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[periprose]

Therapy

Bucky Barnes x Reader

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

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

Word Count: 8.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me what the conversation was like.”

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

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

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

Bucky frowns at that.

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

Something about this revelation pisses him off. 

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

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

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

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

/

Mr. Barnes is terrifying when he glares at you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, right. That was my therapist.”

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

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

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

You had no idea Bucky would do that for you.

/

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

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

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

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

Someone he really, truly likes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/

Bucky calls a week later sounding incredibly apologetic.

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

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

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

You are silent for a moment.

You’re hopeless, and you know it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you think I have that potential?”

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

Bucky nods, and leans closer in.

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

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

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

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

It saddens you– you’ll miss him.

/ 

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

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

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

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

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia au #x reader #reader insert #mob!bucky #mafia au bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #no use of y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #the sopranos #oneshot #fluff

[sinsmockingbird]

Because I've seen people asking for it, here's all the information I have (and have made) for the PTN Goddess!AU. Keep in mind it's still in development, meaning I'm happy to hear people's ideas and input and I'll probably change things up from them.

CW: PTN Goddess!AU under the cut.

For this AU I'm using Greek Gods & Goddesses specifically. Mainly because I know about them the most and plus this was inspired by Chameleon, Chelsea, & Cabernet's Greek inspired attires.

Before I go into information on the PTN women, here's stuff to know about the Reader; They are a human who devotes their life to worshipping the Gods. So much so that's caught the attention of a few. They are devout and loyal to their Goddesses, worshipping not just at their shrines, but worshipping them in the bedroom as well.

Next, here's the women I don't have anything set up for yet (have chosen a Greek God they could be). So, would love to hear opinions on these women; Eleven, K.K., Macchiato, McQueen, Pricilla, Shalom, Stargazer, & Uni.

Now, here's a list of the other women and the Gods they represent in this AU;

✧ ADELA: Hades, God of the Underworld, the dead and riches.

✧ ANNE: Asclepius, God of healing and medicine.

✧ BAI YI: Hermes, God of travel, speed, thieves, trade and invention.

✧ CABERNET: Dionysus, God of grape-harvest, wine, orchards, madness and parties.

✧ CASSIA: Aglaia, Goddess of beauty, splendor, glory and adornment.

✧ CHAMELEON: Hypnos, God of sleep.

✧ CHELSEA: Aphrodite, Goddess of beauty, love, desire, passion and pleasure.

✧ CINNABAR: Soteria, Goddess of safety, salvation, deliverance and preservation from harm.

✧ COQUELIC: Demeter, Goddess of harvest, grain and fertility.

✧ CORSO: Lyssa, Goddess of mad rage, frenzy and rabies.

✧ DEREN: Pheme, Goddess of fame and renown.

✧ DREYA: Nyx, Goddess of the night.

✧ EIRENE: Plutus, God of abundance and wealth.

✧ ENFER: Hephaestus, God of technology, craftsman, sculptures and blacksmiths.

✧ GAROFANO: Hera, Goddess of women, marriage, childbirth and familial love.

✧ HAMEL: Terpsichore, Goddess of lyric poetry and dancing.

✧ IGNIS: Hestia, Goddess of hearth, home and family.

✧ IRON: Paean, God of healing and physicians.

✧ KELVIN: Khoine, Goddess of snow.

✧ LAMIA: Poseidon, God of the sea, storms, earthquakes and floods.

✧ LANGLEY: Athena, Goddess of wisdom, strategy, crafts and the arts.

✧ LISA: Apollo, God of the sun, light, plague, music, art, poetry, knowledge and truth.

✧ MANTIS: Pan, God of the wild.

✧ NOX: Psyche, Goddess of the human soul.

✧ NINETY-NINE: Kratos, God of strength.

✧ OAK CASKET: Thanatos, God of peaceful death.

✧ RAHU: Nemesis, Goddess of balance, retribution and vengeance.

✧ RAVEN: Calliope, Goddess of epic poetry.

✧ SERPENT: Morpheus, God of dreams.

✧ SUMIRE: Persephone, Goddess of the springtime and vegetation.

✧ TETRA: Peitho, God of persuasion.

✧ ZOYA: Ares, God of war and courage.

#*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟsins rambles #goddess!au

[novelcain]

Heyo, I have a bit of a prompt for ya. So I’ve seen the “Demon that wants to abduct and forcibly marry Reader,” post(s) and raise a “The local regent/king finds Reader attractive (in a way that he views her almost like a novelty than as a whole person) and offers her a position as a concubine/ ‘palace lady.’” This is a different kind of scenario because straight up murdering the king of the area is not exactly the option that’d let the journey continue smoothly and refusal could also be construed as an offense to the king, but Reader does not want to and needs to continue with them on the journey. All of the other disciples know this, and maybe can tell she’s uncomfortable (even if it’s before Wukong has really fallen for Reader, she is still someone he would consider to be his friend at the very least). How are they going to get out of this one? (Slightly inspired by the time Tripitaka was propositioned in the Kingdom of Women by the Empress.)

Ps: sorry if this is dumb, regardless, I hope you have a good day - 🌺 anon

King: So what do you say, girl? Will you become my concubine? I see no possible reason for you to say no! I can give you all you could ever ask for in exchange for serving my every whim! That seems like a wonderful deal for a woman like you that clearly comes from nothing.

Reader:

Wukong:

Sandy:

Pigsy:

Ao Lie:

Reader: Wha-What?

Tripitaka: N-Now wait just a minute, your Majesty. You c-can't simply expect her to drop everything and stay here-

King: Well of course I can! I am the king of these lands! In fact! I insist upon it! Woman, you shall stay here and serve your new king immediately as soon as you are cleaned.

Reader: *feeling a panic attack approaching as the room starts to spin*

Wukong: *holding back the urge to commit violent murder*

Sandy: *rethinking this whole "pacifism" thing*

Pigsy: *looking disgusted at the king*

Ao Lie: *wondering if anyone would notice if he turned back into a dragon and ate the king*

Tripitaka: *trying so hard to think of a peaceful solution while also trying not to cry over how much the king is objectifying Reader* Y-You can't just h-have her! She's a necessary part of our pilgrimage!

King: By the Heavens! She's just one woman how valuable could she be!? After all, she is just your maidservant is she not!?

Tripitaka: *remembering that is the disguise they came up with for her* Yes, b-but! Why must you have her, great King!?

King: Because I have never seen a woman like her before! She is a beautiful foreign flower that I simply must have for myself! Here! I shall be merciful and send you off with another servant!

King: *gestures to his guards to find a servant*

Wukong: *reaches toward his ear for his staff*

Sandy: *reaches for his spade*

Pigsy: *reaches for his rake*

Ao Lie: *gets ready to turn into a dragon*

Tripitaka: *frozen in shock*

Reader: *sees the carnage about to begin*

Reader: I HAVE A DISEASE!

Everyone: *stops and turns to face her* HUH?!

Reader: I... have a disease.

King: *narrows eyes in suspension* And what is the name of this disease?

Reader: *sweats nervously as all knowledge of every disease she knows of decides to take a vacation from her brain at the one moment she needs it most*

Reader: In... junct... co... itis.... Injunctcoitis.

Everyone:

King: I have never heard of this Injunctcoitis. *turns to the court physician*

Court physician: Neither have I, your Majesty.

Reader: It's a northern disease! From the north! Where I'm from!

King: *looks at court physician*

Court physician: It is possible, your Majesty. *approaches Reader starts inspecting her* And what are the symptoms?

Reader: Oh, w-women don't have any symptoms. *takes a deep breath and composes herself* But for men it makes their dick fall off.

Everyone: IT WHAT!?!?!?!

Reader: Yep! After two months, yo dick just gonna... fall off. And it's a sexually transmitted disease.

King: I can't take any risk of that being true! Get them out of here before this disease spreads to the kingdom!

The Pilgrim Gang: *gets escorted out of the kingdom*

Everyone:

Reader: *sniffles*

The boys: *hugs Reader*

P.S. this so wasn't dumb I had fun writing this 🤭

#🌺 anon #skittle answers #isekai'd to the west #isekai'd to the west skit #journey to the west x reader #jttw x reader #sun wukong #journey to the west #jttw #monkey king #wukong #the pilgrim gang #tripitaka #sandy #pigsy #ao lie #tang sanzang #sha wujing #zhu bajie #bai longma

[cellythefloshie]

;; Look At My Face

Summary: Dunn is livid after a high hit leaves him bloodied. You are able to bring him some comfort after a concussion spotter has him removed from the game. Kinks & TW: Hurt/Comfort. Notes: Reader is a medical resident/intern for the Seattle Kraken Organization, this would make her 24+. If this was going to be anything more than a short one-shot I would spend more time researching the NHL concussion protocols so you get a lot of generalization. I am also in no way a medical professional - my knowledge goes as far as basic first aid. AND yes I spent a good 20 minutes studying the different members of NHL medical teams just for 700 words. We're lucky I wanted to keep this shorter. Inspired By: This Gif Set. And the incident from the Ducks vs Seattle games on 2023-03-07. Word Count: 708

The hit from Max Comtois had been high. His shoulder collided with Vince Dunn square in the face and down onto the ice where he lay still until his slow-moving body had lifted itself from the ice. Everyone had seen it. Well, everyone except the officials. The crowd was left roaring in disapproval, and Vince? He was livid. Skating back to the bench, where the trainers waited to get a good look at the damage done, he spewed profanities. He let out a few choice words, coward and fuck among them as he smacked his stick against the boards in protest. It was only then the referees made a call - but the hall wasn’t against Comtois for his high hit. No, it was against Vince for his unsportsmanlike conduct. 

Vince was in the box for a limited time before he was removed from the box, and sent down the tunnel to you and the rest of the medical team that waited for him. The concussion spotter had seen something, and he would have to spend the rest of the game away from the ice. He was still fueled with anger as he trudged down the hallway. He was met by the team’s primary care physician, who sat Vince down and began to go through their set checklist laid out by the NHL’s concussion protocol. 

As a medical resident welcomed onto the team’s medical staff in an intern capacity - one of the NHL’s desperate attempts to assure more women were involved and represented in hockey - you stood by, filled out the needed paperwork and did as you were told. This was a huge learning opportunity for you, and you hoped to one day return to the organization in a physician role - so you refused to do anything to fuck things up. 

“Stay with him,” the physician told you when he completed his list, “if there are any changes page me - and get that cut clean up.”

It was a simple enough task, and you accepted it with a nod. Pulling on a pair of gloves you stepped in front of Vince who sat still half-dressed in his equipment in his stall. He had hoped to return to the game, but you were sure the clock was creeping onto its final minutes. You cleaned him up in silence,  your eyes carefully examining the shallow cut on the bridge of his nose. His visor had cut through the skin on impact, sending blood streaming down his face. 

“You won’t need stitches,” you assured him after a moment, your careful touch wiping the blood away with some gauze and antiseptic. 

“Thanks, Doc,” he muttered his tone calmer than it had been when he had first entered the room - but his look of frustration remained. 

You could see it in the tension of his jaw and in the glassiness of his eyes. Vince looked to be on the verge of tears. Not because he was in pain, but because he was frustrated. The officials had missed another blatant call. Not only was it missed it had sent him back to the locker room, he could miss games because of it. 

It left him sighing in his seat in front of you, his bright eyes blinking slowly to keep even a single tear from falling. Then, came something that surprised you. Vince was leaning in, defeated, and his forehead came to rest against the curves of your waist. You could feel his hot breath washing over you through your team-branded polo, and it was followed by the touch of his hands. They stroked over the breath of one of your thighs, a hand on each side as his arms came to wrap around your leg. It was an innocent thing, an action born from the need for calm, the need for comfort. 

It was a comfort you provided, letting him hold you, and you had even lost yourself in the tender moment as you raised a hand to stroke through the curls of his sweat-drenched hair. The two of you remained there until your phone vibrated against your hip, a silent reminder that he was now cleared to go home. 

#vince dunn #nhl rpf #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #rpf #hockey rpf #hockey players #hockey imagines #vince dunn fanfic

[richincolor]

Title: The Last Bloodcarver Author: Vanessa Le Genres: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Mystery Pages: 384 Publisher: Roaring Brook Press Review Copy: eARC provided via NetGalley Availability: Available now

Summary: Nhika is a bloodcarver. A coldhearted, ruthless being who can alter human biology with just a touch.

In the industrial city of Theumas, Nhika is seen not as a healer, but a monster that kills for pleasure. And in the city's criminal underbelly, the rarest of monsters are traded for gold. When Nhika is finally caught by the infamous Butchers, she's forced to heal the last witness to a high-profile murder.

As Nhika delves into the investigation, all signs point to Ven Kochin, an alluring yet entitled physician's aide. Despite his relentless attempts to push her out of his opulent world, something inexplicable draws Nhika to him. But when she discovers Kochin is not who he claims to be, Nhika will be faced with a greater, more terrifying evil lurking in the city's center...

Her only chance to survive lies in a terrible choice—become the dreaded monster the city fears, or risk jeopardizing the future of her kind.

Review: [The Last Bloodcarver includes a significant amount of body horror, from interacting with corpses to repeated references to medical experimentation by a colonial power. The book also includes animal death and extended scenes of characters seriously injured (stab/gunshot wounds).]

I absolutely adored Vanessa Le’s The Last Bloodcarver. Le’s debut novel is set in a complicated Vietnam-inspired fantasy (and science fiction) world, one where war has forced Nhika’s family out of Yarong and into the neutral city-state of Theumas. Even though Nhika has escaped into (currently) neutral territory, Daltanny’s occupation of Yarong still affects Nhika, from the proliferation of the term “bloodcarver” instead of “heartsooth” to the loss of cultural knowledge regarding heartsoothing after Nhika’s grandmother’s death.

That cultural disconnect and the loss of knowledge is something that haunts Nhika throughout the novel. She is keenly aware of her much she doesn’t know and has complicated feelings about how she uses her heartsoothing to survive when the previous generations could do it openly and were honored for it. Theumas might be better for Nhika than Yarong under Daltanny’s occupation, since she isn’t automatically slated for horrific medical “experiments”, but Theumas has its own problems. When the Butchers capture and arrange to sell Nhika, the prospective buyers range from people who think if they consume her heart, they will be cured of whatever ails them, to people who clearly want to use her as an assassin. Even when she is purchased by the Congmi family to try to heal a family friend (and promised freedom and payment even if she can’t help him), fear, suspicion, and hostility are close at hand.

So it’s wonderful whenever Nhika is able to make small connections to what she has lost. (There is a scene where she acquires some Yarongese items and is overwhelmed by what they represent that is just lovely.) Whenever Nhika made the choice to heal and to help, I was delighted by her determination to honor what her grandmother taught her. I appreciated the contrast Kochin represented to Nhika’s experience and the places where the two of them were aligned. Kochin was a character that I didn’t warm up to until after his reveal, but I think his character arc complemented Nhika’s very well.

The mystery of who killed Quan and seriously injured Hendon isn’t a complex one, but unraveling the mystery is far less important than Nhika learning why it happened. Once we have that information, the rest of the book falls into place beautifully. Le’s plotting and development of themes really shined in the second half and propelled the novel to an incredible final act that made me fervently hope there would be a sequel. (And there will be!)

Recommendation: Get it now, so long as you aren’t put off by body horror, medical experimentation, and some gore. Vanessa Le created a fascinating fantasy/sci-fi world in The Last Bloodcarver, and the impacts of war and colonialism on Nhika and her people are explored in interesting ways while a murder mystery unfolds in the foreground. Le’s medical-based magic system is fascinating, and Nhika’s character journey is compelling. I’m looking forward to the conclusion of this duology next year.

Extras: Author Chat w/ Vanessa Le | Books and Boba

Q&A: Vanessa Le, Author of ‘The Last Bloodcarver’

#the last bloodcarver #book reviews #vanessa le #fantasy #science fiction #mystery

[scotianostra]

18th January 1782 marks the death of the Scottish Physician and philosopher John Pringle,

Sir John Pringle is one of three men who are named the "father of military medicine"

John Pringle led a varied life. Though a career in commerce beckoned, his life would lead a different path, he went first to be educated at St Andrews University and then to Edinburgh for a year before being sent to acquire commercial experience in Amsterdam.

One day, when visiting Leiden, chance and an inquisitive mind led Pringle to the lecture room of Herman Boerhaave, it inspired him to abandon his future in commerce and become a medical student. Compared with today, medical education was then extremely brief and, two years later, in 1730 Pringle qualified MD and returned to Scotland to set up practice in Edinburgh.

As well as practising medicine Pringle was known for his interest in moral philosophy and in 1734 was appointed Professor of Pneumatics and Moral Philosophy. However it was his medical abilities that earned Pringle his in history. In 1742 he was appointed as hpersonal physician to the Earl of Stair at Fladres who put him in charge of the military hospital.

Pringle was a careful and methodical man who believed that prevention was better than cure. He insisted on sanitary measures that reduced the rate of typhus and dysentery, diseases which killed more soldiers than actual battle, and pioneered the concept of hospitals in the field as neutral territory. In 1745 his services were recognized by the Duke of Cumberland who appointed him 'Physician General to His Majesty's Forces in the Low Countries and beyond the seas'. Pringle was subsequently elected a Fellow of the Royal Society. He had resigned his chair at Edinburgh but returned to Scotland where he witnessed the Battle of Culloden in 1746 and compared the varying degrees of morbidity in the forts which had been built to subdue the Highlands.

After another sojourn overseas with the army he settled in London in 1749 and carried out various experiments on putrefaction, recommending the use of ammonia whenever it occurred. He continued his interest in typhus (or 'gaol' or 'putrid' fever) and wrote the work for which he is primarily remembered, Observations on the diseases of the Army. This was first published in 1752 but ran to several editions. He was appointed physician to both King George III and Queen Charlotte, a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of London and, in 1772, President of the Royal Society. The King acknowledged his work by awarding him a baronetcy in 1766. In 1778 Pringle retired as PRS because of declining health and returned to Edinburgh but, feeling that the city had deteriorated since his youth, returned to London where he died a year later.

There is a monument to Pringle in Westminster Abbey, as seen in the pics, it reads;

Sacred to the memory of Sir JOHN PRINGLE, Baronet, who was at an early period of life Professor of Moral Philosophy in the university of EDINBURGH: afterward physician to the ARMY, to the PRINCESS OF WALES, to the QUEEN and to KING GEORGE III. President of the ROYAL Society; member of the ROYAL Academy of SCIENCES at Paris etc.etc. His medical and philosophical knowledge, his inviolable integrity, and truely Christian virtues rendered him an honour to his age and country. He was born in SCOTLAND in April 1707 and died in LONDON in January 1782.

#scotland #scottish #history #physician #doctor #medical history

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Twenty-Five

TOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Five: Scheming Psychics

Summary: The Platonians decide they want Bones and (Y/N) to remain with them, but Bones and (Y/N) don't want anything to do with them. Of course, that angers the Platonians.

            “Enterprise, acknowledge,” said Kirk, pacing. Finally, the Platonians had stopped forcing him to hurt himself, and now Kirk was attempting to contact the Enterprise to get an escape route. “Enterprise, come in.” He huffed. “I cain’t raise them.”

            “Obviously, Parmen does not wish any contact made with the Enterprise,” said Spock, crossing his arms. That did not bode well for (Y/N) (who was, quite frankly, Spock’s highest priority).

            “He still needs the ship’s medical stores,” said Bones.

            “To shut out any knowledge of his brutal treatment of a Starfleet Captain,” said Spock. His eyes went to (Y/N). “And to prevent any alert on their intentions towards our crewmates.”

            “We need to get through to them,” said (Y/N). “We can’t let the Platon—” (Y/N) stiffened and stood alongside Bones.

            “T’hy’la?” said Spock, on alert.

            “We can’t control our bodies,” said Bones, narrowing his eyes.

            A moment later, Spock and Kirk stiffened and moved jerkily towards the door with them. It seemed the Platonians wanted to see all of them.

l

            The group stumbled into Parmen’s room where he and Philana sat on the dais together, the King and Queen on their throne. Their emotions of superiority and amusement at the Starfleet officers being under their control flooded the room.

            “Gentle spacemen,” said Philana, rising to address them. “We are eternally in your debt.” She waved a hand at some artifacts beside her. “We have some trifles for you. Please accept them as tokens of our gratitude. They stem from the very source of our information.”

            “To our noble Captain, the shield carried by Pericles, as a symbol of gallant leadership,” she said, and a shield rose up and floated into Kirk’s hands.

            “To our silent and cerebral Mr. Spock, this kithara to pluck music to soothe his ever-active brow,” she said, and the kithara levitated to Spock.

            “To the physician Dr. McCoy, who saved Platonius and my spouse, this ancient collection of Greek cures, penned by Hippocrates himself,” said Philana, and the scroll flew to Bones.

            “And last, to Mx. (L/N), who calmed my husbands delirium and saved his mind, a laurel wreath to symbolize the Muses, inspiration of art and the expression of the soul,” said Philana.

            The laurel wreath landed on (Y/N)’s hand, golden leaves matching their bright eyes. They wanted to reach up and take it off, but a force kept their hand down.

            Kirk stepped forward. “Has the Enterprise been released yet?”

            Parmen waved a hand. “Captain, wait. I know what you’re thinking. My humble apologies.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. There was no sorrow in his emotions.

            “You were badly used,” continued Parmen. “In my own defense, allow me to say that my illness was more profoundly disturbing than I myself realized. I am sure, Captain, that you, too, have been out of sorts and have been driven to fits of temper and rage. Unlike you, however, what I think and feel, whether for good or ill, is instantly translated into reality. So, please, find it in your heart to forgive me.”

            “Certainly,” said Kirk, but he was focused. “Has the Enterprise been released yet?”

            “It will be shortly,” said Parmen.

            “Then good day,” said Kirk. “And thank you for the presents.” If letting Parmen act like he hadn’t hurt Kirk meant that he could get his crew to safety, Kirk would do it.

            “Not at all,” said Parmen. “But there is one final request. After my nearly fatal infection, it has become obvious to us all that we cannot afford to be without a skilled physician. And, clearly, our abilities become unwieldy without control of our emotions. Therefore, we should like you, Dr. McCoy and Mx. (L/N), to remain.”

            Spock narrowed his eyes slightly.

            “I’m very sorry, but that’s impossible,” said Bones shortly.

            “We won’t leave Starfleet,” said (Y/N).

            “Your duties will be extraordinarily light,” said Parmen, continuing without paying any attention to the response he’d been given. “You shall be freed to read and meditate, to conduct research, to create connections with the people of Platonius—” (Y/N) flinched “—whatever you like. You will want for nothing.”

            “No,” said (Y/N) levelly.

            Parmen sighed, and his emotions sharpened in frustration behind the veneer of politeness. “We should like to keep it cordial, but, uh, we are determined to have you stay, Doctor, Lieutenant.”

            Kirk stepped forward, protective of his crew. “Dr. McCoy saved your life, and (L/N) mitigated the dangers of your powers.”

            “I am losing my patience, Captain,” snapped Parmen.

            “And you consider yourself a disciple of Plato?!” snapped Kirk angrily.

            “We managed to live in peace and harmony,” said Parmen darkly.

            “Whose harmony?” remarked Spock. “Yours? Plato wanted truth, beauty, and, above all, justice.” All things my T’hy’la upholds.

            Parmen shook his head and sighed as if dealing with a child. “My dear Mr. Spock, I admit that circumstances have forced us to make a few adaptations of Plato, but ours is the most democratic society conceivable. Anyone can at any moment be or do anything he wishes—even to become ruler of Platonius—if his mind is strong enough.”

            “Your planet uses people because they are too lazy to truly use their minds to do anything,” said (Y/N). “For having such an advanced civilization, you have to rely on bullying Alexander for entertainment. You can barely think for yourself, let alone have a democratic society.”

            For a negotiations specialist, they do have a significant talent when it comes to, as the humans say, “poking the bear,” thought Spock.

            “Oh, come now, we are not children,” said Parmen. “In your culture, justice is the will of the stronger. It is forced upon people by means of weapons and fleets of starships. Our justice is the will of the stronger mind. And I, for one, consider it a vast improvement.”

            “We don’t use our weapons for the kind of brutality your practice,” said Kirk.

            Parmen narrowed his eyes. “Farewell, Captain,” he said coldly.

            Kirk was all to happy to comply, and he turned away with Spock. “Come on Bones, (L/N).”

            Parmen raised a hand, and (Y/N) felt their body lock into place.

            “Doctor? (Y/N)?” said Spock.

            “We can’t move,” breathed (Y/N), trying to rid themself of the horrible feeling of being out of control of their own body.

            “They’re going to keep us here no matter what,” said Bones.

            “Captain, go while you still can,” advised Parmen threateningly.

            “We’re not leaving until McCoy is released,” said Kirk.

            “This is not the Enterprise,” snapped Parmen, and his anger flared and burned into (Y/N). “You are not in command, Captain.”

            “Oh, why even discuss it?” said Philana, almost bored with the whole ordeal. Irritation, however, remained, and that was dangerous. “Get rid of them.”

            “Oh, no, my dear,” said Parmen. “That might offend the good Doctor and pretty Lieutenant.” He glanced at Kirk and Spock. “You wish to stay? By all means. You can help us celebrate our anniversary. In the process, I hope we can persuade you to join our tiny republic.”

            “You won’t persuade us,” said Bones icily.

            “We’re not interested, and we never will be,” said (Y/N).

            “Oh, I think your opinion will change,” said Parmen.

            He twisted his hand, and Bones and (Y/N) were pulled towards the dais. They were forced to stand beside Parmen and Philana stiffly. Parmen directed his hand towards Spock and Kirk, and two green laurel wreaths fell at their feet. Spock and Kirk resisted the force of Parmen’s abilities, but they bent and stiffly placed the wreaths on their heads. Their gifts flew to the side to give them a wide open space.

            Alexander began to play the drums. Spock and Kirk bowed, straightened, and began to skip around each other. (Y/N) felt sick to their stomach seeing their friend and love forced to perform like jesters for Parmen and Philana

            “I’m Tweedledee; he’s Tweedledum,” sang Kirk.

            “Two spacemen marching to a drum,” sang Spock stiffly.

            “We slithe among the mimsy toves and gyre among the borogoves,” said the pair together, helpless to stop. They bowed again, and tense smiles were pulled onto their faces.

            The doors behind them opened, and Aristos walked in. He cast a glance at Spock and Kirk and smiled as if this was normal and alright.

            “A show and you didn’t invite me?” remarked Aristos, walking up to the dais.

            “We had hoped things would go more smoothly,” sighed Philana, bored.

            Aristos tutted and looked at (Y/N). “You don’t want to stay in this paradise?”

            “No,” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

            Aristos’s gaze darkened, and he leaned in. “A pity. You, such an incredible psychic, could do so well here.” He smirked. “But I’m sure you’ll learn to enjoy it.”

            Spock’s eyes narrowed at how desiring Aristos’s eyes were as he looked at (Y/N).

            “Can we get on with things?” sighed Philana.

            “Don’t get upset at me, Philana,” said Aristos. “I’m just here for the sights.” He glanced at (Y/N).

            “They’re not staying,” spat Kirk as he was forced to the floor. “No matter what they do to us—”

            Parmen raised a hand, and Kirk and Spock went flying across the floor.

            “Spock! Captain!” cried (Y/N), trying to move forward. Aristos’s fingers tensed, and they were frozen in place.

            Parmen curled his fingers, and Kirk spoke. The words were pulled from him unwillingly. “Being your servant…what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend nor service to do till you—”

            “Stop it,” said Bones. “Don’t do this to them.”

            “Bones, (L/N)…” Kirk gritted his teeth and managed to speak his own mind. “No matter what he makes me say or do…the answer’s…no.” Parmen raised a hand, and Kirk groaned.

            (Y/N) winced. They could feel the pain Kirk was going through as Parmen used him as a puppet. “No, Parmen!” they said worriedly. Their eyes went to Spock. They didn’t want to know what would happen to him next. “Stop it!”

            Parmen just continued his torture, and Philana smirked as Kirk contorted in pain. Aristos watched in amusement. (Y/N) was sick with the amount of joy the Platonians felt at seeing another person harmed.

            “Well, Doctor, Lieutenant?” said Parmen.

            “I…I have my orders,” said Bones, remaining strong.

            “We’re not staying with you,” said (Y/N) resolutely.

            “Then the show continues,” said Aristos, pouting as if he was saddened to see the Starfleet officers further in pain. “Maybe we should bring the other one in?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Spock!

            “A wonderful idea, Aristos,” said Parmen, raising his hand.

            Spock stood from the floor while Kirk lay flat. His hands moved like a ballet-dancer, and he walked towards Kirk’s prone body. Then, he began to dance. He tapped his shoes on the ground around Kirk’s head.

            (Y/N) sucked in their breath. They hated to watch Spock be forced to perform in an event he would never choose to. It wasn’t Spock.

            Parmen, Philana, and Aristos just smirked and smiled. They were pleased with the torture they enacted.

            Spock clapped dramatically and jumped over Kirk. He nearly landed on his head. But the dance didn’t stop. Spock couldn’t stop. His foot kicked over Kirk’s head before lowering towards his face. Bones and (Y/N) tensed. Spock shook with the effort not to move. Finally, the Platonians let go, and he fell back to sit down. He panted with the strain and pain.

            (Y/N) wanted nothing more to run down and check on him, but they couldn’t do anything. They were stuck in place beside the Platonians, the torturers of the people they loved.

            And then it got worse.

            Laughter forced its way out of Spock’s throat. A grin was pulled across his face, and he couldn’t avoid the expression of emotion. (Y/N) felt sick to their stomach, and they wanted to run to their dear boyfriend, calm his emotions, and help him recover. (Y/N) watched in horror as the laughter continued uncontrollably. They knew Spock was hating the entire experience. He lay back on the stairs and continued to laugh.

            “Stop it!” shouted (Y/N). “You have to stop this. He’s a Vulcan! You can’t force emotion out of him!”

            “Oh, you must be joking,” said Philana, tsking.

            “Well, we can’t let him die laughing, can we?” said Parmen, raising his hand.

            Spock’s laughter turned to sobs. (Y/N)’s heart ached, and a deep-rooted anger continued to brew and build within them.

            “Stop. It,” said (Y/N).

            Aristos cocked his head. “You’re very attached to him, aren’t you?”

            “Let him go,” repeated (Y/N), angrily.

            Aristos’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that (Y/N), the pretty and powerful empath, was already taken. It made his desires that much harder to attain. He curled his fingers, and Spock’s body was wracked with sobs.

            “I said stop!”

            (Y/N) snapped. A wave of psychic energy rolled off of them. Pure empathic energy surged out around them, and their eyes burst with gold. The Platonians jerked as their emotions were forcefully shut down. Spock let out a breath as the sadness being wrenched from him was quelled. He could once again control his emotions. And it was thanks to his T’hy’la.

            However…all the Platonians eyes went to them, and (Y/N) felt their anger and interest redouble as they stared at the empath who had abilities on par with their own.

            (Y/N)’s heart sank into their stomach. They had protected Spock this time, but they had a sinking suspicion they had just made the situation worse.

l

            Having been “graciously” returned to their quarters, the group was left in tension. Kirk and Bones hovered to the side and glanced worriedly at Spock. He had his fingers laced and was staring ahead of himself solemnly. He had been through…quite something.

            (Y/N) knelt beside him. “Spock?” they said quietly.

            Bones and Kirk exchanged glances and stood carefully behind them. They were worried, but they knew that it was best for (Y/N) to approach Spock to help him.

            “I trust they did not attempt to harm you, T’hy’la,” said Spock.

            “They hurt me by hurting you, Spock. You know that,” said (Y/N).

            Spock’s eyes were downcast. “I am…displeased that you had to witness such a scene.”

            “That was not you, dear,” said (Y/N). “And I am never ashamed of you for displaying emotions.” They smiled. “That being said, I know you don’t want to. It isn’t you. So I understand that this was difficult.” They held up two fingers, offering a connection but allowing Spock to decide what he was comfortable with at the moment.

            Spock reached out and touched his two fingers to theirs. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy his t’hy’la’s warm, familiar aura. In the storm of motions the Platonians had conjured within him, (Y/N) was the calm he needed.

            “Thank you, T’hy’la,” he said, gazing at them. “For interfering and for now.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “Of course, dear.”

            “However, I admit that the Platonians have still evoked a great…hatred in me,” said Spock. He looked at Bones, then Kirk, then (Y/N). “I must master it. I must control it. I must.”

            “I know.” (Y/N) kept their fingers against his. “I know.”

            “I won’t let everyone keep getting hurt,” said Bones resolutely. “I’m staying. Having one of us stay could appease Parmen enough that they’ll let you all go.”

            “You can’t,” said Kirk sharply.

            “And it won’t work,” sighed (Y/N). “By showing my empathy back there, I really proved that I’m the type of psychic that they want.” They sighed. “I made things worse.”

            “You did not make things worse, T’hy’la,” said Spock. “The Platonians already wanted you. That is through no fault of your own.”

            “I’m still putting you all in more danger,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, we’re all staying together,” said Kirk decidedly. “No one is leaving anyone behind.”

            Bones nodded. “Alright, Jim.”

            “Yes,” said Spock, nodding.

            “Of course,” said (Y/N). They stiffened and stood.

            “(L/N)?” said Kirk.

            (Y/N)’s body moved without their will towards the door. “It seems I’m going somewhere.”

            Spock moved with them and took their wrist in his hand to hold them still for a moment. “T’hy’la, we will get away from here. You won’t have to say.”

            “I trust you, Spock,” said (Y/N), smiling before their body moved out of the room. The door slammed behind them.

l

            (Y/N) entered a smaller chamber and found Aristos on his own within.

            “Welcome, Lieutenant,” said Aristos. “Or can I call you (Y/N)?”

            “I’d prefer ‘lieutenant,’ and I’d feel more welcome if I hadn’t been forced to come here,” said (Y/N).

            “Calling you with my abilities was the simplest method to bring you here. It was more efficient than going and interrupting your time with your friends,” said Aristos.

            (Y/N) felt the heat of his anger at the mention of “friends.” “I thought your civilization was a polite one. And yet you can’t ask a simple question or respect free will.”

            “I thought you’d appreciate efficiency,” said Aristos. He smirked. “You know, keeping such company suggested so. A Vulcan is an unusual choice of companion. Especially for an empath.”

            (Y/N) crossed their arms. “Spock is a Vulcan, yes. But he’s actually civilized and a good man.”

            “I can be a very good man,” said Aristos, walking towards them.

            “You have yet to be a decent on,” responded (Y/N). “And my answer to staying on Platonius won’t change just by flirting with me.”

            “Who said I was flirting with you? I’m just being a gentleman,” said Aristos, smiling.

            “I can feel what your emotions are. You hide nothing,” said (Y/N).

            Aristos reached up and brushed his fingers over (Y/N)’s cheek. He was quick to pull back, though, not giving them a chance to use their abilities. “You are so clever, even when you’re arguing with me. And beautiful.”

            (Y/N) batted his hand away, and instantly, their arm froze. They could speak, but their body refused to move. “Don’t touch me,” they said.

            “I know you believe we just want you because we want a new psychic on Platonius, which is true, but you’re so much more than that,” said Aristos, fingers hovering over (Y/N)’s cheek. “I mean, yes, an empath is so new and exciting, and it could be quite something if combined with our abilities, but you’re also just…darling.”

            So still shallow. (Y/N) was incredibly unimpressed and annoyed.

            “I’ve always wanted to have someone like you. Powerful, pretty, exciting,” said Aristos. He sighed. “The people on Platonius…I’ve known them all for centuries. It gets so boring.”

            “That doesn’t mean you can keep me here,” said (Y/N).

            Aristos smirked. “I’ll make sure you find a reason to stay.”

            “Hurting my friends just makes me want to fight you more,” retorted (Y/N).

            Aristos’s grip on their chin tightened. “Yes…You and that Vulcan once more. You care far too much for him.” He smirked, and (Y/N)’s heart dropped at the darkness in his emotions. “I’m sure we can make it quite clear that resisting us won’t end well for him. Perhaps that’ll be your reason to stay.” He leaned forward, and (Y/N) was smothered in his emotions. “And then I’ll show you just how much Platonius can be enjoyable.”

Taglist:

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@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

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@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

#logos and pathos #x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #x nb reader #nb reader #empath reader #empath!reader #empath #commander spock #spock #mr spock #mister spock #star trek spock #spock x reader #commander spock x reader tos #tos spock #st tos #spock tos #tos #star trek the original series #star trek fanfic #star trek tos #star trek #star trek x reader #jim kirk #james kirk #james t kirk #captain kirk #kirk

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC Lucien's Through Thousands of Mirrors event translation (Day 5 - Monday)

Through Thousands of Mirrors Event | Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 (You're here!) | Day 6 | Day 7 | HS/Uni SSR Story: Monochrome Scenery

-

special thanks to ivi (@ivioivioivi on twitter) for helping me with that last part 🫶

-

[PREVIEW]

A perfect week starts with morning prepping.

Lucien opens the textbook and reads through all the content that will be covered today.

He closes the textbook, then mentally connects and integrates the knowledge.

Ok, it's time to go to class!

-

[NEUROSCIENCE]

In Dr. Lawson's neuroscience class, there are occasional pop quizzes.

The first question can be answered with common sense, the second question is doable if you've reviewed the textbook, and the third question covers the material from the previous class, so it's quite easy.

The final question: "Discuss in 20 words the correlation between the prefrontal cortex, human behavior, and choice patterns in stressful environments."

Uh?

"P.S. Just kidding. Draw a cat in the upper left corner of your answer sheet for bonus points."

.......

"P.P.S. It would be even better if it's a tabby cat. An extra point for those who draw a tabby cat."

.....Okay.

-

[COGNITIVE SCIENCE]

Lucien looks at the cognitive science lesson plan and has a sudden inspiration.

It would be interesting to research a method that makes the brain receive or process information in a fixed manner.

He thinks Dr. Lawson would refuse the project proposal due to ethical concerns.

And if BS were to propose this direction, his research freedom would be restricted.

You can't have your cake and eat it too*.

[T/N: "鱼和熊掌不可兼得" (yú hé xióng zhǎng bù kě jiān dé) (lit translated to: You can't have both fish and bear's paw) is a Chinese idioms that means you can't have both at the same time. It's similar to the English saying, "You can't have your cake and eat it too."]

-

[BIOMEDICAL SCIENCE]

When you have many classmates aspiring to become physicians around you, there is always a loving and friendly atmosphere in the biomedical classroom.

But when your classmates start discussing how to prevent hair loss, this atmosphere dissipates.

Lucien touches his own hair, there shouldn't be a problem.

-

[FREE TIME]

Besides observing the passing students, Lucien also enjoys observing the small animals on campus.

Chickadees, crows, squirrels...

Um?

Lucien looks at his empty hands and understands why the squirrels on campus are particularly big and strong.

-

[LAB]

Lucien really likes his "workstation" in the laboratory.

The desk isn't large, but it's by the window, providing him with an environment where he won't be easily disturbed, and it just a bit sunny in the afternoon.

It's quite suitable for keeping some plants.

-

[LAB]

The beauty of science lies in its rigor, in the certainty reached through numerous hypotheses and repeated proofs.

And perhaps it also lies in the uncertainty of all possibilities during the process and the journey of venturing into the vast unknown.

-

[LAB]

Dr. Lawson treats people cordially and enjoys having open discussions with all kind of questions with students.

When facing Colt's statement that seems to come out of nowhere, "Capable people can be arrogant," Dr. Lawson also shares his own opinion.

"I think that arrogance should be directly proportional to one's achievements."

Lucien nods and says, “I also think we should always examine ourselves.”

Dr. Lawson raises his head with little cunning smile : “No, what I mean is for you to get a bit more achievements.”

Lucien was choked.

#kid XM is SO unintentionally funny im HOWLING #also wtf bs he's just a CHILD #dr lawson u should adopt this child #mlqc lucien #mr love queen's choice #mlqc cn #mlqc spoiler #mlqc #mlqc translation #mr. love queen's choice #mr love lucien #mlqc xu mo

[dailycharacteroption]

Hybrid Class Review: Investigator part 3

(art by LaminIllustration on DeviantArt)

Archetypes

The investigator boasts an interesting set of archetypes, so let’s dive right in! I tend to divide these archetypes into four categories.

Perhaps the first group I’d like to go over are those investigators that are still expressly detectives while dropping the alchemy in favor of other specializations. Perhaps none is more iconic here than the sleuth, which feels like it was made specifically to be a non-specialized detective that drops alchemy entirely in favor of having a pool of luck to help them through the day. Meanwhile, the Jinyiwe focuses on divine mandate and gains spells from such a source, while the Psychic Detective instead uses psychic magic and their sensitivity to gain clues and insights as well as defend themselves. Scavengers also exist which use quasi-magical gadgets instead of alchemical potions, and the Questioner augments their interviews with bardic magic. Additionally, Spiritualists (the archetype, not the class) channel the spirits of the dead to gain answers, while Malice Binders turn witchcraft lore against the wicked.

Of course, some investigators keep the alchemy while still having their own specializations as detectives. Bonded Investigators make use of a familiar ally, for example, while Steel Hounds are never without their trusty firearms. Ciphers investigate by being supernaturally unnoticeable by those that would stop them, while Cult Hunters and Infiltrators both finds ways to find and put a stop to secret societies and insular groups. Others specialize in gleaning secrets from the dead, such as Gravediggers and Dread Investigators, though their methods differ. Empiricists use unfailing logic to defeat deception and trickery, while Profilers use psychological profiles to determine suspects. Forensic Physicians are trained to glean secrets from the dead in a more mundane manner, while Skeptics use their keen senses and knowledge of parlor tricks to reveal fake hauntings and deal with the real ones. Meanwhile, Guardians of Immortaility, Lepidstadt Inspectors, and Ruthless Agents are known for their dogged pursuit of their goals. Finally, Hallucinists use mind-altering substances to reveal the truth, while Lamplighters reveal with alchemical light sources.

Of course, there are some so-called “investigators” that actually deserve investigation of their own, notably the Conspirators, who hide their activities and deceive others, and the Masterminds, master manipulators that can coach their allies on plans in advance.

While plenty of investigator characters may not actually be professional detectives, some of these archetypes are expressly not that while still using their brilliant intellect. Some are scholars and archaeological collectors, such as Antiquarians, while others study mysterious beasts like Cryptid Scholars. Meanwhile, Cartographers and Star Watcher, who study their charts for very different effects, are also a possibility. Engineers create inspired devices, while Holomog Demolitionists destroy with shocking precision and cunning. Utterly ignored but shockingly competent is the Majordomo, who serves dutifully and organizes those under them to great effect, while Tekritanin Arbiters put their brilliant minds to resolving conflict. Natural Philosophers meanwhile study nature directly, while Portal Seekers study the realms beyond the natural. Finally, Reckless Epicureans test their experimental formulae on themselves, while Toxin Codexers specialize in understanding poisons even beyond the standard investigator’s knowledge.

As you can see, these archetypes come in all shapes and sizes, but all in the end fall back on the core theme of the investigator, which is finding the truth. That truth may be the mysteries of a crime or misdeed, or they may be more esoteric such as scientific advancement, occult mysteries, and beyond.

That does it for today, but tomorrow I’ll share some thoughts on the class as a whole.

#pathfinder #hybrid class #review #investigator #archetype

[choking-on-your-alibis]

hello and welcome! this blog is an AU of the greek gods. In order to punish the Gods for tormenting humanity due to godly affairs, Zeus has banished them to the mortal realm, to live like mortals. However, Athena and Hera saw this as unfair, as Zeus himself committed atrocities against humanity as well. Therefore, they worked together to banish Zeus to the mortal realm too. The Gods powers and immortality are still in tact, they are simply not allowed to live in their respective realms.

(this is not myth compliant! most of them are probably not going to be related due to shipping)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

interactable characters:

↬ achelous: patron god of the achelous river

↬ aeolus: god of the wind and air

↬ aether: primordial god of the upper air, light, the atmosphere, space and heaven

↬ alastor: god of family feuds and the avenger of evil deeds

↬ apollo: olympian god of music, poetry, art, oracles, archery, plague, medicine, sun, light and knowledge

↬ ares: olympian god of war (physical, violent and untamed aspect)

↬ aristaeus: minor patron god of animal husbandry, bee-keeping and fruit trees

↬ asclepius: god of medicine, health, healing, rejuvenation and physicians

↬ atlas: primordial titan of astronomy

↬ boreas: a wind god (anemoi) and god of the cold north wind and the bringer of winter

↬ caerus: minor god of opportunity, luck and favourable moments

↬ chaos: physical representation of the nothingness that all things sprung from. filled the gap between heaven and the earth

↬ chronos (NOT the titan cronus): the god of time

↬ dinlas: guardian god of the ancient city lamark, a place where wounded heroes could heal after battle

↬ deimos: personification of dread and terror. twin to phobos

↬ dionysus: olympian god of the grape harvest, winemaking and wine, ritual madness, religious ecstasy and theatre

↬ erebus: primordial god of darkness

↬ eros: god of sexual desire, attraction, love and procreation

↬ eurus: anemoi and god of the unlucky east wind

↬ glaucus: a fisherman who became immortal after consuming an argonaut, became a god of the sea

↬ hades: olympian (kind of) god of the dead and riches. king of the underworld

↬ helios: god of the sun. also known as sol

↬ hephaestus: olympian god of fire, metalworking, stone masonry, forges and the art of sculpture

↬ heracles: the greatest of greek heroes who became the god of heroes, sports, athletes, health, agriculture, fertility, trade, oracles and the divine protector of mankind

↬ hermes: olympian god of trade, thieves, travelers, sports, athletes and border crossings. the messenger of the gods

↬ hesperus: the evening star. phosphorus’ half brother

↬ hymenaois: god of marriage ceremonies, inspiring feasts and song

↬ hypnos: god of sleep

↬ kratos: god of strength and power

↬ krios: the titan god of the heavenly constellations and the measure of the year

↬ momus: the god of satire, mockery, censure, writers and poets and a spirit of evil-spirited blame and unfair criticism

↬ morpheus: god of dreams and sleep. dream walker

↬ moros: the physical embodiment of doom

↬ nereus: the titan god of the sea prior to poseidon and father of sea nymphs (nereids)

↬ notus: anemoi and god of the south wind

↬ oceanus: titan god of the ocean. personification of the world ocean

↬ olympos: primordial god of mountains

↬ paean: the physician of the olympian gods

↬ pallas: the titan god of warcraft and the springtime campaign season

↬ pan: god of nature, the wild, shepherds, flocks, goats, mountain wilds and is often associated with sexuality

↬ phobos: god of personal fear, panic and rout. twin to deimos

↬ phosphorus: the morning star. hesperus’ half brother

↬ plutus: god of wealth

↬ pontus: ancient primordial god of the deep sea

↬ poseidon: olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, storms and horses

↬ priapus: minor rustic fertility god, protector of flocks, fruit plants, bees and gardens (literally known for having a massive penis)

↬ prometheus: titan god of forethought (made humans out of clay!)

↬ tartarus: the god of the deep abyss

↬ thanatos: a minor god of death

↬ triton: messenger of the sea

↬ typhon: the deadliest monster in greek mythology, known as the father of all monsters. god of monsters, storms and volcanoes

↬ zelus: god of dedication, emulation, eager rivalry, envy, jealousy and zeal

↬ zephyros: anemoi and god of the west wind

↬ zeus: olympian god of the sky, lightning, thunder, law, order, justice, king of the gods

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

#oc #todd’s ocs #ocs #greek god ocs #choking on your alibis

[nurfhurdur]

hehe you asked for questions so i wanted to ask - what do you think inspired doc to get into law? 🧐

(i mean, im assuming he does have a law degree cause there’s no way he could become a court judge without it right? and i’d assume it would be *after* the med degree.)

I've thought of the different possibilities and routes that could have gotten Doc that title and strangely enough a couple things took place today that helped me piece a headcannon together.

*****

When Doc was maybe mid-thirties/mid-forties he had a patient come through Radiator Springs with a severe infection in the lungs that could have been prevented. Their previous doctor had written it off as part of a chronic underlying health condition the patient had and because this infection was completely preventable Doc asked if the patient wished to file a grievance. This was the patient's lungs in danger. With his personal history, Doc wasn't going to just let that slide.

Filing a grievance calls the insurance of the patient and the malpractice insurance of the defending doctor into play. Hearings take place with a patient advocate where its the word of one doctor against another, and if found in the wrong, the defending physician will have that on their record and their malpractice insurance must repay what the patient's insurance originally covered.

While Doc wanted to make sure everything could be done correctly for the patient, he also found the whole process interesting, the research in building an argument and presenting yourself and your findings.

It's also a form of arguing in a sense and we all know Doc loves that...

Anyway, shortly after this instance Doc receives a notice from the state of Arizona that with the last census taken, they see that the population of the community is taking a downturn. Without a certain number of residents, the need for anything more than an acute care facility is highly unlikely. He is given a few options by the time the next census would be completed. Move to a larger populated area, downsize his practice to an acute care (emergency) facility, or 'take an early retirement'.

He's not letting something else in his life be taken from him, certainly after he worked so hard for his certification. and he's not hiring some big time lawyer from the city who probably doesn't care if his practice continues or not.

To get in to law school, a student only needs a bachelors degree and to pass the Law School Admission Test. Doc already has a doctorate and with 'fewer patients' as the state has pointed out to him, he has the time to pick up classes.

Like everything else in his life, he takes the unconventional route and takes the Bar Exam early. The first time just missing a passing grade by a few points and after taking a mental break to recollect himself he retakes the exam and passes a few months later.

So he defends himself against the state of Arizona essentially. While that is a little dramatic, this is Doc we're talking about. Winning his own case, he suddenly has certification in law as well and everyone is coming to him with every little document under the sun. They need a letter notarized or they want their will filed correctly.....

As years pass, he's the only one with legal knowledge aside from Sheriff and because Radiator Springs is apparently the county seat of Carburetor County (that's why the courthouse is there) the state of Arizona appoints him to county judge or 'common pleas judge'.

Basically so he can handle hooligans that tear the road apart in the middle of the night.

#ask #i answer #some of this is not accurate at all #but oh well #my writing #my headcanons

[yaminobean]

CPC X Hazbin Hotel: My Dad, the Devil.

A universe where Leland decides to go for shittest dad of the year and sacrifice his youngest son, Frederick to the devil for power to show up Jack of the Pastel Kingdom. Lucifer immediately senses the daddy issues in Frederick and adopts them. I haven't written this in but Lucifer does grant Leland his wish but he doesn't get to live to enjoy it. Leland dies in the enchanted forest, having slipped and plunged off the cliff around the Pastel Kingdom. His power immediately goes to his wife. I like to think that when he died and arrived in Hell, Lucifer sent him to the deepest pits to be tortured for eternity. The main change that happens with Lucifer is that he makes an effort in dealing with his depression when he takes in Edie. He's let his depression separate him from his family before and he refuses to let it happen again.

Eden "Edie" Morningstar facts

- When Edie first came to Hell, she was a little hesitant around Lucifer and mainly refered to him as Mr. Morningstar or Mr. Scratch.

- It took Edie 6 months before she called Lucifer Dad regularly. She did once when she caught the flu and had a fever. She began to see Lucifer as her parent when the fallen angel stayed with her while she was sick. Edie hated being sick because when she was Frederick, her father rarely visited her and forbade anyone from doing so. When he did, he'd always complain about how often she got sick and how inconvenient it was. Leland also expressed disgust at touching her body and often abstain from touching her when she was sick. So when Lucifer put on light puppet shows to cheer her up and held her as they waited for the medicine to take away her headache, the word just slips out. Luci, of course, almost cries and waited with bated breath for it to happen again.

- Edie's style is heavenly inspired by a more colorful version of Charlie's emo phase.

- Asmodeus helped Edie discover her gender identity when she turned 13. When she came out to Lucifer, the king was more shocked by her name choice than her gender reveal. Memories of the garden still brings in complicated feelings but he's still supported her choice.

- Bee tries to convince Lucifer to enroll Edie in one of hell's academies, more so to give the young ward a chance to make friends. But Lucifer opted for homeschooling instead.

- Edie still likes to read and still likes a good fairytale to curl up with at night. Though when she got older, her interest branched out to true crime and some forensic studies. Her serial killer knowledge often concerns her Dad.

- She calls Beelzebub, Titi Bee and Asmodeus Uncle Ozzy. The only sins she doesn't get along with is Mammon and Paimon. Paimon makes caustic comments and Mammon is a crass and vulgar creep that tries to hug her way too long for comfort and loudly declares himself her uncle. He mainly uses that to extend some form of power over her.

- Satan has never spoken to her and she's honestly terrified of him.

- Edie's health issues actually got better while staying in Hell. When Lucifer learned about her asthma and immune issues, he and the family physician worked to help Edie manage these conditions with potions and magic asthma spray. This actually gives her a sense of control and she does feel less at the mercy of her body. She also has some potions that help her transition.

- Edie is the reason Adam doesn't personally show up to meetings in Hell. This event is know as The Fudge Butt incident.

That's all I got so far. I'll update later with some other aspects that I may or may not write as a fic.

#cursed princess club #fanfic #found family #hazbin hotel #TransFreddie #Edie Morningstar #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #multifandom fanfiction #charlie morningstar #Paimon #helluva boss mammon

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

A Painting of You (Chapter 23)

The final chapter: Fireworks and Farewells

Emhyr x OC, F/M, Complete Work (finally!) Morvran Voorhis, Mererid, Peter Evertsen, Cinderella-ish, Forbidden Romance, Gardening,(I should put in more tags in the future)

Summary:

Sarah bids farewell and finally breaks this news to Emhyr. He did not take this well and makes an attempt to change her decision.

Notes:

This is the final chapter of A Painting of You. Took me several re-writes and re-reads... and more re-writing. I recommend listening to FF7 Interrupted by Fireworks OST when reading the balcony scene. Helps with feeling the mood of the story. Also the golden dragon firework is inspired by the movie, Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring scene where the biggest firework is actually the dragon! The one Merry and Pippin stole.

The cool night breeze made Sarah’s skin tingle, ruffling her hair. She and Emhyr stood against the curved stone balustrade, waiting for the fireworks to start. Thankfully, the night was clear and stars dotted the sky. Not to be outdone by the stars, the moon shone brightly. A full moon.

The damn moon. Damn beacon! He must never know its existence.

Sarah leaned forward, placing her hands on the balustrades cold marble surface while ferreting how to best convey her departure. The wind carried the voices from the nobles below: Sarah couldn’t make out their conversations but from the sound of their laughter, they were excited and impatient for the fireworks to start.

She glanced at Emhyr with her eyes only. He was looking imperiously at the milling nobles on the garden square. The moonlight painted his skin with an ethereal pale blue light while shadows are formed by the angles of his face, giving the emperor an impressive chiseled appearance. Another detail to take note and- eventually- forget. Another jab to her heart.

Her attention settled on his bandaged hand and saw it was tied rather tight. Who did such a shoddy job? Sarah opened her hands.

“May I?”

“Hm?” Emhyr hesitated briefly before he allowed her to take his hand. Her slightly crimson-colored lips twisted in disapproval as she undid the knot on the back of his hand and unraveled the bandage. There was a bit of blood and a darkish brown tincture- iodine by the smell- staining the cloth. His wound, no bigger than her thumb, thankfully, no longer bled. Sarah left three inches of one end of the bandage dangling before winding the rest, then tied both ends.

“Flex your hand, sire. Make a fist. Does it feel comfortable? Even wounds need to breathe.”

“Thank you, Sarah. It does feel much better. Makes me regret not having you as my personal physician.”

Sarah’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. She took hold of his hand once more for a final inspection of her handiwork and noticed the scar from long ago. Her thumb grazed it, feeling the raised skin. “Amazing” she murmured. “It’s almost gone. Like the wound was never there.”

She did not notice Emhyr’s reaction to her touch- a short ragged breath. Emhyr turned his face away and something else caught his attention.

“Look over there, Sarah. Our tree is glowing.”

Indeed, even at this distance, she could see the ethereal glow of the Brokilon orchids.

Our tree

Another jab. The beacon was so close to being discovered that night. How many more painful reminders can she take?

A heaviness sat on her chest. Sarah, once more, assessed her decision for leaving. Hiding the beacon was the foremost reason. But lately, it was overtaken by an emotion rising when he is present. An emotion she still refuses to call by its true name, making each day a torment: the daydreaming, the pining, the ache in the knowledge that she could never do to him what his lovers could.

The voice of reason spoke within.

 If you are so determined to go through with your plans, then stop pussyfooting around! You are just prolonging your agony!

“Sarah?”

“Huh?”

“What troubles you? Is the celebration not to your liking?”

She forced herself to smile. It felt like having two weights dangling on the corners of her lips. “I haven’t been to a soiree in ages, sire. It is, by far, the best I’ve attended. And thank you…for making my last a night to remember.”

#emhyr var emreis #emhyr x oc #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #witcher ao3 #read on ao3 #fic update

[brightgnosis]

Maiden, Mother, Matron.

She, the naïve youth who ate of the Fruit of Knowledge and gave to her Husband to consume as well.

She, the exiled self-physician, self-midwife who alone pulled her children forth bloody from her own womb.

She, the keening widow Spruce-Cedar-Cyprus wreathed and deeply fragrant within her own failure.

Hail Chava, the Great Queen coming forth.

This account is run by a Dual Faith «(Converting) Masorti Jew + Traditional NeoWiccan» & «Ancestral Folk Magic Practitioner» with 20+ years of experience as a practicing Pagan and Witch. If that bothers you, don't interact.

This is written explicitly to share with friends who blatantly requested I ramble at them about this topic. It is my own opinions, gnosis, and beliefs tailored entirely to my own practice, based on my own Mythopoeticism and religious Calendar, etc. I'm glad it if inspires, but it's not for anyone else to vulture for their own practices.

#Chava / God the Mother / Lady #Personal #2024 #A Direct Look At My Practice #Religion & Magic #Wiccablr #Witchblr #Paganblr

[calf-cover]

Meet, ladies and gentlemen - here it is, the continuation of a series of Tarot-inspired fanarts: The White Lord and their card  - "The Magician".

<= Previous Card ⛭       ♖ Next Card =>

For a very, very long time I prophesied to my version of the White Lord the fate of a magician, inventor, alchemist, physician, astronomer and, in principle, a scientist hungry for knowledge... The fact is that for certain reasons I decided that each lord is the personification not only of the alchemical process, but also of the humor – there is too strong body-horror theme in Alagadda and tales about it. I don't know if the author intended this, but even the vocations of the lords are perfectly combined with their possible humoral temperaments... Phlegm, indicated in white, is associated with the brain. And, probably, the personification of phlegm must be very, very smart. And what is the most intellectual activity in the cursed city, tied to alchemy?..

The Magician is a card of a persistent, ambitious and skillful person. On the classic card, attributes of other suits are laid out in front of the Magician, as a symbol of a new beginning, omnipotence and power over the four elements. It is not surprising that the god complex, dangerous imprudence, black magic and deception are also personified by it...

By the way, here on the White Lord's table you can see the attributes of three other lords as well as their own – a white jug with milk. And I'm afraid it's not cow's at all…

***

The White Lord lives in the Palace of Vitriol Streams – which the intelligent inhabitants of Alagadda lovingly call “The Swan Palace”. They belive that all the pools and fountains of the city, and even any containers with clear water come from here, and are connected with the White Lord by an unthinkable force. This place is full of secrets and fictions, and no one knows which of them is true and which are just empty rumors. Only one thing is certain – even though the palace itself is an unattainable white hulk, everyone is allowed to bathe in the pools next to it.

The Ambassador of Alagadda hates the White Lord with every fibre, because no punishment and no torture will stop the Lord of Diligent from accomplishing their plan. While the other Lords feel a mixture of horror, hatred and disgust before this monster, the White Lord are rather a little annoyed and upset by another obstacle on the way to boundless knowledge... As far as these words apply to their faded, weak feelings.

Nothing in the world can give the Lord of Diligent pleasure. For their the taste of food and wine is only a chemical composition, and drunkenness is an ordinary side effect. Their dead heart had never been touched by lust, rage, or love. Even the Red Lord, who constantly makes dirty jokes about their appearance, lifestyle and mysterious reproductive anatomy, does this only because he knows that no insult can hurt their frozen soul. The only thing that the White Lord can feel is blind research excitement and sick curiosity. And it's scary to imagine what they eventually degenerate into…

Even the Black Lord has imbued their with a specific, almost imperceptible respect – and it seems that it is mutual. The Black Lord is fascinated by the pain and atrocities born of their indifference. And a brilliant, sophisticated mind makes the White Lord in his eyes the only worthy opponent.

And, contrary to the clowning and jokes of the Red Lord, the White Lord are "plump" not at all from fat. The skin on their hands is elastic, as if swollen by something thick and fluid, and the legs seem to have a strange shape, different from the rest of the body. Neither the guests, nor the lords, nor most of the servants know their true appearance. But according to rumors, the skin and flesh on them look like melted wax and are hard to the touch, like orange peel. Be that as it may, it does not seem that such a deformity would cause such a powerful being the slightest inconvenience.

#scp fandom #SCP Foundation #Alagadda #scp fan art #scp alagadda #white lord #SCP art #tarot art #scp 2264 #scp #gore #lords of alagadda #grimdark #traditional art #tw gore #tw suggestive #my post #my art