathed, “better than I remember.” Your walls fluttered around him at the compliment and Carmy looked up from your chest, meeting your eyes, “I felt that.”
“Shut up.” You lightly slapped his shoulder and turned your face away.
“So, you don’t want me to tell – to tell you about how amazing – fuck – how amazing you feel?” He said, adjusting his position so he wasn’t leaning over you, and was standing instead. He drew your thighs away from his hips and rested them on his chest, so your ankles were at his shoulders. You groaned at the sudden change in depth and tightness and your hands splayed across the polished wood.
“You’re drenched.” He panted, his face red, “and taking me so well. God – you’re incredible.” You couldn’t control it. Your body responded to his words, core tightening, your walls pulsing around him at the praise. You slipped your hand between your thighs, finding your slick and swollen clit, and your fingertip occasionally brushed against his shaft while you touched yourself in quick, needy motions.
“Fuck. F-fuck. That’s so hot.” Carmy moaned. He followed your lead, responding to the nonverbal cues of your body, and the very-verbal cues of your mouth repeatedly gasping his name. It was as if someone disconnected your brain and your mouth. You were only able to say one thing and it was ‘Carmy’ followed by ‘Yes’. Your body coiled and goosebumps erupted across your skin. Your muscled tensed, your walls spasmed around Carmy’s cock, and sent an avalanche of pleasure in a quaking release.
Carmy released a strangled noise, his thrust erratic and shaking the desk beneath you, and you knew—you knew based on the bright pink color of his cheeks and neck and the deep furrow to his brow that he was about to finish. He slammed into you in one powerful, final thrust, burying himself as deep as he could go, and cursed loudly and a sheen of perspiration glistened off his body.
He collapsed on top of you and caught his weight with his elbows. His face rested in the crook of your neck and his heavy, labored breath blew across your sweaty skin. You closed your eyes, relaxed and secure under the weight of him, and felt him gradually grow soft inside of you. You languidly lifted a hand and carded your fingers through his long hair. You laid like this, completely devoid of conversation or coherent thought, for several minutes with the sweat rapidly cooling off your bodies. Carmy’s thudding heartbeat reverberated against your skin.
Carmy wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled your hand away from his head, he held your hand in the air, and your fingertips naturally curled forward. The bandages were surprisingly intact given all the sweat and bodily fluids. Though, now that you were thinking about it, the skin beneath the bandage started to throb with pain. His thumb stroked your inner wrist.
“How’s the burn?”
You pulled your hand away and wiped the sweat from your forehead. “Manageable.” You wiggled underneath him, aware of the intimacy of the moment, and internally panicking. Your plan to be Professional with a capital ‘P’ might be totally fucked, but you still had to retain some distance. He wasn’t your boyfriend. You weren’t dating. Hell, you didn’t even know if you were exclusively sleeping with each other or if this would happen a third time.
“Stop squishing me.”
He smiled into the hollow of your throat and climbed off you. You snatched your t-shirt off the ground and pulled it over your head, grateful for how it covered your body, and reached just above your knee. You ran both hands through hair and finger-combed through the sex-snarls while Carmy pulled up his pants.
You held up a finger, “I don’t want to do the weird after sex talk.”
“I’m not familiar.” He said whilst pulling his white t-shirt over his head. You pursed your lips. Someone shouldn’t look sexy while getting dressed but somehow Carmy managed it. Ridiculous.
“You know, when people have sex and then they act weird, and awkward, and can’t make eye contact.” You said, folding your arms over your chest, and avoiding eye contact. Your desk was foggy with body heat, sweat, and the edge glistened from where your bodies were joined. You might have to buy a new desk. How were you ever going to get work done in here now?
“Okay.”
“Great!” You forced cheerfulness into your voice. “My offer still stands about the cupcakes. Feel free to grab one on your way out.” You said before stepping into your sweatpants and pulling them over your hips with a satisfied smile at the ache in your abdomen.
Carmy muttered your name.
“Is this…” He rubbed his nostril with his knuckles, “I mean – are we going to keep doing this?” He asked, his blue eyes imploring, and your heart flinched. You looked away and at the calendar on the wall. June, June, June. All your plans, all your projects, and ambitions. Everything you were so hungry for. You didn’t have time for anything serious and you weren’t equipped for serious relationships. Casual and random suited your lifestyle fine, thank you. You were sure Carmen could understand that. You were career people.
“This is the after sex talk I was hoping to avoid.” You said with a weak, flat laugh.
Carmy was quiet. You suspected – and hoped - he would drop the topic and walk away.
“You can’t just avoid things because they’re uncomfortable.” He said and stepped into your field of vision, and you were forced to face him – face this. You sighed and nodded with your lips pressed in a firm, hard line.
“I don’t have the time or energy for a relationship.” You admitted.
“Neither do I.”
You inhaled deeply. You knew what you had to do—the only proper, professional choice. It was time to rip off the band-aid. You needed distance, professionalism, and mutual respect. You couldn’t have that if you were crawling into his lap and letting him fuck you so hard you forgot your own name. And it wasn’t just the sex. It was everything else. It was looking for him in a crowded room, it was holding hands through a panic attack, it was sharing cigarettes and bashful smiles. All of it was distraction. All of it was too dangerous for you like standing close to an open flame.
“Normally in a situation like this, I’d suggest we become fuck buddies and blow off steam together.” You began, “However, I can’t – I can’t commit to that either. I need to…I need…”
You licked your lips with your heart pounding in your ear.
“You need to focus on your own shit.” Carmy guessed. You nodded, thankful for his understanding, and his empathy.
“Yeah.” Your lips quirked up in a weak, rueful smile. “I assume you’re in a similar situation.”
“No, no, yeah, yeah. I am.” He nodded, “Obviously. The whole restaurant and my brother and everything…yeah.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand. You had the wild, stupid desire to brush the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his nose. (Which is EXACTLY the reason why you needed to stop sleeping with him starting yesterday). You were getting too close, too eager, and vulnerable with him. It blurred too many lines.
You rocked back and forth on your heels and tried for humor, “So, we can settle for friends who have seen each other naked?”
Carmy exhaled shortly and harshly through his nose. It was almost a laugh.
“Alright.”
“Cool.” You swallowed, hoping for an exit sign on this conversation before you asked him to come over because your resolve was dissolving faster than sand underwater at the sight of him. “Get home safe, okay?”
“Y-yeah. Yeah, you too.”
Carmy left the room, and a lingering sense of longing permeated the air with you as its source. You plunged your face into your hands and sighed heavily. You could do this. You couldn’t afford distractions, or more responsibilities, or messy feelings and neither could he.
“Grow up and get over it, right grandpa?” You muttered to yourself, repeating his most commonly used phrase whenever something went wrong.
< Part Five >
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Not AS terrifying of a thought but I think rolan deep would eat apples whole, unhinges his jaw and eats it in like three bites core and all
i thing he should get bug like mandibles when he's in buggo mode, like grasshoppers or praying mantises, multiple sets, serrated and sharp, so he goes chomp chomp, quick and effective. not a clean and pretty process tho, so they avoid going out to eat in public and/or crowded spaces w him lol
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im thinking way too much about Chocobos bc video game creature design is my jam and birds are my jam and also i just got finished writing a lecture so brain is in Lecture Mode, and i'm noticing something very peculiar about their design.
the first thing that got me is their feet. these examples are from FFVII and FFXIV, but the design is consistent as far as i'm aware throughout every iteration. they have foot structures unlike literally anything i'm aware of in the natural world:
this structure with two toes facing forward and one facing back seems unique to Chocobos, and i started thinking about what kind of lifestyle would cause them to evolve such an unusual arrangement.
here is a very excellent diagram of modern bird foot structure (source below image also links to highly informative twitter thread if anyone is interested in further reading):
(source)
following these real-world patterns, we can see that the primary purpose of the backwards-facing toe, the hallux, is grasping [prey] and perching. this is a very significant digit, and we can see clearly that Chocobos do possess one. however, in species adapted to a lifestyle on the ground, eg. flightless birds, a long hallux is a hazard as it could easily be broken or cause tripping if it gets snagged on the ground. therefore the group of birds most well-adapted to running rather than flying, the Struthioniformes, show different foot structures in which the hallux has receded altogether, as seen on the left. Ostriches are the only bird in the world with didactyly, having only two toes as seen on the right.
(source)(source)
the interesting thing about Struthioniformes is that they are typically herbivorous in addition to being flightless, further removing the need for the hallux. there are, of course, other modern birds adapted to running that do display anisodactyly, such as the Seriema, or zygodactyly, such as the Roadrunner. a major difference in Seriemas and Roadrunners as opposed to Struthioniformes other than the ability to fly is that these birds are carnivorous.
(do you see where i'm going with this yet?)
something else about Chocobos strikes me as odd, and that's their beaks. this is where, unlike their feet, their design does vary from game to game, but a particular feature from more modern iterations, such as the FFIIV remake and FFXI, stands out to me.
i'm talking about the shape of their beak, and also that little hook on the bottom of their upper mandible. that's called the Tomium, and we see it in several classes of modern birds as well as some other animals like turtles. its function is serration of either flesh or vegetation. you can see it on this Red-tailed Hawk (left) as well as this Lear's Macaw (right):
(source) (source)
as both source links do a fantastic job of explaining, the differences in the hawk's beak designed for tearing flesh and the parrot's bill for tearing fruit are most evident in the variations on their shape and their relation to their skulls - the short of it is that the shorter skull of the parrot and its more dramatic overbite allow greater prying leverage against the shells of fruit and nuts, whereas the length of the hawk's skull and beak lend to ripping and cutting.
it does appear, interestingly, that different iterations of the Chocobo's beak fall along different points of the scale between the hawk beak and the parrot bill, but it looks to me that generally the Chocobo has a more uniform mandible size and longer skull. while the tomium, as i mentioned, can be used for tearing grasses like those that Chocobos are typically fed in various games, the scissorlike shape of the Chocobo's beak looks as though it would lend itself much more readily to tearing meat.
thus my study can be boiled down to two major factors based on Chocobo's design vs. evolutionary design: 1) the hallux is necessary for grasping, and Chocobos possess a hallux, and since they are flightless and do not need to perch, it stands to reason that the hallux must be needed for holding onto prey; and 2) the presence of the tomium combined with the shape of the Chocobo's skull indicates a meat-based diet.
i think now is a good time to introduce the Phorusrhacids, more commonly known as "Terror Birds". thankfully for us, these carnivorous flightless birds are now extinct, but the largest of their species could be up to 10 feet tall and dined on the ancestors of modern horses and deer. to support this lifestyle, they evolved strong anisodactyl feet for grasping prey and a strong curved beak for tearing it into bite-sized chunks. here is a reconstructed skeleton of a Terror Bird species, specifically Titanis walleri:
(source)
and here is an artist's rendition according to modern scientific understanding of the closely related Paraphysornis brasiliensis:
(source)
THAT SURE LOOKS FAMILIAR, DOESNT IT??
in conclusion, i think Chocobos are carnivores and may be Final Fantasy's modern living relatives of Terror Birds. thank you for coming to my TED talk. if you read this whole thing, please know that i love you and you are welcome to message me your favorite color so i can draw a Chocobo just for you <3
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Team Prime learns (and maybe meets) some cryptids/urban legends
(Heads up, the last one includes death. It starts with "A wolf sits at the side of the...")
The less Ratchet thinks about the rude, little shit of a jackalope, the better off he is. It dented the side of his alt-mode, gouging deep as it insulted his intelligence when he pulled off the road.
To be fair, it's even smaller than a typical human and highly drunk as it slurred a warning about "idiot tourists staying after the sun sets" and "stupid big folk" and "Great Hunting."
It doesn't help that no one else believes him. Oh, sure: ghostly apparitions are fine, but a talking, big-antlered rabbit isn't?
The kids would roll their eyes and think he's trying too hard.
Optimus enjoys people-watching. He enjoys being part of the crowd. None distinguishable from the rest of the men when he uses his holomatter. There’s an old man that’s always at the bar. Hair long since grey, skin full of liver spots and translucent, back stooped, and yet he can out-drink everyone in the vicinity. His body is old and creaky, but his mind is still sharp, his tongue silver, and his hands fast on a fiddle.
Jack is his name. He’s well-acquainted with Optimus, who goes by Leo Cullen, as they struck up an odd friendship at the bar counter. Both are familiar with surviving in the true wild lands, with getting out of sticky situations and too-powerful authority figures, and ruminating on Gone Things.
Old Man Jack with his quick tongue and tired eyes carries a lantern carved from a turnip, and whenever the man and holomatter walk out together, Jack lights it up before his feet touch the ground outside.
Eventually, Optimus will be able to see how the shadows play with its light, the swirling color and shifting patterns on the turnip’s face, and Jack asks him:
“Did you make a piss-poor deal with the devil, too?”
On the outskirts of Jasper at the abandoned roads, there’s a different kind of race for a different breed of thrill-seekers, adrenaline junkies, and lost souls.
When the wind blows right and the night is dark, people race against the coyotes of dust and sand. With eerie eyes and haunting voices, they group together to form sandstorms as they chase after tires and wipe away the roads.
To the winners, howls will crown their victory as Jasper is right in their line of sight. To the losers, a storm will sweep over the area and wash all traces of the racer. Howls will welcome the newest member of the pack.
Arcee goes out there without anyone else and races. The sand scrapes over her plates, ghostly jaws snap over her tires, and her spark thrums wild as she cannot see anything in front, nor behind her, as the storm swallows her whole.
She wins. She manages to overcome them and they howl at her victory.
Neither of them spoke of it, but when Bulkhead and Cliffjumper raced on an empty stretch of East coast highway under icy conditions, they saw a battle raging in the sea.
A massive serpentine shape with shades of onyx and midnight blues is wrapped around an equally massive squid-like form. Tentacles thrash, deadly hooks swirl within its suckers as it tries to puncture the serpent’s scales, and waves crash upon the rocky beach, the seawater rising high to meet the road. They see the foamy water pulling back and turning, turning, turning-
And then the serpent unhinges its jaw, wide enough to take a chunk out of the Ark, serrated and swordlike teeth gleam wickedly in the distance, and it sinks into the fat head and twists-
The squid turns a ghastly white and the water calms as the victor and its prey disappear into deeper waters, the sea rippling and distorting before evening out.
“This planet has giant Quintessons.”
This planet has a bigger critter that eats the giant Quintesson.”
“Primus save us…”
A wolf sits at the side of the road. It’s the same wolf at the same point of the road, all the time, rain and shine. Bumblebee pulls over during his free time, and he notices it bleeding from its mouth and collar on its neck before it darts into the woods behind it.
Bumblebee doesn’t go after it because his comm rings and it’s Decepticon activity. He leaves and feels its heavy gaze upon his bumper.
The next time he stops, it’s still bleeding from its mouth and it moves to the tree line. It stops and looks back, beckoning him and Bumblebee follows.
The terrain is rough and there’s no set pavement, but he can handle it. It moves like the wind, speeding fast as it darts and weaves between trees.
If Bumblebee wasn’t a Cybertronian and so intuitively in control of his alt-mode, he would have run over the wolf that now lies on its belly on the ground.
His holomatter approaches slowly and it paws the ground, whining, pushing away the dead leaves and muck.
Bumblebee digs deep and finds a familiar collar, he also finds bones and patches of faded cloth scraps.
He keeps tabs on the location’s local news when it finally breaks: an old couple gets their closure on their son and the family’s wolfdog that went missing decades ago. Fingers, adult ones, were stuck in the wolfdog's throat.
#ask#deepwater abyss#transformers#transformers prime#tfp#optimus prime#optimus#ratchet#arcee#bulkhead#cliffjumper#bumblebee#creature#surreal#urban legends#cryptids#animal human relationship#ghosts#murder#mentions of death#my writing#maccadam
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Your art is somehow both coltish and keen, your clever execution almost always radiating playfulness and thoughtfulness in equal measure (except for the works that thrum with a more serrated intensity). I've mentioned it in tags before, but your art reminds me of Chinese poetry, specifically in how it commits intangible emotion to concrete imagery without caging it there or stifling its reverb. Even your sillier sketches, however much they're more like cheeky shanshui than Shen Yue.
(flustered yet? 🥰)
This broke the fluster scale. We're past fluster and into self preservation mode and I will fight u for my dignity
Its me n my little rocks vs this ask
#i had to go through all of my drawings to double check if u were right and then take a day to compose myself#i also had to google chinese painting styles#asks
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Guys I've experienced another ✨thought✨
I've been thinking about my siren oracle percy hc and I just got major feral percy vibes for some reason??
Anyway I've decided to add another hc on now.
yk how fish migrate from place to place?
(Can you see where I'm going with this?)
So what if percy migrates too?
Maybe while he still didn't know he was a demigod, during a particular season he would always have this itchy uncomfortable feeling under his skin and this strange longing to go somewhere but he didn't know where so he was just stuck with this uncomfortable feeling and insatiable wanderlust that frustrated him to no end.
And then the events of the first book happen and he goes on the quest and he gets the lighting bolt back and the olympus scene happens and yadda yadda yadda. but at the end of the scene when Poseidon and percy talk Percy just randomly blurts out that he feels uncomfy as hecc in this particular season (I haven't decided which season yet) cause he gets nervous and his mouth works faster than his brain. And then Poseidon just smiles and tells him to get in the sea when that happens and there's that.
So when the time finally rolls around, Percy hesitates a bit but ends up jumping into the sea anyway because of how crappy he felt AND HOLY HERA THE WATER FEELS DIVINE (heh divine) and his instincts just take over and he just kicks off and swims far away and it's the best thing he's ever felt in his life.
And during his first migration thing he grows more feral. Inhuman even. His teeth turn into wickedly shap fangs (curved backwards for holding struggling fish/prey), his nails transform into claws, his legs meld into a tail with deadly serrated fins, and his instincts grow even wilder. When the migration period (which I imagine is like 2-3 moths) comes to a close and he swims home he still has all those feral traits.
And now CHB has to deal with this terrifying siren feral Percy which is somehow even worse than the random siren songs that are sometimes prophecies thing.
Until Sally furiously prays to Poseidon and threatens to castrate him if he doesn't give Percy his legs and logical reasoning back. So now Percy can switch between having leg mode and tail mode and can think a little less feral now. (He's still feral tho)
Imagine situations like this tho:
Paul, blissfully unaware to the existence of Greek gods: * runs into the house panicked* SALLY PERCY JUST JUMPED INTO THE SEA AND I CAN'T FIND HIM HE'S GONE
Sally, reading a book completely nonchalantly: o yea he does that, dont worry he'll be back in 3 months tops
Paul:????????????
-------------------------------------------------
Nico: trying to squirm out of siren percys hold, "Bitch let me out I will cancel your subscription to life"
Percy: * all logical sense gone* tiny baby, very small, does not know anything. I must protecc.
Nico: BITCH?????
Thalia: is he wrong tho
-------------------------------------------------
(For context in my feral percy hc, Percy was raised by Sally like in the book, but being a son of Poseidon, he got a lot of wild instincts and powers which really started showing up after the migration transformation thing)
#percy jackson headcannon#percy jackson#pjo memes#pjo stuff#pjo headcanon#percy has siren powers#Siren! Percy#eldritch#eldritch percy#feral percy#Poseidon#sally jackson#Paul#nico di angelo#pjo thalia
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La Mode nationale, no. 16, 19 avril 1902, Paris. Groupe de toilettes pour dames et jeunes filles. Bibliothèque nationale de France
(3) Robe de dîner pour jeune femme. Jupe en dentelle sur transparent blanc, bordée d'un volant bouillonné en liberty vert d'eau ou en crêpe de Chine. Au-dessus du volant, croisillons de velours noir.
Veste bouillonnée à la taille et formant basque mi-longue, ouverte sur un dessous de dentelle et rattachée devant par des velours croisés, avec de gros boutons fantaisie. Col fichu en mousseline de soie, souligné d'un volant froncé. Manche courte en dentelle, avec grand volant bouillonné.
(3) Dinner dress for a young woman. Lace skirt on white sheer, edged with a bubbled ruffle in water green liberty or crepe de chine. Above the ruffle, black velvet braces.
Jacket gathered at the waist and forming a mid-length peplum, open to a lace underside and attached in front with crossed velvets, with large fancy buttons. Silk chiffon kerchief collar, highlighted with a gathered ruffle. Short lace sleeve, with large bubbled ruffle.
Matériaux: dentelle en laize; 8 mètres de liberty.
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(4) Robe de ville pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen, en lainage rayé abricot, de ton effacé. Jupe plissée derrière terminée par trois volants en forme, découpés en créneaux et bordés de biais. Au volant supérieur, un biais souligne la tête. Jaquette ouverte et découpée sur un plastron de liberty noir. Manche à coude, revers assez large.
(4) City dress for young women or middle-aged ladies, in apricot striped wool, in a faded tone. Pleated skirt at the back finished with three shaped ruffles, cut into crenellations and edged at an angle. On the upper ruffle, a bias highlights the head. Dust jacket open and cut on a black liberty bib. Elbow sleeve, fairly wide lapel.
Matériaux: 8 mètres de lainage, 0m,75 de liberty noir.
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(5) Toilette de visites pour jeune femme, en foulard rouge glacé. Jupe en forme; au bas, quatre volants légèrement badinés, soulignés de comètes de satin noir et surmontés de quatre rangs de comètes. Jaquette dentelée devant, bordée de biais à dépassant noir. Un biais semblable s'arrondit par des pinces en arrière. Ceinture de satin noir passant sous les devants. Col arrondi incrusté de guipure. Guimpe de soie noire. Manche pagode à pèlerines dentelées; celle du milieu est semblable au col.
(5) Visiting ensemble for young woman, in iced red scarf. Skirt shaped; at the bottom, four slightly embellished ruffles, highlighted with black satin comets and topped with four rows of comets. Serrated dust jacket in front, bias-edged with black protruding. A similar bias is rounded by darts at the back. Black satin belt passing under the front. Rounded collar inlaid with guipure. Black silk wimple. Pagoda handle with serrated capes; the middle one is similar to the collar.
Matériaux: 14 mètres de foulard.
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(6) Robe élégante pour jeune fille ou jeune femme, en bengaline bleu-pastel. Jupe plissée devant, ornée d'un volant en forme que surmonte un large entre-deux. Corsage plissé; col empiècement en guipure; sous ce col commence un pli genre Watteau qui s'évase sur la jupe. Manche plissée sur l'épaule et séparée en deux bouffants par un bracelet de guipure. Poignet haut et collant en guipure. Ceinture ronde en taffetas blanc, rayé de velours noir.
(6) Elegant dress for a young girl or young woman, in pastel blue bengaline. Pleated skirt at the front, decorated with a shaped flounce topped with a wide in-between. Pleated bodice; guipure yoke collar; under this collar begins a Watteau-style pleat which flares out on the skirt. Pleated sleeve on the shoulder and separated into two bouffants by a guipure bracelet. High, sticky guipure cuff. Round belt in white taffeta, striped with black velvet.
Matériaux: 12 mètres de bengaline.
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(7) Robe de visites pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen en drap satin chamois. Jupe en forme cerclée de biais en taffetas pékiné. Boléro très ajusté, ouvert sur un gilet de drap blanc à revers. Grand col de moire, rayé et bordé d'entre-deux. Cravate de mousseline de soie noire. Manche courte à petits revers.
Bas de manche collant en soie blanche moucheté de noir.
(7) Visiting dress for young or middle-aged ladies in chamois satin cloth. Bias-rimmed skirt in pekiné taffeta. Very fitted bolero, open over a white cloth vest with cuffs. Large moire collar, striped and bordered with insertions. Black chiffon tie. Short sleeve with small cuffs.
Fitted cuffs in white silk speckled with black.
Matériaux: 5 mètres de drap; 1 mètre de soie mouchetée; 0m,30 de drap blanc; 0m,50 de moire.
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(8) Robe de visites pour jeune femme, en lainage fantaisie vieux rose. Jupe en forme, cerclée de biais posés en dents de soie et tombant sur un volant en forme liséré de biais. Même garniture au corsage et à la manche demi-pagode. Devant, coquillé de dentelle; au col montant, liséré de liberty noir; ceinture ronde en l'étoffe de la robe.
(8) Visiting dress for young women, in fancy old pink wool. Shaped skirt, surrounded by bias placed in silk teeth and falling on a shaped ruffle edged at an angle. Same trim on the bodice and half-pagoda sleeve. Front, shell of lace; with a high collar, lined with black liberty; round belt made from the fabric of the dress.
Matériaux: 7m,50 de lainage.
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(9) Toilette de réception pour jeune femme ou dame d'âge moyen, en surah vieux rouge très pâle. Plis cerclant la jupe. Veste Louis XV en grosse dentelle. Plastron et manche de dentelle. La manche se termine sous un revers arrondi orné de plis. Col arrondi en forme. Echarpe de mousseline de soie, même ton, nouée sous le col et tombant jusqu'au bas de la robe.
(9) Reception ensemble for young or middle-aged lady, in very pale old red surah. Pleats encircling the skirt. Louis XV jacket in large lace. Lace bib and sleeve. The sleeve ends under a rounded lapel decorated with pleats. Rounded shaped collar. Silk chiffon scarf, same tone, tied under the collar and falling to the bottom of the dress.
Matériaux: 10 mètres de surah; dentelle en laize; 4 mètres de mousseline de soie.
#La Mode nationale#20th century#1900s#1902#on this day#April 19#periodical#fashion#fashion plate#color#description#bibliothèque nationale de france#dress#collar
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What would Bloodborne Weapons do to people in real life?
And, which one is the most brutal.
This is my 100th post. And I've been pondering this topic for a while so here goes. This is mostly just speculation. Also, while I won't be showing any gory images as examples, some of the injuries described could be disturbing. So be warned.
First off, the Saw Cleaver/Saw Spear.
These are pretty brutal when you think about how they are designed. The Serrated edges would get stuck in whatever you try to slash, dealing even more damage when you get it unstuck. In the trailer for Bloodborne, we actually see a hunter exerting quite a bit of force to pull it out of a Yharnamite they kill. Perhaps the purpose of the serration is to mangle the corpses of beasts, so nobody can recognise them as human?
The Hunter Axe
Despite being an Axe, this weapon is described as mostly Blunt damage. When Transformed, this thing is definitely being swung with enough force to crush bones. And it's high rally potential points to huge amounts of blood being spilled.
Threaded Cane
Untransformed it isn't much of a weapon, and the most you could do is just beat someone with it. But when you do transform it, the serrated whip is stated to be capable of flogging beasts.
Ludwig's Holy Blade/Kirkhammer/Holy Moonlight Sword.
Untransformed, these are all just swords. Pretty basic slashes and stabs. But transformed they would all do a ton of crushing blunt damage. I imagine the Holy Blade would be more of a bone breaking thing, while the Kirkhammer would be straight up turning things into mush. For the Holy Moonlight Sword, I like to imagine the transformed mode actually cuts quite cleanly, leaving some moonlight glow along the wounds.
Blades of Mercy/Rakuyo
These two are both 1000 cuts type of weapons, though the Rakuyo does a mix of stabbing and slashing compared to the Blades.
Amygdalan Arm.
Untransformed would just be pure crushing force, the attack animation of repeated slams would be enough to turn a beast into mush. The transformed mode gaining that weird slashy appendage would probably make it less damaging to be honest, that thing does not look like it is swinging itself around with much force.
Beast Claw
It's a claw. The claw gained by transforming probabably does a lot more ripping and tearing, while the fake claw seems to do a lot of piercing damage. But the fury of Beasthood probably encourages the hunter to keep attacking even after their prey is dead.
Beasthunter Saif
Unlike the rest of the Old Hunter weapons, this one is probably less brutal than the modern Saw Cleaver. The sharp edge would sever a limb compared to the ripping serration of the Cleaver. Its quick flurry attacks in the unextended mode could also slice something open pretty easily.
Beast Cutter
This one is, in my opinion, the most brutal weapon in all of Bloodborne. If you were to slash at someone with the transformed version, and their arm or leg were to be caught inbetween two segments as the come back together... that's gonna crush anything. And don't forget that it is also serrated in both modes, so the club can crush and rip apart at the same time while the whip can catch on fur or skin and tear it off. Also, the transformed heavy attacks are enough to flatten just about every enemy in the game, so this thing is being swung with insane amounts of force.
Bloodletter
A pretty sharp and spiky club even before you stab yourself with it. I'm not really sure what the extra Blood would be doing to its victims, but it makes it larger and more weighty.
Boomhammer
This one could honestly be tied with the Beast Cutter. Hitting people with a giant hammer is already going to be dealing a lot of damage, but slamming them with an explosion as well is enough to obliterate them. Getting a hit with the explosion while something is up against a wall or the ground would reduce it to nothing.
Burial Blade
This one is like the Saif, very clean with it's slashes and cuts. Along with the person who created it wishing to give victims a peaceful death I don't think it would be doing much besides decapitations.
Chikage
It's a katana. It gets Blood magic. Probably just makes it slash harder. Not much else to say.
Kos Parasite
Considering only the tentacle attacks and not the vomit and arcane explosion, I imagine it would be like getting stung by a jellyfish. If you weren't crushed by the tentacles, you would probably end up with a bunch of space diseases.
Logarius' Wheel
While all you actually do with it is crush people with the wheel, this weapon is actually based on a medival torture device. Perhaps the Executions strapped defeated Vilebloods to their weapons as they slaughtered the remaining ones.
Reiterpallasch/Rifle Spear
This one is a pretty elegant rapier. Lots of stabbing and not very brutal. The worst it could inflict is a point blank shot from the attached pistol. The Spear is about the same, but it has a shotgun attached instead and is desgined by crazy Hunters.
Simon's Bowblade
The curved sword could cut something up pretty cleanly, similar to the Burial Blade. The bow shots would also inflict a lot less damage than a gunshot.
Stake Driver
The charged up stake blast could probably punch straight through your chest, but without that all you can really do is slash and poke.
Tonitrus
Being beaten with a big metal ball would probably break bones if they swung hard enough. Adding in the electric damage would also hurt quite a lot, and would probably leave behind a lot of charred corpses and crushed skulls.
Whirlygig Saw
It's a buzzsaw. Being smashed into things while also spinning. This thing can and will tear shit apart. Untransformed its just a club.
I didn't go over any of the guns because... they're guns. But if you really care about the sidearms, the Cannons would blow you up, and the Fist of Gratia is just ye olde brass knuckles.
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Czechslovakia Armaments
@ts4-poses @ts4-poses-masterlist
DOWNLOAD!!!!!!!!!!
Privet Tovarisch And Happy New Year For Everyone. Greetings and Salutation for us All, and hope you guys still stay with us and trusting us for your Defense Needs.
This time Around We'll Covering the Finest Weapons From Czechoslovakia (Now Czech and Slovakia). former Warsaw Pacts member who shine a bright with their breakthrough inventions, that carried until post Soviet States. the Rising Star for the west. And Sorry For Delayed Post.. We're Planning to add another Segment For VVE in format of E-Magazines. for improvement of our Bureau. for now.. stay Tuned
Pistols
The CZ 75
The Member Of Famous "The Wonder 9" Is Here
CZ75 is a semi-automatic pistol made by Česká zbrojovka Uherský Brod (CZUB) in the Czech Republic. First introduced in 1975, it is one of the original "wonder nines" featuring a staggered-column magazine, all-steel construction, and a hammer forged barrel. It has a good reputation amongst pistol shooters for quality and versatility at a reasonable price, and is widely distributed throughout the world. It is also the most common gun in the Czech Republic.
We Covering 4 Famous Version of this Gun which are CZ75B (Second-generation CZ 75 with internal firing pin safety, squared and serrated trigger guard, and ring hammer. which fire in Semi Auto Mode), CZ75A (The Machine Pistol Version of CZ75, That Popularized by Grand Theft Auto 4:The Lost And Damned & Counter Strike:Global Offensive), CZ SP01 (New generation of CZ 75 SP-01 pistol especially adapted according to suggestions as proposed by users from Law Enforcement, Military and Police communities worldwide, with an additional input from the Team CZ shooters Angus Hobdell and Adam Tyc. Based on the SP-01, it has no firing pin block resulting in improved trigger travel. It also features a slightly reshaped grip and safety, a “weaker” recoil spring for easier loading, and fiber optic front sight and tactical “Novak style” rear sight.) & CZ P-07 (The CZ P-07 DUTY is a compact, polymer-framed CZ 75 variant notable for having a redesigned trigger mechanism. The redesign has reduced the number of parts as well as improved the trigger pull. Chambered in 9mm Luger and .40 S&W, the CZ P-07 DUTY also includes the ability to change the manual safety to a decocking lever and vice versa through an exchange of parts.)
ASSAULT Rifles
1.SA Vz-58 Assault Rifle
The Samopal vzor 1958 (submachine gun, model of 1958) was the standard assault rifle of the Czechoslovak army from the late 1950s and until the dissolution of the Socialist Republic Of Czechslovakia in the 1993. At the present time the SA Vz.58 is still used by the Czech and Slovak armies, as well as sold for export in some quantities. The SA Vz.58 saw not much of real combat, so it is hard to judge how it stakes up against the most known contemporary rivals, like the Soviet / Russian AK-47 or the US M16. But the overall quality, fit and finish of this rifle is excellent. This rifle had been designed by the Czech arms designer Jiří Čermák, under the project codename "KOŠTĚ", or "Broom", in English. Development began in January 1956, and the rifle was adopted for service only 2 years later, in 1958. The rifle was manufactured by the state-owned arms factory "Česká zbrojovka", located in the town of Uherský Brod (CZ-UB).
The Czech army planned to replace the SA Vz.58 with the newest CZ-2000 and the CZ-805 rifle system, chambered for 5.56mm NATO ammunition, but the financial difficulties severely slowed down this process.
While SA Vz.58 strongly resembles externally the famous Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle, but internally it is entirely different and of original and well-thought out design.
We Covering 2 Famous Version of this Gun which are Vz. 58 P which is Standard fixed stock (casually called "pádlo" (paddle) by Czech soldiers) & Vz. 58 V: Metal folding stock version for vehicle crew and airborne units. (casually called "kosa" (scythe) by Czech soldiers)
1.CZ-805 BREN Assault Rifle
The CZ 805 assault rifle was first introduced to the public in 2009, as a possible future replacement for aged SA Vz-58 assault rifles still in use by Czech Armed Forces. According to the recent news, early in 2010 the CZ 805 was selected as a next standard military rifle for Czech armed forces, with production contract issued to the famous Czech arms factory CZ-UB in the city of Uhersky Brod. The CZ 805 assault rifle is of modular, multi-caliber design, with aluminum alloy upper receiver and polymer lower receiver / fire control unit. The magazine housing is a separate detachable unit, which can be replaced in the field in the course of caliber change. CZ 805 also features quick-change barrels, allowing to change calibers and barrel lengths according to the mission profile (in each caliber there there are short carbine barrel, standard barrel and long "marksman" or "squad automatic" barrel). The basic action uses fairy common piston-operated gas action with manual gas regulator, and a rotating bolt locking. For each proposed caliber, there is a separate bolt with appropriate dimensions. Fire control unit includes ambidextrous safety/fire selector switch, which permits single shots, 2-round bursts and full automatic fire. Charging handle can be installed on either side of the gun, depending on user preferences. Feed is from detachable box magazines, which are inserted into detachable magazine housing. In standard configuration, the CZ 805 will use proprietary 5.56x45 caliber 30-round magazines made of translucent polymer. Other magazine housings will allow use of Standard STANAG AR Magazine or H&K G36 5.56mm magazines, as well as various 7.62X39 Soviet M43 and 6.8x43 magazines. CZ 805 assault rifle is fitted with integral Picatinny rail on the top of receiver, with additional rails running on the sides and the bottom of the forend. Rifle will be issued with folding iron sights, and will also accept a wide variety of additional sighting equipment (red-dot or telescope day sights, night sights, lasers etc.). Rifle is equipped with side-folding buttstock, which is adjustable for length of pull, and can be completely removed if maximum compactness is required. Additional equipment also includes new, specially designed 40mm underbarrel grenade launcher CZ G 805 and also a new knife-bayonet.
Sub Machine Guns
1.SA VZ.23
The CZ Model 25 (properly, Sa 25 or Sa vz. 48b/samopal vz. 48b – samopal vzor 48 výsadkový, "submachine gun model year 1948 para") was perhaps the best known of a series of Czechoslovak designed submachine guns introduced in 1948. There were four generally very similar submachine guns in this series: the Sa 23, Sa 24, Sa 25, and Sa 26. The primary designer was Jaroslav Holeček (September, 15 1923–October, 12 1997), chief engineer of the Česká zbrojovka Uherský Brod arms factory.
Despite The Weapon was SA.26 which fired 7.62×25mm Tokarev. it basically still a same gun despends on Storytelling
2.Škorpion vz. 61
The Škorpion vz. 61 is a Czechoslovak 7.65 mm submachine gun developed in 1959 by Miroslav Rybář (1924–1970) and produced under the official designation Samopal vzor 61 ("submachine gun model 1961") by the Česká zbrojovka arms factory in Uherský Brod. Although it was developed for use with security forces and special forces, the weapon was also accepted into service with the Czechoslovak Army, as a personal sidearm for lower-ranking army staff, vehicle drivers, armored vehicle personnel and special forces.
We Covering 2 Famous Version of this Gun which are Famous Vz. 61 which chambered in .32 ACP & Vz. 68 Which Chambered with more popular 9mm Cartridge, despite the First was more popular than former.
3.Scorpion EVO 3
is a 9mm submachine gun manufactured by Česká zbrojovka Uherský Brod. The EVO 3 designation denotes that the firearm is a third generation of CZ's line of small submachine guns started by the Škorpion vz. 61. Skorpion Evo 3 evolved from a Slovakian prototype submachine gun called the Laugo. Chambered in 9×19mm Parabellum, the Scorpion EVO 3 is a light weight, compact submachine gun designed to be easily maneuvered in constrained spaces. The A1 variant features a select fire switch, giving the operator the choice of 'safe,' semi-automatic, three-round burst, or fully automatic fire, while the S1's switch only features 'safe' and semi-automatic fire. The standard version comes equipped with a folding, adjustable and fully removable stock for easy transport. The hand guard is lined with multiple Picatinny Rails for the addition of attachments such as grips, sights, flashlights and lasers.
MISC
CAA Roni +CZ P-09
Carbine Version of CZ P-09 Which combined by CAA Roni Pistol Carbine Conversion Kit.
#the sims#the sim#the sims 4#the sims 4 cc#the sims 4 custom content#the sims 4 gun#the sims 4 military#ts4gun#ts4military#ts4acc#ts4cc#life is strange#the sims 4 life is strange#TS4#ts4lis#ts4 cc#czech#czechslovakia#Slovakia#CZ
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Was doing a reread of chapter 31 of Namesake and had to draw Warrick in Wicked Warlock mode. Need a creative way to fight with shield and healing powers? make serrated whips out of your shields! Make sure to float dramatically and evil laugh!
in other news I continue to be fascinated with how Isa draws fluffy hair
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