#it also hurts to read back on the screenshots and see that my dad just doesn’t give a fuck about me

[voulezloux]

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Mission Dad

Character: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: Bucky is just your average dad in his daughter's eyes. But deep down, she yearns for a father with more influence and power, like her friend's dad. Little does she know, Bucky is anything but ordinary.

Words Count: 3,712

Warning: Slightly bullying scene.

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The midday sun streamed into the principal's office through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. Despite the abundance of light, the atmosphere inside remained heavy and gloomy.

"I’m sorry; it’s my mistake as a parent." You bowed your head to the people in front of you: two couples who wore formal suits, along with their teenage daughter, and the principal, who kept wiping the sweat from his head.

Your daughter, Faith, who stood beside you, clenched her fist. Her expression was ugly as she looked at her mother, apologizing and bowing to someone who didn’t deserve it. “Mom, don't apologize. it’s not even my fault.”

You glanced at her and nodded, assuring her that you didn’t feel hurt or offended.

Sabrina, your daughter's classmate, smirked at you and Faith. With her mouth silent, she told Faith, “You can’t win.”

“Yes. It’s just a small matter.” Roy, Sabrina's father and also a senator, patted his daughter's head. “I think this matter doesn’t have to go public, right?” He turned to the principal.

“That’s right.”

With that, the problem was solved. But the scar still felt fresh on Faith’s heart.

As you drove the car back home, the silence hung heavy between you and Faith. Then, unexpectedly, her voice broke the quiet. “Why did you marry dad?” Faith crossed her arms beside you, her tone tinged with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by her question. You hadn't anticipated such a query from your daughter.

“Why did dad let you go alone and allow you to be humiliated?” Faith wiped the tears from her eyes, her voice trembling with emotion. The memory of you apologizing on her behalf still fresh in her mind.

You felt a pang of heartache seeing your daughter in distress. Today's events had revealed a truth you hadn't known before. The reason for your confrontation with Sabrina's parents was rooted in the bullying Faith had endured.

Faith had gathered evidence – recordings and screenshots of text messages – hoping it would be enough to put an end to the torment. But the power and influence wielded by Sabrina's family proved formidable.

With the evidence at hand, Faith had the potential to tarnish Sabrina's family name and derail her father's career as a senator.

Your fists clenched at the thought of Sabrina's cruelty towards your daughter. You wanted to scream, to exact some form of justice for Faith's pain. The urge to confront Sabrina and her allies gnawed at you, a primal instinct to protect your child at any cost.

But you held it in, knowing that today you didn't have the power to fight back. Another reason was because your husband wasn't here. Bucky Barnes had been gone for months for his job, a job so complicated that contacting him was nearly impossible.

You caressed Faith’s hair gently. “I'll try calling your father again.”

Faith sighed, her frustration evident. “He better answer, or else I'll find a better dad.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the circumstances. “Honey, don’t joke like that. Your father is the only one in my heart.”

She pretended to gag, a playful gesture that reminded you of the teasing banter you shared as a family. Whenever Bucky returned home from his job, you would become lovesick teenagers, unable to keep your hands off each other.

******

Back at home, you glanced around to ensure no one was near before your hand slid open a secret shelf, revealing an old flip phone hidden within.

You dialed a number and waited anxiously until a voice finally answered, "Hello?"

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Steve, can you find him?"

“Not yet,” came the disappointing reply.

You sighed again, feeling the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "Alright, I’ll call you later."

Closing the phone, you rubbed your temples, the stress of the situation weighing heavily on your mind. Your daughter was right – you needed Bucky.

Just then, you heard heavy footsteps descending from the second floor. "Mom, I’m going out for a sec."

You glanced up in surprise, realizing Faith was already on the move. "Faith, we just arrived!" But it was too late – she had already slipped out the door.

******

Faith heard your voice, but she sprinted faster. She had caught the name "Uncle Steve" in your conversation, indicating that he might know where her dad was. They had been friends since childhood, and she trusted him.

Upon arriving at the coffee shop owned by Uncle Steve, she pushed open the glass door and was greeted with a warm "Welcome."

Steve was taken aback. "Faith?"

Approaching him, Faith cut to the chase. "Uncle, do you know where my dad is?"

Steve hesitated, struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he shook his head. "You know he has to travel all the time."

Faith rolled her eyes in frustration. "Yeah, cleaning up someone else's mess. He keeps saying that, but when there’s trouble at his own home, he's never there."

Sensing the tension, Steve tried to diffuse the situation. "Hold up, the topic is getting heavy. Let’s sit down." He gestured towards a nearby table, inviting Faith to sit and talk more calmly.

Steve offered Faith her favorite chocolate mint drink to cheer her up. Taking a sip, Faith felt a sense of calm wash over her. She grumbled and sighed, “I don’t understand why mother married my dad when she can’t depend on him.”

Steve widened his eyes in surprise. “Your dad would be heartbroken to hear that,” he said softly. Having a daughter could be both sweet and scary, he thought, realizing the impact of her words.

“But it’s true. I also found out that mother came from a well-known family. But she cut ties with them because she married dad,” Faith sighed, her gaze drifting to the café window. “I wish I had a powerful dad.”

Steve sighed sympathetically, picking up on Faith’s frustration, as well as your own from the last phone call. “What happened, Faith?”

As Faith recounted the events of the day, Steve listened intently, his expression growing increasingly enraged. “How dare they do that!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the café patrons to jump.

“There’s nothing I can do since her father is a senator,” Faith lamented.

After a moment of silence, Steve spoke firmly. “Faith, don’t worry. Your father will handle this.”

“But—” Faith began.

“It’s not my place to tell you. Believe in your father. He’s stronger and more powerful than you think.”

Faith couldn’t argue with her uncle’s words. “Fine,” she relented, grabbing her jacket. “I’ll go back.”

Steve wanted to offer her a ride home. “Let me drive you,” he suggested.

“No, it’s alright. I need some alone time. And it’s not far,” Faith declined.

Steve nodded understandingly. “Text me when you get home,” he urged.

“Okey dokey,” Faith replied before heading out of the café.

Back at home, you continued to wait anxiously for your daughter to return. Dinner time had long passed, and worry gnawed at your insides. You picked up the phone and dialed Steve. "Is Faith with you?" you asked urgently.

Steve's voice sounded grave on the other end. "She was, but she left around 4:50 p.m.," he replied.

Your heart sank. "Steve, she still hasn't come home," you exclaimed, panic rising in your chest.

Without hesitation, you jumped into your car and raced to Steve's café. He was waiting for you at the park nearby, his expression as pale as yours. You could see the worry etched on his face as you approached him, your breath coming in heavy gasps.

Coming closer, you noticed that Steve was holding Faith's smartwatch in his hand. The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks.

Faith had been kidnapped.

You panicked, struggling to catch your breath, and Steve steadied you with a reassuring hand on your back.

"I'll call for backup," Steve declared, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.

"I—" you began, but the sudden phone ring interrupted you both.

The familiar ringtone brought a wave of relief flooding over you. With trembling hands, you quickly accepted the call. "Bucky!"

"Honey, I'm sorry, I just got the chance to call you. I—" Bucky's voice sounded cheerful, relieved to hear his wife's voice again.

"Our daughter has been kidnapped!!!" you blurted out, the urgency in your tone cutting through the cheerful facade.

"Who dares lay a hand on our daughter?" Bucky's voice dripped with icy resolve, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

********

As Faith struggled to focus through her pounding headache, Sabrina's taunting voice cut through the dimly lit room.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Sabrina sneered, her eyes glinting with malice as she leaned in closer to Faith. "Did you have a nice nap, princess?"

Faith clenched her fists, her jaw set with determination despite her fear. "What do you want, Sabrina?" she managed to grit out, her voice trembling slightly.

Sabrina's laughter echoed off the grimy walls, sending shivers down Faith's spine. "Oh, just a little payback for ruining my life," she replied, her tone dripping with venom. "Thanks to you, my parents are furious with me. I'm grounded, all because of your little stunt."

Faith's heart sank as she realized the extent of Sabrina's anger. She knew she had caused trouble for Sabrina, but she never imagined it would lead to something like this.

Sabrina, sensing Faith's vulnerability, circled her like a predator closing in on its prey. "You think you're so smart, don't you?" she taunted, her voice laced with contempt. "Well, let's see how smart you really are when you're at my mercy."

Fear gnawed at Faith's insides as Sabrina's words sank in. She knew she was entirely at Sabrina's mercy, with no one to help her in this dark, desolate place. She braced herself for whatever torment Sabrina had in store, steeling herself for the trials ahead.

As Faith scanned the dimly lit room, her heart sank as she noticed an array of menacing tools laid out on the table. Were they planning to kill her? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

Sabrina's malicious grin widened as she picked up a baseball bat, swinging it menacingly a few times. The sound of the bat cutting through the air sent a chill down Faith's spine, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Closing her eyes tightly, Faith began to pray silently, her mind racing with desperate pleas for someone to come to her rescue.

With an evil smile stretching across her face, Sabrina walked menacingly closer to Faith, raising the baseball bat higher with each step. Faith could feel the weight of impending doom settling over her like a heavy blanket. She wished she had stayed home with you, safe and sound. She longed to see her father, to feel his reassuring presence beside her.

"Dad, help me," she whispered desperately, her voice barely audible amidst the tension of the moment.

"I'm here," a deep voice rumbled through the darkness, sending a surge of hope coursing through Faith's veins. Could it be? Was it truly her father?

"I'm sorry I'm late," the voice continued, each word like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness.

For a moment, Faith couldn't believe her ears. Was she in heaven? But then, a second time, the voice pierced through the silence, more tangible than ever. "Dad!!!" she exclaimed, her eyes snapping open.

Standing tall and imposing in front of her was Bucky, her father. He stood alone but radiated a sense of power and strength that dwarfed everyone else in the room. With a swift motion, he halted Sabrina's advancing bat, leaving her stunned and speechless.

Sabrina had always thought her father, Roy, was intimidating, but the aura of power emanating from Bucky now was on a whole other level. She could sense a palpable bloodlust emanating from him, a primal energy that seemed to course through his veins.

With a voice that trembled with fear, Sabrina managed to stammer out, "Who... who are you?"

Bucky's gaze bore into Sabrina with an intensity that made her shrink back instinctively. "I'm Faith's father," he declared, his voice low and commanding. "And now, I'm going to teach all of you a lesson."

*******

At the grand mansion, Roy lounged in his armchair, swirling his wine glass thoughtfully as he gazed into the crackling fireplace.

The sudden ringing of his phone shattered the tranquility of the moment. "Hello?" he answered, his voice laced with annoyance at the interruption.

"Dad!!!" Sabrina's panicked voice came through the line, causing Roy to furrow his brow in confusion.

"Why are you screaming like a crazy person?" he retorted, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.

"Someone tried to kill me!!!" Sabrina's voice trembled with fear, sending a chill down Roy's spine.

"Stop being dramatic," he scoffed dismissively, though a flicker of concern flashed in his eyes.

"She's right," a new voice interrupted, sending a shiver down Roy's spine.

"And who is this?" Roy demanded, his grip on the phone tightening.

"Your nightmare. And you're next," came the chilling response, causing Roy's blood to run cold.

"Tsk. Empty threat," Roy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly with uncertainty.

"No, Dad. He's serious. Call all the bodyguards!!!" Sabrina's urgency cut through the air, leaving Roy no choice but to take her warning seriously.

Roy wasted no time in taking action. He swiftly dialed his secretary's number, his expression tense with determination as he issued his orders.

"Get ready for an intruder," he commanded tersely, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Call in all the bodyguards. I want the mansion secured from every angle. Do whatever it takes to protect us."

As he spoke, Roy's gaze remained fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, his mind racing with thoughts of the potential threat looming outside.

*******

As the night wore on, tension hung thick in the air of Roy's mansion. The threat from the mysterious voice had put everyone on edge, and they remained vigilant, acutely aware of any unusual sounds or movements.

"Good. Let that kid stay there for a while. She only brings trouble," Roy remarked, his voice tinged with bitterness as he spoke of Sabrina's misfortune.

"Who tried to hurt us?" Roy's question hung heavy in the room, unanswered and unsettling.

His wife, equally on edge, offered her own speculation. "Do you think it's the Barnes?"

Roy pondered for a moment, his brow furrowing with concern. "Impossible. I looked it up. Barnes is just a nobody."

But even as he spoke the words, doubt gnawed at him. Could he be wrong? Was there more to the Barnes family than he had initially assumed?

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the house turned eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Then, piercing through the silence, came the sound of screams echoing through the halls. "AARGH!"

"BANG! BANG! BANG!" The sharp cracks of gunfire reverberated through the air, sending shockwaves of fear through the inhabitants of the mansion.

"What the fuck is going on?" Roy demanded, his voice rising with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

"Are we going to be safe?" His wife's voice trembled with uncertainty, her eyes wide with fear.

"Don't worry, the bodyguards in this room with us are former special ops," Roy reassured, though the tension in his voice betrayed his own anxiety.

One of the bodyguards stepped forward, his posture firm and resolute. "It's alright, ma'am. We can handle this," he assured, his words instilling a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

The door swung open, revealing just one figure standing in the doorway.

As the bodyguard moved to intercept him, Bucky strode forward confidently, his eyes fixed on Roy. "You have to stop before you get hurt," the bodyguard warned, his voice tinged with concern.

But Bucky paid no heed to the warning. With a swift motion, he grabbed the bodyguard's hand and effortlessly snapped it, causing him to curse in pain.

"Shit!" the bodyguard exclaimed, clutching his injured hand as Bucky swiftly took down the rest of the security detail with brutal efficiency.

The bodyguard, his eyes wide with shock, leaned in to whisper to his friend. "Do you think it's him? The lunatic?"

His friend's expression mirrored his own disbelief as he muttered back, "Shit. You're right."

Their hushed conversation carried a sense of unease as they watched Bucky's brutal efficiency in dispatching their colleagues, leaving them wondering if they were genuinely facing the infamous lunatic they had heard whispers about.

With blood streaked across his face, Bucky closed in on Roy, who tensed, assuming a defensive stance. "So you're strong, huh?" Roy challenged, his fists clenched as he prepared for a fight. "I was in the military too. Which special force are you from?"

"Black ops," Bucky replied curtly, his words sending a chill down Roy's spine.

Before Roy could react, Bucky unleashed a barrage of punches and kicks, each blow landing with deadly accuracy. Roy staggered backward under the onslaught, his face contorted with pain as he struggled to defend himself against Bucky's relentless assault.

Roy, already on the floor, bloodied and battered, pleaded desperately, "Wait. Wait!!! Are you Faith's father? The problem between our daughters is done. And this morning your wife also agreed to it. They're just kids."

The words "just kids" rang hollow in Bucky's ears as he thought of Faith, bruised and battered, her innocence shattered by the cruelty of others.

His heart ached at the memory, and he felt a surge of anger and helplessness wash over him.

Bucky laughed darkly, the sound chilling to the bone. "My wife gave you a last chance. But your daughter blew it," he spat out, his voice dripping with disdain.

Roy's eyes blazed with fury as he struggled to rise. "Who do you think you are? You're just a fucking nobody. I'm a senator. Even if you raze my house to the ground, tomorrow you'll be sleeping in jail. Along with your wife and kid," he declared, his voice trembling with rage and defiance.

"Oh, so you're that powerful, huh?" Bucky sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he looked down at Roy.

"I'm that powerful, you son of a bitch," Roy shot back defiantly, his voice strained with anger and frustration.

With a cold smirk, Bucky reached for his old flip phone, his fingers moving with calculated precision as he dialed a number. "Senator Roy? You know him? Yeah, that one. Could you erase him? Thanks," he said casually into the phone before ending the call.

Roy's eyes widened in horror as he realized the gravity of the situation. "You..." he began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the words to convey his disbelief and fear.

But Bucky wasn't finished yet. With a swift motion, he snatched Roy's phone from his trembling hands and quickly scrolled through the contacts. Finding the name he was looking for, he dialed the number without hesitation.

"Call him. Tell him there's a lunatic who wants to kill you," Bucky commanded, his voice cold and unyielding as he handed the phone back to Roy.

Roy's hands shook as he brought the phone to his ear, his heart pounding with dread. "Hello?"

"Commissioner!! There's a lunatic trying to kill me, he's hurt my daughter," Roy screamed into the phone, desperation and fear lacing his words.

But to his horror, all he heard in response was a calm voice saying, "I'm sorry, you've got the wrong number."

"What?" Roy's voice cracked with disbelief, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at the phone in trembling hands.

"Who are you? You're just a guy from a cleaning company." Roy looked up at Bucky, dis, belief etched across his bloodied face.

"You messed with the wrong daughter," Bucky replied coolly, his voice dripping with a quiet menace.

Bucky Barnes, known by the nickname "Cleaning Service," earned his moniker through his unparalleled expertise in handling the toughest missions in black ops. With hundreds of missions under his belt, not a single one had ever failed. His reputation as a lunatic preceded him, but he wore the label with indifference on the field.

However, when it came to his family, especially his daughter Faith, Bucky preferred to shed his tough exterior and play the role of a regular dad. He didn't want to frighten her with tales of his dangerous exploits; instead, he chose to shield her from the harsh realities of his profession.

But now, as danger loomed closer to home, Bucky realized that pretending to be someone he wasn't no longer served him or his family. It was time to embrace his true self and unleash the full extent of his capabilities to protect those he loved.

Before Roy could react, Bucky delivered a devastating punch that sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

*******

As Bucky stepped out of the mansion, a cry of relief and joy erupted from both you and Faith.

"Bucky!" you exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace him.

"Dad!" Faith called out, her voice choked with emotion as she joined in the hug.

Steve watched the heartwarming family reunion scene unfold before him, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips, especially with the backdrop of the burning house behind them.

Bucky held his daughter close, his arms wrapping protectively around her. "I'm sorry. I let you and your mother get hurt," he murmured softly, his voice filled with remorse.

Faith shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "No, Dad. You're not late. You're so cool," she reassured him, her words filled with love and admiration.

Bucky smiled, a rare warmth spreading across his features as he looked down at his daughter. "Thank you," he said softly before gazing at you. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. "I'm back.I will never let anyone else underestimate us ever again," he whispered, his voice filled with determination and love.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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[earl-grey-teacake]

The Jenson ask is hilarious! Now all I can imagine is Sky Sports telling Jenson to kidnap Logan again to get George and Alex on again. Meanwhile, Jenson, who has already kidnapped Logan again, rolls up like this is my new copresenter we don't need Danica Patrick anymore Logan has better thoughts on the race. Williams is on red alert trying to find their missing baby because James doesn't check his texts during races!

Oscar now attempts to escape McLaren every time he sees Logan on the Big Face Time (TV) because one miracle escape does not mean Logan will always be safe!

Oh I can totally see it!

Please enjoy this little thing I wrote. I am coping with Australia by writing and being in denial.❤️

Jenson is tired of Danica and decides if Sky Sports won’t give him a replacement, he’ll find one for himself. Logan is old enough to toddle around so he gets his own little space that he can play in when Jenson comes along and coaxes him outside.

Has Logan been given the whole “strange danger, don’t go off alone” talk by his parents? Yes, yes he has.

But Jenson isn’t a stranger so it’s okay and Jenson easily walks out with Logan in tow. After all, it’s not like he kidnapped him. Logan went off his own free will and with the promise of chocolate.

Jenson also shoots off a text to James saying:

Heads up!

Taking Logan for a bit. If you want him back, have Alex and George come to us. 1 interview.

You know where we're at.

James of course does not read it because he's busy being a team principal. In fact, the Williams staff are secretly running around trying to find Logan thinking he’s wandered off looking for his dads because “he knows better to wander off with strangers.” It isn’t until 15 minutes after that James is notified after Logan is confirmed to not be in the garage or hospitality. By then, Jenson has returned to where the rest of the Sky Sports team is with Logan in tow.

“Uhh, Jenson? “ One of the staff members spoke up, “We’re about to be on air soon.”

“I know! This is Logan. He’s my co-presenter for today.” Logan waved at the crew, who smiled and waved back.

"Did you ask to take him?" Nico smiled and waved back. "The last time you did this, Williams thought you kidnapped him."

"Logan wanted to follow me on his own." Jenson scoffed. "Isn't that right?"

Logan, for his part, just cheered and offered up a piece of chocolate to Natalie, who happily took it.

"On his own, huh?"

"It'll be fine."

"Isn't Danica supposed to be-" Natalie said.

"Nope, Logan's is already here. Besides, this is preparing him for the future.

"You don't even know if he wants to be a driver?"

Jenson gasped at Nico's comment. "How could you say that?"

"Don't listen to him, Logan. You can become a Williams driver. I believe in you."

"That's not-"

"And we're live!"

********

Oscar's eyes widened at the sight of the TV. "Lo!"

Lando looked up, having finished interviews early and returning to his driver's room. "Oh, yeah that's Logan. Looks like he's with Jenson."

Oscar watched in horror as Lando returned back to looking at the data. "No! Lo! Lo!"

Lando looked up at his son's insistent eyes. "Hey, it's okay. We're meeting them for dinner soon."

Oscar, however, did not agree with this and instead started to stumble towards the door and pull on the handle. Lando, being taller and faster, immediately jumped up and put his hand on it.

Oscar proceeds to yank at the door handle and cry. Going as far as to try and shove Lando away. "Lo!"

*******

Alex and George were walking to find Sky Sports, especially Jenson, after receiving a screenshot of his message? Threat?

"I swear when I find him" George muttered. "How dare he kidnap my child? Logan knows better than to wander off with strangers."

"Jenson's not a stranger." Alex unhelpfully replied. "I'm sure he's fine. It's good for Logan to be around new people."

"What if he's hurt? Uncomfortable?"

"He's with Jenson. He wasn't kidnapped."

"That message read like a ransom note."

Logan was actually quite happy about participating in the interviews. He stayed silent when others were speaking and at the end, they would turn to him and ask if he had any questions to ask, to which he replied in mangled words and sounds. It didn't matter since everyone treated it as serious and the drivers even provided full answers.

"Yes, I agree with you Logan. Our strategy was obviously not the best. We will come back stronger next time."- Charles

"I agree, Logan. Hamilton definitely brake checked me. Thank you for seeing it my way. You would do great at Aston Martin." - Fernando

"Did Fernando say that? If the stewards haven't said anything, I wouldn't put too much weight on it, Logan"- Hamilton

"Oh, he's a natural." Jenson cooed as Logan received another cookie from Nico.

"Dada!" Logan cheerfully yelled out, his mouth covered with crumbs.

Alex looked almost amused at the scene but George seemed to be on the warpath. Careful not to let his collateral go, Jenson adjusted his hold on Logan. "Hey, George, Alex. Nice of you to stop by."

"Hello," Alex greeted. "And hello to you Logan. You seem to be having fun."

"Oh he is," Jenson cheerfully ignored George's stare. "He's such a good interviewer."

"Well thank you so much for joining us today, gentlemen."

"It's not like we had a choice," George muttered

For the entire five minutes, Logan watched as his dads were being interviewed on their performance on the track. Alex went along with the whole thing quite well. George, on the other hand, kept a neutral face but his eyes were firmly locked on Logan.

"Lo! Lo!" Oscar yelled out.

Logan looked up and smiled. "Osca! Osca!"

"How wonderful of you to join us Lando" Natalie greeted. "It's a reunion of the 2019 rookies."

Lando laughed. "It wasn't my intention. Oscar saw Logan on TV and begged to go."

The walk back was fairly quiet with Logan knocked out from the amount of sugar and Oscar exhausted from the tantrum he threw earlier.

"I wonder if Jenson would babysit for us." Alex joked,

"Absolutely not," George said. "Logan is going to start associating Jenson with candy and cookies. Jenson will also take it as an open invitation to just kidnap him again."

"He had a lot of fun. I'm glad." Alex said, practically ignoring George.

"I'm glad he had fun. Oscar kicked me in the shin." Lando muttered, a bit peeved at how peacefully asleep Oscar was.

******

This has been sitting in my drafts for a long time. Sorry it took so long to get out. The Australian GP gave me the push i needed to complete this.

Thank you for sending me this ask! I loved answering it! 🥰

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :) 

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :) 

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod. 

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 

“Yes.” 

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. ���Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another. 

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

[punkascas]

okay, so i don't want to, like, Start Something or whatever so we're doing a barely-tagged, separate post. i also realise this is mostly pointless because others have already said what i'm going to say, and did it better, with far more grace, and sound less like an asshole than i do.

but jesus louise helen christ, the weird fucked up ideas people have around abuse and personal responsibility and the effect of trauma. like as an abuse and csa survivor, it genuinely alarms me to read posts that use arguments i remember my dad making. like, i'm assuming most of this rhetoric comes from gen z — maybe that's inaccurate; maybe that's unfair. but right now i'm very much Having A Moment Here that the kids aren't alright.

no 22-year-old should be repeating the same awful, manipulative, logically and morally bankrupt justifications for violence and torture my dad says. like literally what's in the first two episodes of ofmd s2 is torture.

i love ed; he's an amazing character. taika is hella wowza top marks acting him. but like.

like.

torture, my dude. physical and psychological. trauma. harassment. that we see the lasting effects of through s2.

just. i. what??

so here we go, okay. have too many, zealously highlighted screenshots so i can dig into details.

cut to save your dashes. content warning for discussions of abuse and trauma (if that wasn't obvious), as well as spoilers for ofmd s2.

re: ed knew what he was doing was wrong and felt guilty about it at the time:

we have no on-screen, textual examples of this. not in the dialogue; not in the acting; not in the blocking; not in the cinematography or music. nothing.

knowing the crew are overworked and kind of traumatised by all the violence, ed bribes them with cake. because, as we know, cake like tea fixes everything. only ed wasn't even with them to share in the eating of the cake. he made izzy responsible for that. he doesn't give the crew a break; he doesn't choose less ethically-fraught prizes to hunt. there is not one scene of ed talking directly to the crew — until he points a gun at each of them.

we see ed crying (and drinking, and rhino horn-ing [way to help further extinction, man]) but it's always paired with shots or flashbacks that reference stede. ed is still all up in his feelings about stede, and ed confirms this when he tells frenchie the myth about albatrosses never needing to return to land. ed cannot go back, does not want to go back, because he was rejected. (like, stede is literally landed gentry, come on!) all he wants to do instead is stay at sea committing to this unhinged version of unstable, sadistic piracy.

but okay, okay. say we ignore all of that. let's say ed does feel sorry and guilty and ashamed of his actions. he knows what he's doing is wrong and unfair and cruel. that it's harming others. that it's particularly harming the dude that ed has, for better or worse, basically spent his life with (izzy; i mean izzy). ed… still continues to do the things! how far off are we at this point from the definition of malicious? you know action x hurts person b and then you do it anyway. is that honestly a better, happier, more ethically defensible reading of the character?

re: the crew didn't mutiny because they love ed despite his violent, sadistic actions.

mutinies were a thing, yes. but both historically and in the world rules established by the show, mutiny is disincentivised through threats, distraction via extra work, and corporeal punishment. we see both ed and izzy use all three of these to try to prevent the crew from disobeying orders. they didn't wait until the storm and izzy shooting ed to mutiny because they understood or sympathised with ed; they took the chance to kill him then because that was the first real opportunity they'd had. the reward finally out-weighed the risk given that ed was going to kill them all that night anyway.

again, we have no scenes, no dialogue, no visual or audio cues to tell us that the crew understands or loves ed — excluding izzy, obviously. fang could also be on that list, if you take into account his personality and his behaviour both in s1 and later in s2 in the fishing boat scene. but in the first two episodes, we only see the crew show trauma responses around ed. they talk about him but almost never to him. and when they do have a direct conversation with ed, it is either confrontation or head down, submissive, "of course, blackbeard; anything you say" placating. i'm so baffled where the show points to any sign of love from the crew towards ed before his "death".

re: ed can't be held responsible because he was suicidal.

uhm. no. hard no. a harder no than stede's brazilian cherry wood mast. fucked up people do fucked up things but part of being an adult is owning your fucked-upped-ness and not fucking up others while you work on unfucking yourself. children, children are not fully responsible for the impact of their actions on others when they're deep in their feelings, especially if they're feeling their feelings as a trauma response. this is because literally their brain cannot do that kind of control. it doesn't have that software pack installed yet. ed does have all the adult updates installed, even if he isn't running them at that moment. he has no right to take out his feelings on other people: to maim them, to psychologically torture them, to abuse them, to work them to exhaustion. to kill them. he does not get a free pass to do suicide by abused employees. (like suicide by cop but more indirect and passive and harmful.) talk about passive aggressive.

secondly, ed is not just passively suicidal and happy to find new risks that might end his life. he is very purposefully taking izzy with him (see: literally removing the bits of izzy that would help let him walk away from ed; the fact that ed becomes actively suicidal only once he thinks izzy is dead; the whole keeping izzy's corpse in front of his and stede's beach shack i mean inn — the codependence, she runs deep). ed is also putting the crew through the same risks, the same isolation, the same danger. both stede and izzy agreed that ed had gone full scorched earth policy. you don't get forgiven for the murder part of a murder-suicide pact just because of the suicide part. not to mention that no one (once again, you could potentially argue izzy as an exception) was good on a murder-suicide pact with blackbeard.

and then to say the crew felt guilty? i assume i'm misreading that. the crew. felt guilty. for ed's actions. that is, if not victim blaming and if not darvo, a very close inbred cousin of them. like hapsburg jaw inbred close.

re: ed healing and his view of himself as a monster.

to heal means, in part, to accept responsibility for the harm you've caused, whether it was intentional or not. it means making amends. it means building or rebuilding relationships where possible. it means putting the other person or persons' feelings and boundaries and need for safety above your desire for absolution or forgiveness. it means working through your own guilt and shame and anger (or whatever drove you to act the way you did) in a separate space, not with the people you hurt, but someone who can be a step removed, more impersonal and objective to help you reflect and face hard truths as needed. i say this as both someone involved in activism and community reparations and as an abuse survivor who has done nearly 30 years of therapy learning this in order to not hurt people. it's not ed's fault he's fucked up just like it isn't my fault i am. but it is on me, like it is on anyone, to make sure i limited as much as possible the harm i can cause to others because i learned some awful but very effective tricks at a young age to survive.

ed does not really do any of the above. he doesn't say "sorry". he speaks in generalised language. he complains about the cat bell (which he seems to wear only for one day, given the implied timeline with lucius and pete's engagement). i have a model ship on a stand that says "this is a safe space ship" as a joke because i work for the government and have written press releases that sound just like ed's "apology". where you take no responsibility and encourage "the culture" to move on.

so, really, my question becomes: ed sees himself as a monster. in s1, we had enough balance between ed's current actions and his referenced past actions to see this belief as likely untrue. in s2 though — i mean, is it? is that an unfair or inaccurate belief? i can understand how carrying that belief can get in the way of ed's growth and eventual healing but like. from an outside perspective of ed-the-fictional-character. he's not a "good" person. he's capable of and has done and continued to do horrible, cruel things. ethically, can you argue with that statement about him?

re: ed trying to destroy relationships because of his self-worth issues and instead the consequences of his actions proving that he's loved.

this is the point that made me go: right, no, i need to respond. i need to say my piece about this. izzy and the crew suffering ed's violent tyranny and then sticking around on the revenge anyway afterwards is not a sign of love. it is not showing love to bear pain for someone. it not showing love to let someone mistreat you, threaten you, hurt you, maim you. their actions are selfish and done to give them feelings of power and control over you. lying back and thinking of england to get through it is not love. it is absolutely a survival technique. but it is not love when you do it at the expense of yourself or others.

i also disagree that ed was trying to push people away or break his relationships with others. we know from s1 that ed is fairly blasé about whether crew members die. again, we don't see any friendly or intimate exchanges between ed and any of the crew to imply any kind of relationship there beyond "tools who accomplish ed's goals". the one exception, as always, is izzy. and as previously stated, ed seems bound and determined, in a very conscious way, to bring izzy into death with him. ed does everything in his power to make izzy want to kill ed, or at least agree that it's best if ed dies, and to want to kill himself so ed doesn't have to die alone. that isn't ed breaking that relationship; it's making it permanent in a really fucked up shakespearian way. the only relationship we see ed waffle between wanting to keep and wanting to push away is stede. after his corporate "apology" and the fishing trip with fang, all of ed's dialogue is with stede and a little bit with zheng until izzy's death scene. the crew loving ed just isn't a thing, at least not one we're shown. not from either side. ed's relationships are with stede and kind of, sort of with izzy (because he does manage to, if not fully break, do some major damage to that).

love did not save ed. ed wanting to live, because stede came back, because he didn't want to jump off hornigold's cliff in the first place, saved ed. izzy saved everyone else.

so yeah: that's it; that's the post. the rhetoric that abuse is love or that abuse can be "cured" with love or that trauma isn't lasting and serious and has impacts on people's daily lives is just. wild. wild.

and terrifying.

my dad was born in the 40s. why is anyone born in the 80s or later still defending this mindset? it honestly, truly freaks me out.

guess it's good i have a fucking therapy appointment on monday.

[colonelpancakes]

Watching The Dragon Prince Season Six Part 3! The Frozen Ship. The title alone has me intrigued. Post is long so it goes under the cut.

Ah, well that's concerning. Oh and while I was screenshotting this I realized that Callum's hand is covered in blood here. That's really concerning.

I am having vivid flashbacks to season one and the whole “we accidentally dunked both the egg and Ezran in frozen lake water” debacle. Given his nervousness, I get the feeling Callum is too.

NOOO! NOT THE PUPPY!!

Rayla sending the Shadowpaw home when she herself still can’t return… My heart. I am happy that the baby lived though.

Oh hey! Terry!

Terry, if you get eaten by some strange creature I swear to God.

Rayllum! Also Rayla thinking the black ice was enchanted with black magic was cute.

I sympathize with you Rayla, my dog has done that exact same thing to me. I mean, not as I was having a romantic moment with my partner but she has looked me dead in the eyes and sneezed directly into my mouth.

Ohh she does not look well...

I love them so much

The look Callum gives Sneezles skjfaslk.

I distinctly do not trust this boat. This is a very untrustworthy boat. It’s making me think of the boat with all the dead people in that one Race to The Edge episode. The one with the buffalo dragon spit? Does anyone know what I’m talking about or am I just rambling? (Buffalord Soldier is the episode I’m thinking of here, I looked it up.)

I feel like this is getting a tad meta

Skjfklsajf I love Stella and Rayla being nosy together. They should form a book club.

Ohh, Terry bathing Claudia and seeing all of her scars… The softness and tenderness in it all and the grief and the fallout of Viren leaving. Ough.

Claudia... She looks like she's definitely not present, poor babies...

Okay, entirely off topic but dang that is some good nail polish that Claudia has if it's stayed on for this long UNCHIPPED to boot.

Rayla crying as she reads Esmerelda’s diary because she sees herself and Callum in the words… The guilt from leaving him and thinking about what they could have been for the last four years and the regret hitting her. Oh, darling…

Ohh and Callum sketches Rayla while he’s waiting for her like he’s always done... He's worried about her...

Wow those are some thin ship walls if Callum can hear Rayla crying from outside. Actually, that makes sense they are filled with holes.

Listen, she got distracted. But also Rayla you did make Callum sit in the cold waiting for you and worrying while you read through the entirety of someone’s diary.

Callum you jinxed it, knock on wood.

NOPE NEVERMIND THAT MADE IT WORSE. Okay knocking on wood was a bad idea.

Ohh... The intimacy of trusting someone enough to hold a knife to the back of your neck, knowing that they won’t hurt you. Terry stayed, he waited for her. And then her quietly crying… The emotions in these scenes, the grief, the shock, the tiredness, are all so tangible even when neither Claudia nor Terry has said a single word all episode. The composers and the animators are doing such an amazing job.

And there was only one blanket!

Oh? I was not expecting information on Callum's birth dad. Damian, we have a name now. Aww, Callum quoting his dad's poetry is really sweet. I wonder if Callum met him or if he passed away before Callum was born.

Skljadskljfsda Stella and Sneezles, Matchmakers Extraordinaire!

RAYLLUM KISS??

Oh never mind Callum dark magic problems that works too.

The rest is in the reblogs because of the gosh dang image limit

[lampmanliveblogs]

THIS. THIS ENTIRE SEQUENCE. STUNNING. JAWDROPPING. GORGEOUS.

You guys know how much I love pretty lights, and this is like… the prettiest light.

Hold on, I gotta go back and rewatch this entire sequence, it’s just that beautiful. The animation!

When Luz and King do their second roar, Luz bounces back from the force, that’s so cute. And then when she flies up, she lets go of Stringbean and catches the butt of the staff and the she and Eda spin around to draw the big spell circle. And then they twirl around inside the circle and cast the spell together. Good stuff, good stuff.

Inside the Archive House, the witch kids and Camila are doing their best to make sure no one gets hurt even as the Tiara Halls begin crumbling around them. And hey, glyphs still work, that’s good.

Aw man, what will Amity say when she sees Luz’ transformation? My guess is she’ll say nothing, because she will be too stunned to speak.

(Future Lampman here: I think I noticed the first time through but didn’t bring it up, but Amity is using a plant glyph and Willow is using a fire glyph. Plants are of course Willow’s thing, and aside from abomination magic, Amity is known to use a fireball spell. They’re using each other’s elements.)

Gorgeous.

…

HOLD ON A MINUTE! How come King and Dad Titan in the In-Between only have three fingers, but the Titan’s skeleton clearly has five?????!?!?!!!!?!?? How???? Okay, uh,,, c’mon Lampman, you’re good at coming up with weird ideas for this kinda stuff…

I guess… maybe… maybe the strange big claws we see on King and Dad Titan’s hands are actually like… some sort of covering over their four fingers? Not sure what purpose that would have, evolutionary, but then again, these are magical beings. Plus, King doesn’t have wings right now, while he’s small enough to use then, but Dad Titan had wings (we can even see remnants of them in the water on The Titan’s right side) while he was WAY too big to possibly use them.

Anyway, time for something completely different.

We can see quite a lot of bones from other Titans lying around. On the left side of the image we can spot a skull (and I think there might be another corpse in the upper right corner, but it’s a bit difficult to tell with the clouds). Not only is there a skull, but there is a pretty large landmass. Which is odd, because didn’t that book King was reading at the beginning of Young Blood, Old Souls say that there were only a few, smaller remains of other titans to be found in the boiling sea?

I dunno, maybe I’m misremembering.

Also, tough luck for anyone who lived on the left arm, your house is now sideways. We can literally see entire villages or towns in some shots, so, uh… the people of the Boiling Isles are gonna have to learn how to build high-rises with cheap apartments real fast, or find some other way to deal with the large chunk of the population that is now homeless.

One downside with this super smooth, super gorgeous animation is that it makes it slightly more difficult to get screenshots in motion that looks good. Whatever, they’re gonna cut Philip Phungi off from his source of power. Callback to season one episode four, The Intruder, where, when asked by Eda where magic comes from, Luz replied ”The heart.”

(Future Lampman here: We have a trio of heroes who crashes into the large body of a monster in order to get inside and take out the core which is the source of its power… am I taking about this scene right here, or am I talking about Chrono Trigger, if you chose to crash the Epoch into Lavos’ shell in order to skip the first eleven phases?)

(Future Future Lampman here: I can’t believe I forgot to mention it, but the music in the background here is the melody from the opening theme. And you know things are hype in an anime when the main theme starts playing.)

Raine is alive! YES! Ha, Belos, you absolute failure! You buffoon! Raine was literally in the midst of things, and you couldn’t even kill them. The only person you’ve managed to kill so far was a powerless human, and she came back strong.

And that is Raine’s Rhapsody/Eda’s Requiem Raine is whistling.

[hinge]

A growing resource addressing LGBTQIA+ daters' most pressing questions.

[pensat-i-fet]

My grumpy idiot (Lisandro Martínez x Reader)

**I got a request to write for Licha, which made me very happy because I love him ❤️ I joked about this match inspiring me to write this and...well, I didn’t expect how it would end. But I hope you enjoy this anyways 😊**

Word count: 1603

Masterlist

Wattpad

“Seven…great!”

You were relieved the match had finally ended after seeing your boyfriend’s team concede six goals in just one half. But also, you were worrying about the state he’d be in when he came back. Being a defender, a score like that wasn't really good news.

A quick look on Twitter told you his haters were having a great time dissecting his performance. As if he was the only one on the pitch. 

The drive from Liverpool to Manchester wasn’t long, so you tried to stop worrying and got ready to prepare some dinner. His favourite food should cheer him up, right?

Though you weren’t so sure. Not after that match.

An hour later, the door opened. Lisandro always called your name when he got home, but this time the only sound you could hear was that of the door closing and your little dog running to meet his dad. 

“Amor?”, you called, walking towards the door, where you found him giving some attention to the little animal.

“Don’t bother”.

There was no malice in his tone. He was just devastated, as you thought he would be. 

“I made you some food”.

“I’m not hungry. Thank you”.

“You need to eat after the match. Even if it’s just a little”.

“I don’t think I deserve any food after that”, he muttered.

“Don’t say that. It was just a freak match. You have been doing so well. You were celebrating winning a title only a week ago”.

He just shook his head, moving towards the room. And you decided to give him some time. People only saw the hot-tempered player on the pitch, but he was actually a very sensitive person. And this match hurt him a lot.

When you noticed he wasn’t coming back after going to the room, you went to check on him. He needed you even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You found him sitting on the bed, staring at his phone. That wasn’t good. 

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing”, he said, putting the phone down.

“Were you on social media? You know it’s the worst thing you can do after this match”.

“It’s not just random people and you know it. Sky Sports are posting about it too”.

“I just…I was reading some comments. And they talked about me deserving a red card as well and then I saw all those screenshots. Always making me look like an aggressive player and I’m tired of it. Of them taking everything out of context”.

“Your coach knows how you are as a player. I know. Who cares about random people on social media?”

“Like the idiots they are then. Is Carragher talking about how short you are again? You’ve proven all of them wrong and you’ll do it again”.

Seeing his head down broke your heart. He closed his eyes, trying to hold onto your words and let out a breath. 

“You go back on Thursday and show them who you really are. You all do as a team”.

“If I’m on the starting eleven. I wouldn’t put me there if I was the coach”.

“Well, thankfully you aren’t”.

He looked at you and you saw his eyes softening. You just wanted to hug him and let him know this score was going to be forgotten soon but knew to give him some space.

“I know what you are trying to do and I appreciate it more than I’m able to show right now. But I need some time alone. I don’t want to bring you down with me”.

He got up and when he walked past you, he stopped to kiss your head. The gesture made you tear up. If you could kick all those players, pundits and idiots who had gotten him feeling this defeated, you would have. And they could call you names too afterwards.

Your first thought was to go downstairs and eat dinner alone. He could have some later if he felt like it. But then you heard the shower and got a better idea.

The door to the bathroom was open. Lisandro never closed it when he was showering. So you got inside and took your clothes off before joining him in the shower.

“What?”, he turned, after being jumped scared by your presence. “I appreciate the thought but I’m not in the mood for that”.

“Neither am I. I’m just here to look after you. Please let me”.

“What are you going to do?”

“Shh, just let me look after you”.

He nodded, curious about what you were planning on doing. He could talk about needing space all he wanted to, but he was glad you hadn’t listened to him. He needed you.

You picked up the speaker you had in the shower and started to play some music. Both of you liked the same artists, so whatever played on shuffle was going to work.

Next, you grabbed your boyfriend by the shoulders to turn him so his back was to you.

“What…”.

“Shhh”.

And then you turned the water off and picked up the bottle of shampoo he used. You loved the smell and couldn’t wait to have that scent around. 

Putting a small amount on your hands, you rubbed them together and then started to wash his hair. You couldn’t see his face but could still imagine the way he looked. You loved massaging his head and he always closed his eyes with a big smile on his face while you did that.

When you were done, you moved to turn the water on but before you could, Lisandro grabbed one of your hands to place a little kiss on it. 

After rinsing all the shampoo from his hair, you told him to pass you the conditioner you bought for his coloured hair.

“Here you have the conditioner that I always use”.

“Liar!”

He was joking, and that was good. It was small steps but in the right direction.

Once that other step was done, you moved to get the shower gel and he stopped you.

“No need, I showered after the match. I just wanted to stay under the water feeling sorry for myself. But you turned that into something better. Thank you”.

“No need to thank me. It’s my job”.

He finally smiled at you and you couldn’t even put into words how much it meant that he was smiling after that match. 

“Should we eat something? I made your favourite meal”.

“Of course you did. Because you’re perfect and have to deal with a grumpy idiot like me. I’m sorry”.

“I like grumpy idiots apparently”.

Once you were both out of the shower, you got dressed quickly so you could go eat. Lisandro grabbed your hand on the way to the kitchen, needing the physical touch to let you know how much he appreciated you and you gave his hand a squeeze, also needing the nonverbal expression of love. 

As you were putting the food on the plates, you noticed two arms wrapping around your waist. After a quick kiss on the back of your neck, he just put his head on your shoulder and enjoyed the feeling of being this close to you.

“How hungry are you?”

“Very”.

You shook your head. “And you planned on going to bed with an empty stomach”.

It didn’t take long for you to finish dinner. Both of you were pretty hungry and you were really looking forward to the dessert you had bought this morning, hoping you could celebrate a win. That thought annoyed you, so you forced yourself to stop thinking about it. As you told your boyfriend, there was no point in thinking about it more.

“Do you want dessert?”

“Sure. Maybe some fruit…”.

“No no no”, you said, walking towards the fridge and making him look at you confused. You had fruit for dessert after dinner almost every day. “I bought cake”.

“To celebrate the win?”, he knew you too well.

“Or to drown our sorrows. It doesn’t have to be for just one thing”.

He laughed and got up to get the plates and forks you would need for the cake. 

“Can we sit on the sofa and eat it there?”

“Sure”, you told him.

Putting the pieces of cake on the plate, you joined him in the living room, where he had already gotten the sofa ready for the three of you. Your poor little dog had been waiting to take a nap with you two for a while, but his plans had been changed and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Come here! Here’s my good boy!”, you told him, scratching his head and giving him small kisses.

“Can I have one of those too?”, asked Lisandro, sitting down next to you.

“One of what?”

“You know what I mean”, he said, seeing your goofy smile.

And he finally gave you the kiss you had been waiting for since he got back and the one he had needed since the first goal was conceded. 

The cake was eaten almost as quickly as the dinner had and when you put the plates back on the coffee table, you could all finally get under the blankets, dog included, and cuddle. There was no better way to end a day, good or bad, than in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“I love you. I don’t know what I would do without you”.

“I don’t know what you would do either but I don’t plan on letting you find out anytime soon”, you said, turning your head so you could kiss him. “I love you too, my grumpy idiot”.

[dude1818]

Oh right, I had to switch sources (again) since the website I had been using was missing a few pages in a recent chapter. This version is a little better (also translates sound effects, for example). Let's see how it did that weird dig in my last post

Well, it reads a lot more natural at least. We do know Nazuna's priorities from when she was in high school. Anyway, onto the liveblog!

Oh no, when the girlfriend in Canada shows up at your school anyway

And immediately pulls him aside for a quickie. I mentioned this in my anime liveblog, but again great use of mirrors

Oh my god. Akira called Ko because she saw his bandage was off, but I completely cracked up at Nazuna waltzing back with blood still on her mouth

Real Ryo hours

Vampire eyes. Pretty obvious since Ko was just wondering if there were vampires here in Hokkaido too. He has the same "dress like a high schooler" technique that Seri used to hunt prey. At least there was a little gap between when Kyoko explained what a vampire's glamour was, since he seems to be using that too. (Although I think that power has been obvious since Hatsuka's harem in season 1)

Okay, that's a messed up cliffhanger panel. Obviously he was trying to pick off one of the girls in Ko's group for a meal, but that's giving much more date rape vibes than "just" a vampire attack

Last chapter had Ko punch the vampire once in the gut and then cut to him carrying the girl back to their hotel. Subtle, I liked it. This chapter then filled in the rest of his and the vamp's fight. Sure

But now Nazuna and crew are also headed to the same bar to talk to the "locals," i.e. this same vampire. That's too much a coincidence. Surely this guy isn't the only vampire in Hokkaido

Wait, he recognizes Nazuna's mom?? That's wild

Now the fangs come out. Nice. I wish they would finally acknowledge that they're been dating this whole time

A bit on the nose to show off your black widow fetish to your romantic partner. I'm trying to figure out when I predicted when this was Kiku's whole deal. Maybe even back in season 1?

Huh. I was not expecting it to be that. Haru I can see wanting to be human again to be with Nazuna's dad. Kiku seems to have had this MO for way longer though

That's a hilarious use of sound effects

Not posting this screenshot, but the bath scene ends with a full frontal shot of Kyoko getting out the water, and the author simply didn't draw her nipples. Not even a pretense of modesty steam or anything, just smooth like a barbie doll

This is why I love this manga. Under all her goofiness and sexual innuendos and refusal to admit they're already dating, she really and truly cares about him

They were talking about how most human myths about vampires aren't true, but may be corrupted from stories about real vampires over the years. If that's true, it would only be appropriate that the vampire myth that feeding on a human you love kills you is corrupted from the real property that feeding on a human you love turns you human. Because what is becoming mortal again except a very delayed death? Ironic, or possibly not, that Haru falling in love with a human killed her vis a vis getting pregnant with Nazuna

Baby don't hurt me. (That's basically the plot of the whole manga, huh)

[infiniteglitterfall]

i don't post about autistic parenting enough

I kind of figured, when our kid was born almost seven years ago, that I would post MASSIVE amounts here. Because that's what I did with my first kid, only on Livejournal. I didn't want to bore my (universally childless, we were 20) friends with constantly going on and on about the smol child I was coparenting, so I infodumped on LJ whenever I felt the need to.

But it was RIGHT in the peak of the ace discourse. (Happy uhhhh seventh anniversary of the shitstorm, everybody!!!)

And I was very terrified that if I even mentioned that we were about to have a baby, someone would doxx me and make false reports to CPS. Or threaten to, or claim they had.

Or even that they'd just screenshot and make a huge deal about it; that there would be hundreds of people on here gleefully faux-raging and faux-bemoaning me having a child because I was one of the people they'd targeted with the Fake Ace/Aro/Inclusionist Blocklist In Which Everyone's Accused Of Being Pedophiles.

Ok you know what, this is not a fun post to share a fun kid story on. I'm just gonna let this one be about the garbage dumpster fire that was 2017, and make an autistic parenting post separately.

In which case, I can go ahead and put back the story about why I remember that it's the seventh anniversary of the shitstorm! (Or was, three days ago.)

It started on Feb 18, 2017, for me.

I mainly remember this because it was my abusive dad's birthday. And his godawful stepdaughter-in-law chose that day to tell him that I was telling people, aka his stepchildren who had kids, not to let their kids sleep over because he was an abuser.

God almighty, she's a piece of work. This was AFTER she insisted on interrogating me, over the phone, about why I was saying he had sexually abused me, whether I really remembered it, what I remembered, et cetera. Because she had been "falsely accused" of sexually abusing a kid she babysat for, as a teenager.

Her story about it does not hang together very well - as you might imagine. It didn't make a lot of sense to me at the time, and I wasn't about to try to have a real conversation with her about it. I barely knew her.

Essentially, as I recall it, the kid had made some claims to his parents about her doing something to him, one night, that she swore never happened, and -- according to her -- the police talked to him and could immediately see that nothing had happened, yet somehow also, this made the news and was a big deal and ruined her life and her family had to move.

Given that my dad swears he never abused me, yet also does not understand sexual boundaries with others even as an adult and doesn't have the concept that he can harm people by violating those boundaries, I am skeptical of her tale. I think that it is absolutely and entirely possible for someone in that specific state to harm a child without thinking that what they're doing is wrong.

For anyone who's reading this in a cold sweat, terrified that they could abuse a child without meaning to: see, the thing is that you care. My dad, ultimately, does not care.

He doesn't WANT to hurt a child. But you know what's even more important to him than not behaving in a way that might harm the kiddies? Not having to accept that anything he does could ever be harmful.

You do not have that problem. The fact that you are even worrying about this proves that. My dad, in contrast, puts all his energies not into worrying about it, but into pretending it's not there.

But I made all the supportive noises, tried to reassure her that I was not trying to ruin my dad's life or something, and that I was describing things in good faith. And tried desperately to get out of the conversation I did not want to have, with the half-stepsister-in-law I barely knew, who had just had her second kid. While also giving her many ways she could protect her kids without, like, having to even believe me, and certainly without having to talk to him about it.

hahahaha yeah that didn't work.

Where my dad is motivated by denial, Amy is motivated by spite. So she told him, on his birthday. And my dad, the pure fool, texted me and accused me of having ruined his birthday.

Like bro. I'm just chilling at home. AMY ruined your birthday.

And iirc, it was that same day that someone jumped in my face claiming i was a """"pedophile"""" """"apologist.""""" the 2017 version of "groomer" i guess. honestly it's kinda impressive or something -- at the time I was like, "why are they reviving the 1980s arguments of the religious right??" but IN FACT THEY WERE JUST A COUPLE YEARS AHEAD OF THE CURVE!

makes me wonder if we could predict other far-right moves by watching these dynamics, or whether it was just a flash in the pan.

[khaleesiofalicante]

Daniii I seriously need a warning before you update such emotional chapters! Girl I was out with my friends when I saw it so I read a small part and it was the Prince story and I teared up🥲 And then I ruined my make up and my friends where kinda concerned because they thought something bad had happened and the "Max and David are so in love it brings me to tears" truth wouldn't have cut it so I told them I remembered something emotional😅

Okay I really want to talk about the chapter so bad but, I have to tell you, the month that I had the exams I had a lot of Mavid thoughts and I didn't have time to tell you about them so I wrote them down on my phone for when the exams would be over. So I kind of mixed them and made a Mavid list!

I remember some people in your ask box talking about the first Malec fight in TLND and it got me thinking, how would Mavid's first fight after getting back together in IALS would have gone. I mean, I try to think about the subject or the way it would go, but I'm drawing a blank., thoughts? (And prayers, I hate it when they fight)

I can just see Max posting a lot of shirtless pics in IALS, Lewis Hamilton style and David being internally stuck between telling him to stop doing that and taking screenshots of every single one of them. Oh bonus points if he did it before they got back together, I can just see David staring at them and being pissy about everyone else getting to see them and then sad because he doesn't get to see Max like that anymore. This was supposed to be funny but it turned angsty so I'll leave it here.

I keep imagining this scenario where post Africa trip, Max and David are asleep and Max wakes up and he can't go back to bed so he goes for a swim in the pool and David senses Max isn't in bed so he wakes up and at first he panicks but then he hears the water splashing and goes to the pool and he sees Max and the moonlight highlights his face and he looks so beautiful and David just stares at him and Max looks up and smiles at him softly and goes, hey Babe, and David smiles softly back and he goes up to him and Max tells him to join him so David dives in the pool and they spent hours just sitting there floating and talking just being them🥹

Back to FMF, I have noticed that David's mission in Budapest gets mentioned a lot and it may be nothing but it may be something no offense but you've given me trust issues so I ignore nothing😂

Okay I just ADORE the new casting for Lance and Arthur, but especially Arthur because of the piercings and the tattoos, I mean like father like son👀

It also occurred to me that Lance has Max's taste in music and his need to work out while Arthur has David's taste in music and hates working out just like him. They both have so much of both their parents in them and it makes me a little emotional🥺

Can I just say that although Jackson doesn't really like Max in any universe, he always knows that Max is gone for David and is absolutely obsessed with him the exact way David is about him, oh I love Jackson, he is the only bitch we respect in this house

M, THE PASSWORD TO DAVIDS PHONE IS THE LETTER M, M FOR MAX, M FOR MON ANGE CALLED IT! When I tell you I squealed when I read that part please know I mean it

I'm ready to bet real money that Max will eventually get David to both twerk and pole dance for him because he'll be all like "Well I heard it on the video and now I can't stop imagining it Babe" and David will absolutely go for it. Because "no post man's daughter could pull this off like me"

I'm still waiting for the iconic "I love you, I'm gonna kill your dad, but I love you" line that you teased us with (I have a feeling we'll see it in the next chapter)

Okay David being Arthur's dad not being a constant is making me very icky and it kinda hurts, but I'll wait for the LBAF chapter to drop to properly explore that because there are some parts I still don't get

I don't know how I feel about the David/Other Max situation, I mean thinking about it kinda bothers me, please don't be offended🥺 It's just, it kinda makes me feel like the Jaden/Max situation in IALS and that's not cool, I can't wait to see the way you explore it and the emotions you bring out of it. I have to say my reaction is very connected to Max's, I mean if Max is eventually okay with it and starts feeling differently or understands that he has no reason to antagonise this other version of himself maybe our perception of the whole thing might change. Really looking forward to that plot (although it scares me at the same time, does that make sense?)

You playing the long game and eventually killing someone you won't bring back to life scares me. Why would you do that, we love that you kill our faves and then bring them back, don't stop bringing them back😭

Okay that's it for now, I loved these chapters, you're amazing never forget!

PS: I really really love the tag, getting a personal tag on your blog makes me kinda 🥹 so thank youuu🌷🩷

A MAVID LIST? LET'S GO, BABYGIRL, LET'S GO.

I'm not sure. This feels like something I would like to think about (and maybe even write 👀) But immediate thoughts: David will start the fight and it might have something to do with Max's job. I don't see their fights emerging from little things but rather bigger fears and insecurities that they are still working on.

Allow me to counter the angst. Because while I read it, I thought of this whole scene where (post-divorce) David is like looking at Max's insta stories and Jackson is like 'it's like you want to get caught" and David is like "it's not like he is going to know" and Jackson replies with "You know people can see who viewed their insta stories right???" and David (who doesn't actually use insta and only uses it to stalk Max) just screams and throws his phone into the pool.

This is the softest. I love this. I also love how David prefers baths (bougie ass bitch) but he loves being in the pool with Max

Budapest is important. Not that important. But important. You'll see it in the next chapter.

Thank yoooou. Arthur canonically has tattoos (or runes) and piercings so yay

They really do. I can't wait to explore their family dynamic further in lbaf!

JACKSON RIGHTS (AND WRONGS) ONLY

david's lack of awareness about cyber security is a canon event

I mean...I don't see why not ;)

Close <3

I don't know what you mean by this though? David is Arthur's father in every universe. Maybe I made a typo or you misunderstood? Although his mother(ish)...you'll see in lbaf.

This situation is complicated. It's supposed to be complicated. The plot and Max's storyline won't work otherwise. We need Other Max for the plot and I don't see a universe in which David is like "oh another max? I'll just let him mind his own business" and a universe in which Max is like "my greatest enemy is me". More on this very soon ;)

No

I had a very meh day and felt kinda useless and unproductive and this list was the best part of my day so thank you for that 💙

[roosterbruiser]

Shit talking exes? Bet.

My only relationship to date was from the ages of 14-17, he was 2 years older than me and basically my only friend because of a bunch of drama with my friends because they couldn’t handle my mood swings/drama that happened with my dads family. (Whole other can of worms). So he was my best friend and my boyfriend, although all his friends let me tag along/were my friends too. Things were good, I think sometimes we both knew we were better as friends but he was also sort of lonely as well and so we just texted all the time or talked on the phone all the time/always were hanging out together and even taking elective classes together to see each other more. Some of his girl friends were sort of flirty to him imo and he’d hang out with them by themselves sometimes and tell me there’s nothing for me to worry about. The girls also always told me I didn’t need to worry. Well he goes off to the navy my right before my senior year. Go to Illinois with his parents and male bestfriend to see him graduate (AFTER seeing a screenshot of a note from his bestfriend - who in all fairness didn’t realize girl’s detective skills and how desperate I was to hear from him when he was basically sending letters to everyone but me/I could tell he wasn’t feeling it (which we had had our moments of basically blah like most long term couples do) - that basically told his buddy how he wished id stop sending him letters in boot because I was annoying and clingy etc.) so my dumb self should have not gone but I was happy for him and did. While we were there a girl he knew from boot couldn’t have family come so she hung out with us that day.. come to find out he was basically cheating on me in boot camp with her and even risking a lowkey dd if they had gotten in trouble (according to another friend of mine) and told me after he was in A school. My dumbass still spent 6 months of us still sort of “trying” to work it out and just kinda being friends and hurt by each other/over it but refusing to officially end it because it was our first relationship and how does one end something with someone who it’s been 3 years with? By the time we actually split it was 3 1/2 years to the day that we decided on New Years Eve while he was back in town that we would be over. Still spent the two weeks he was home before that together though.. fast forward 2 months and one of his old girlfriends is messaging me saying he’s flirting with her and asking me what’s up and so I told her we split and that it was fine if she decided to see what happened with him. 4 months later they were engaged and a few months later she was pregnant. He came back for my highschool graduation (so right around when they got engaged) and it was nice to sort of have my friend back without all the hurt since it had been a few months. Man lowkey tried to say he wished we had had sex - we did other things but never actually intercourse because he was big on no sex till marriage (WHICH LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT BUDDY) *just making it known that here I am at 27 still a virgin* - and I obviously was like uhhh no. LOL. Once he left after my graduation we never really talked again and just drifted apart. All in all I learned a lot, and tbh it’s not like I hate him bc he still was my bestfriend throughout highschool even though we both sometimes were horrible to each other. I am a little salty looking back though bc I might have been one of those horrible teenage girlfriends that we are a lot of at 16 bc you don’t know better but he really did do some fucked up things there that I didn’t deserve and that really fucked with my already low self esteem/body image issues. Bc of course then I was wondering if it was bc I was plus sized etc.

I know that was a lot but figured I’d jump on the shitty ex train.

I am so glad you did jump on the crazy ex train!! holy moly!! this read as a very epic saga!!

after reading your story, I just want to say that I am SO HAPPY you understand your self-worth!! you truly deserve all the good things in the world and if you're with someone who doesn't believe that, kick them to the curb!!

I will say, ending long-term relationships is literally so fucking hard, even if they're circling the drain. especially if it's a first!! I admire your strength and growth so much!!

and pls know you have so many fans here now!! that is such a slay moment for you!! I love the self-love and realizing you're worth MORE!!

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from The Lost Tomb, part 3

I didn’t mean for this to stray into angst but like the lack of updates with Li Cu in LTR?? I had to do it to em.

Wushanju Crew Chat, 11:05pm

Li Cu: what’s up losers I’m outside

Li Cu: someone come on and open the damn door

Wang Meng: Language:(

Li Cu: fine, someone come on and open the damn door please

Snake Eyes Chat, 7:00am

Wu Xie: hey are you awake? Sorry I missed you coming in:) was finishing up some work. How was the end of your first semester? Did that geology paper go well? Did the food budget work out or do you need some extra money next semester?

Li Cu: yeah about your work

Li Cu: heard a little rumor

Li Cu: about you going through some stuff during ur recent trip

Li Cu: some stuff you maybe forgot to mention

Li Cu: and you told me we gotta check in with stuff, so this is me checking in, okay

Wu Xie: oh? What stuff?

Li Cu: idk just like

Li Cu: THE STUFF WITH YOU ALMOST FUCKING DYING FOR FUCKING MONTHS AND THE WAREHOUSE SHIT AND ERJING AND PEOPLE HURT YOU AND WHAT THE FUCK IS A THUNDER CITY AND NOONE FUCKING CALLED ME ABT THOSE PARTS ONCE

Wu Xie: oh. That stuff.

Li Cu: yeah asshat I’m in the kitchen whenever you’re ready to explain your fucking bullshit. Also you’re out of milk wtf how am I supposed to make breakfast here

Main Chat, 11:14am

Wu Xie: okay so it’s possible I fucked up a little bit.

Wang Pangzi: THERES JUST SO MUCH YOU COULD BE REFERRING TO I DONT KNOW WHERE TO START

Zhang Qiling: What’s wrong?

Honorary Wu Chat, 11:30am

Wang Pangzi: KID IM SO SORRY THAT PUNK IS A TRAINWRECK BUT YOU KNEW THAT

Wang Meng: Welcome home, Li Cu <3 not much has changed, ultimately.

Wang Pangzi: IT DIDNT EVEN OCCUR TO ME THAT HE WOULDNT TELL YOU EVERYTHING ABOUT IT ONCE THE REST OF US FIGURED IT OUT

WAIT HOW DID YOU FIND OUT

Li Cu: it’s okay. not your fault, uncle. Doesn’t matter how I found out. Wait wait hold on what do you mean “the rest of us figured it out” who figured it out

Wang Pangzi: SAY HELLO LIU SANG

Liu Sang: …hello.

Wang Pangzi: SAY MORE THAN THAT.

Liu Sang: uh…so you’re Wu Xie’s protégé, huh?

Li Cu: oh well howdy there homewrecker

Liu Sang: Excuse me??

Zhang Qiling: I think someone on the roof is calling me and I should go find out.

Wang Meng: I would also very much like to be removed from this conversation.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHAHA KIDDO IVE MISSED YOU

Li Cu: all I’m saying is aren’t you the little creep who’s obsessed with Xiao Ge

Liu Sang: ???

Zhang Qiling: Li Cu is referring to a brief period of irrational thought on Wu Xie’s part, where he mistakenly believed you to be a threat to our relationship.

Liu Sang: what do you mean a threat??

Wang Pangzi: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIANZHEN HAD “A BRIEF PERIOD OF IRRATIONAL THOUGHT”

YOUVE MET YOUR HUSBAND RIGHT

Wang Meng: can you please take me off this chat.

Liu Sang: Wait, so Wu Xie told you about me, but…reading between the lines, he didn’t mention the cancer or anything bad that happened? Oh yikes.

Li Cu: don’t change the subject “Liu Sang”

if that is your real name

Like yeah you’re right abt it but still

just saying

heard you got good ears but I’ve got snake powers

kinda

so like no more funny business okay you superhearing harlot

Wang Meng: LANGUAGE, LI CU. IN THIS HOUSE WE SHOW GOOD MANNERS.

Wang Pangzi: LMAO OH DO WE NOW

Zhang Qiling: Li Cu, this is all unnecessary and childish. Please apologize.

Li Cu: you say that now bruh but apparently you weren’t complaining when he was all “idol this” and “idol that”

oh and hey Wang Meng while we’re here can I show you my business class grade report later bc Wu Xie is all “what matters is that you learned and enjoyed the experience” blah blah all eat pray love you know how he gets and I want to actually discuss areas to improve so that when I take over this joint I do better than Wu Xie? Tho that shouldnt be hard lol

Wang Meng: hurtful but accurate. I’ll bring my best red pen:)

Liu Sang: oh my god. I’m too jetlagged to keep up with any of this.

Wang Pangzi: BEST. DAY. EVER. IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS FOR HEI XIAZI.

Not A Homewrecker Chat, 11:52am

Liu Sang: Okay, we started off on the wrong foot.

Li Cu: I agree let’s start over

Start with how your little prank game almost got ppl killed

Liu Sang: And I seriously regret that. But we moved past that.

Wow, he seriously skipped over so much bullshit but didn’t skimp on mine, huh.

Li Cu: AHA so you ADMIT IT

Liu Sang: I’d like to think I’ve grown since then. That I’ve come to see Xiao Ge as a person and mentor, rather than an idol. I count Pangzi and Wu Xie as my close friends. I’m going to be staying here with them right now, I hope you can be okay with that.

Li Cu: see in my head you were going to be a lot less mature about it and I had a bunch of great follow-up insults planned

Liu Sang: I figured. I’d like us to be friends, though. Or at least not enemies.

Li Cu: okay but only bc you don’t know me yet so you won’t judge too much for this and I need to get this out to somebody I’ve been thinking about it for hours and my friends are still in finals and I’m stressing a little bit maybe

Liu Sang: ?

Li Cu: I yelled at dad

*Wu Xie sorry autocorrect

Liu Sang: …uh huh.

Li Cu: I yelled at him earlier. for keeping all that stuff from me. He started crying

Liu Sang: Wu Xie has been pretty emotional since we got back. Not necessarily your fault.

Li Cu: I made him cry right there at the kitchen sink and it felt like maybe the worst thing I’ve ever done

Snake venom and stabbings, no tears

Me saying I wouldn’t have gone to his funeral, all tears

Which I know was shitty to say but I was really mad

Liu Sang: If it’s any consolation, I think Wu Xie can understand the concept of being led by his emotions to make bad decisions…better than most people.

Li Cu: Xiao Ge came in then and looked weird

Like weirder than usual

Like he didn’t know which of us to be more mad at

Liu Sang: A common problem for the iron triangle, I understand.

Li Cu: I just ran out I didn’t have words right then and I feel stupid

but whenever they come back from their walk I’m gonna say sorry and stuff bc i could’ve come home to his funeral and I’m mad about it but also like. I could have come home to his funeral. I can get mean when I’m in a freakout mood. It’s not like I was scared or anything at all I don’t get scared really anymore ever but just like. Freaked out.

Liu Sang: He’s probably going to say sorry, too.

Li Cu: sorry I called you a homewrecker. Didn’t mean to slut-shame either

Liu Sang: I admit that after the initial shock, it was pretty funny. Super hearing harlot, it should be on my business card;)

Li Cu: this situation with Wu Xie is weird but kinda good ya know. And I have these freakouts sometimes that something maybe bad could happen to this situation. So consider this a shovel talk. But like, also not a shovel talk at the same time.

also I appreciate you saving his life and whatnot

Liu Sang: Noted. Now. Coffee?

Li Cu: sounds sick.

Be in the kitchen in 10. You can pick out what we watch for the household tv show tonight. no way is Wu Xie choosing some dry documentary about gravestone rubbings again. Pangzi just watches real housewives reruns and Xiao Ge won’t watch tv after he caught the last half hour of A Walk To Remember. Also i need my phone now to send some $ to Hei Xiazi since I owe him for…providing some intel

Liu Sang: Not even surprised.

[saintobio]

WAIT WAIT SO MANY EMOTIONS OMGMGMGMGMGM OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL THIS;

OMGMGMGMGM I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!! im so touch deprived i literally screamed. i have to read a toji fanfic where he takes care of y/n bc her husband treats her like shit. i have to. this was so intense to me. can he kiss y/n again?? this time on the lips? and then maybe the lower lips?? KSPSPSPAS im truly in love with toji. crazy how i got more excited over him kissing y/n’s cheeks than satoru kissing y/n.. i think its bc i know that he’s still with sera and has the audacity to still refer to her as his lover… fucking pathetic.

FLIRT MORE PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU!! every time he touched y/n i had an orgasm bye. how can he be so fucking attractive?? im in love with that man.

wait until sera learns about this😹😹😹 she gonna be even more broken which is everything i want.

that sounds very familiar… doesnt it satoru?? ai can your beautiful self please explain to me how this mf doesn’t see that’s literally him and sera?? how can a person be so blind for fuck’s sake. even geto mentioned it.

THE AUDACITY OF THIS WRENCH! how can she also say something about y/n when she is the mistress?!! wtfff?!!!!!? when i saw this my head started hurting. what a fucking bitch bro. the audacity.. THE AUDACITY!! ima take this as a racist offense since im a poc and an immigrant. i hate that bitch so much. she triggers me. like the fucking audacity bro. im honestly speechless ai. the audacity of these mfs to get upset.

“the wrong idea” now now y/n… lets be honest sweetie… you know you wanna fuck that masterpiece of a man.. just a one nightstand. he’s the one she should be calling daddy😩😩 he’s such a dilf. so fucking fine.

ATTENTION SEEKER ALERT‼️ATTENTION SEEKER‼️ATTENTION SEEKER‼️

i just know she did that shit on purpose bro. she’s everything bad she claims y/n is😹 i cant believe satoru still has the fucking audacity to tell y/n he wants her and still go after the mistress bro. he never did that with y/n.. not even when she was the one crying her heart out (quite literally). this is why i dont get excited over satoru anymore. until i see him putting y/n first place as she should be, i dont even wanna see him. every time he takes a step forward, he takes three back and im real tired of it.

sorry for the long rant but this episode was so beautiful. im so happy to see y/n sticking up for herself and seeing toji is such a joy.. damn i truly love that mf bye. but something i asked before and wanted to ask again is if sera’s dad is the abusive alcoholic type? he doesn’t give me those vibes but i wonder since she seems to despise him so much.

GAHAHSH I LIKE THAT U HAD SCREENSHOTS !! thank u sm for reading and sending ur thoughts abt the last chapter <33 hope you’ll enjoy the next one too :)

[sunaswife]

Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.

🔪: <3 thanks for all the support so far

Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload

Previously Up Next Masterlist

Chapter Thirteen

“Kuroo-San I’m very flattered but in reality I’m seeing someone.” You chuckled awkwardly as you both walked to the lounge after today’s game. “Really?! Since when! About a month ago during the black Jackals game you just said you were a single mom!” He exclaimed. “Well..in reality..I’m trying to make amends with the father of my children. We were both dumb and immature but now since we’re older, we can have a decent conversation. And I still have feelings for him in a way and he’s already confessed..so...” you scratched the back on your head. “Have you accepted his confession..?” He asked. “Well..I mean I kind of changed the subject..” you replied awkwardly. “Poor guy..” he put his hand on his chest as if he felt the pain. “Well it’s not right to pressure someone into going on a date with them so I’m sorry. I was out of line. And I hope everything goes well between you and Rintarou.” He said with a soft smile. He patted your head and walked away down the other hall, you just stood there dumbfounded. How does he know Rin is the dad..?

You haven’t checked social media or sports news so you’re not sure if people already know. You made you way into the lounge and opened your small locker. You took out your purse and walked to your car, you tried walking as fast as possible to avoid talking to people and when you were in the comfort of your car you took out your phone.

Your eyes widened at the amount of phone calls and messages Rin sent. You didn’t even have a chance to read the messages since you decided to call back Rin and wonder what is going on. “It’s about time you answer.” He immediately gritted, he obviously sounded pissed. “Excuse me?” You immediately said with such confusion.

Does he seriously think he can get away with talking to you like that?

“I said it’s about time you fucking answered. Why weren’t you answering my calls or messages?” He asked. “I was obviously working.” You said in a duh tone. “Is something wrong?” You asked. “YES something is wrong! My son almost died and I didn’t know what to do!”

Your heart dropped. He almost...died..? “W-wait—“ you shook your head. “What do you mean he almost died?” You asked. “He had an allergy attack and I had to use an epipen. I didn’t know what to do at the hospital. I rarely had any information. You never told me if the kids had insurance or anything.” “Is Rini okay?” You immediately asked. “Yes he’s fine. But you didn—“

“I’m on my way. For the next eight hours, think before you speak, okay? Don’t say anything you’ll regret.” You warned. “Whatever.” He muttered and hung up. Immediately your heart clenched and you threw your phone at the passenger seat. You rubbed your face and leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel.

“What the fuck.” You sighed. Throughout the drive back to Hyogo your hands began shaking thinking about your kids and Rin. The kids went through something traumatic, and you weren’t there to help them or to protect them. What kind of mother are you? You wanted to slap yourself so hard, jump off a cliff. Receive some sort of punishment for being such a stupid mother and trusting Rin with your children.

After a few hours, your makeup needed a touch up, your hair was a mess for running your hands through your hair hoping your son is okay. Your eyes felt droopy. You’ve only slept a good six hours between drives and it’s way past midnight. The sun began to rise and you finally passed the billboard welcoming you to the hyogo prefecture. You went to the hospital Rin said they were at and you quickly parked and made your way inside.

The poor lady in the office seemed startled at your appearance, your clothes were wrinkled, and your shirt was untucked and unbuttoned from the top, you had bags under your eyes, you were a whole mess. When she gave the room number you slipped off your heels and began jogging to your location. The door was opened so you peeked in and saw your daughter playing with her fox plush on the uncomfortable couch chair.

It was like she sensed you so she looked up and you made eye contact with your little girl. Her eyes immediately watered and she hopped off the chair crying. “Mommy!” She sobbed and you immediately bent down to pick her up. You held her close and her grip tightened around your shoulders. “Rini doesn’t feel good..” she mumbled in your ear. “I know baby, I know.” You answered and dropped your heels by the entrance.

You made you way inside and saw Rin hunched over on the bed sleeping. He was holding Rini’s hand who was also asleep. He looked alright and you sighed in relief. “Have you slept, Akira?” You asked and she nodded. “I slept with Rini, but grandma wanted me to go back home with her. But Rini needed me. He’s my twin.” She wiped her eyes and slightly pulled away. You neared the other side of the bed and pulled the lounge chair closer so you can sit. Akira was on your left thigh with her head still on your shoulder. You looked at Rini sleeping and you brushed some hair out of his face. He slowly opened his eyes and he smiled lazily, “I missed you momma..” he mumbled. “I missed you too. I came as fast as I could.” You assured. “I was so scared.” He admitted. “I know..and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.” Your eyes began to water. “Don’t cry mommy.... then I’ll cry..” Rini held your hand with his free hand.

Your wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your blazer to stop the tears from falling and you smiled again. “Okay I won’t cry.” You said and released a breath. “Can you sing me a song?” Akira asked in your neck, “Yeah I want a song too, please.” Rini pouted and you nodded. They had a favorite song from a certain show that they enjoyed the most. You began to sing softly and Rini squeezed your hand and Akira began to fall asleep again.

I always thought I might be bad

Now I'm sure that it's true

'Cause I think you're so good

And I'm nothing like you

Look at you go

I just adore you

I wish that I knew

What makes you think I'm so special

You saw as Rini’s eyes began to close so he could fall back to sleep, you heard snoring right in your ear and realized Akira knocked out as well. “You have a beautiful voice.” Rin said softly as he rested his head on the side of his arm. “Sorry that I woke you up.” You quickly apologized. “No it’s fine..” he yawned and slowly sat up. He winced slightly, “Damn I need to see a chiropractor.” He muttered and you released a small chuckle. “Me too.” You said.

“So is Rini okay? What happened?” You asked and he sighed and looked into your eyes. “My mom got some burgers from a restaurant where peanut oil is used. She didn’t know Rini was allergic and I didn’t check the bag.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You raised your voice and his eyes widened. “Your mom almost killed our son and you blame me for leaving you without any information?” You asked and he looked down guilty. “She didn’t kn—“

“Of course she doesn’t know because all day she was acting like a conceited bitch instead of being a grandmother to her grandkids. She even called me a whore—“

“No she didn’t.” He immediately interrupted. “She didn’t because you stopped her. But that’s what she thinks right? I model for Hana’s company to support her and to build up my self esteem and now I’m a whore? And you had the audacity to talk to me so rudely when I didn’t do anything. If you’re going to be treating me like that then there’s the fucking door. You understand? Never again will I be disrespected by a man.” You said and he had no words.

“You make it seem like I did it on purpose. I was sleep deprived and scared. I felt like I was going to throw up.” Rin squinted his narrow eyes.

“Do you have any idea what I felt when I got a call eight hours away that my son almost died? Imagine how I feel when he calls out to me and I’m not there. I feel like I failed them as a mom, my chest hurts and I’ve always been there. Always. And now I leave them in your hands and something happens and I can’t get there soon? I almost had a panic attack on the drive!” You exclaimed and he stayed silent. He didn’t want to continue fighting. He’s sure the kids are awake and listening to everything.

“I’m sorry.” He said and looked at his hands. He felt defeated and disappointed. You shouldn’t be so hard on him, it’s been less than a month since he took on this role. “Hey look at me.” You called softly, he looked up and you made eye contact once more. “I’m sorry for going off on you like this, I’m just as upset and afraid as you are and I’m sure you haven’t slept much.”

“I could say the same for you, you look like shit.” He cracked a tiny smile and you rolled your eyes with a giggle. “So did your mom eventually decide to be a grandma or she still hates me so she’s not getting close?” You asked. “She went back home to bring some clothes and then to get us some breakfast. I sent her a screenshot of my notes.” He said and you nodded. You obviously still felt uneasy with her, but they deserve a grandma and if she’s being civil you have no reason to take them away from her.

There was a knock at the door and you and Rin immediately turned your heads. “Oh you must be mom..” the doctor said. “Yeah I’m mom.” You said. She explained that Rini stayed longer than usual because he is a child. After a severe allergic reaction there can be aftershocks hours after the person receives treatment and that can lead to a seizure. She praised Rin for quick thinking and following proper steps to insure his child’s safety.

When the doctor left, Rin’s mom waltzes in and she freezes when she sees you. You take a deep breath and release and decide that it’s best to keep quiet. You wouldn’t want a clique animosity between you and your maybe future mother in law.

“I brought Rini some spare clothes.” She said as she opened Rin’s old gym bag. “He doesn’t own that jacket.” You pointed out. Her face flushed slightly, “I know..but this was Rintarou’s favorite jacket when he was his age..I thought it would be nice to wear. I have a lot of Rin’s old baby and child clothes.” She admitted softly, almost scared that you would snap any minute. And you would, so she was wise to walk on eggshells.

“Okay that’s fine.” You gave in. You helped Rini get dressed while Rin was talking to the doctor and getting ready to check out. You walked barefoot down the hall with your pink heels in your right hand, while Akira held your left hand. Rini was holding hands with Suna and Rin’s mom was holding their stuffed animals. She trailed behind you four and saw how you and Rin swung akira with you arms, her little giggles filled the hall releasing serotonin to the patients and nurses nearby.

“Momma aren’t you gonna put your shoes on?” Rini asked, “My feet hurt and I don’t feel like falling.” “But it’s hot outside, you can burn your feet.” Rin spoke up, “I think I’ll be fine.” You assured. He rolled his eyes and let go of the kids. You were about to step on the asphalt of the parking lot after checking both sides and all of a sudden you’re being knocked back from your legs and carried bridal style. “RINTAROU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT.”

“Nah.”

The kids giggled at their parents funny behavior, you kicked the air and squirmed but his grip tightened. “Do you really wanna get down?” He asked and you said yes. He pretended to drop you and you gripped onto his shirt for dear life and he started laughing. “I swear to God I am going to kick you where the sun doesn’t shine.” You muttered. He finally put you down but you were so distracted you were already at your car.

Karin took the kids to her car since the car seats are in there, so now it’s just you and Rin. “You give me a headache.” You told him. “But you love this headache—“ both your eyes widened and he stopped, “—sorry.” He immediately apologized.

You turned away to yawn and you muttered an it’s okay. He opened the car door for you just like old times, much to your dismay and he closed it when you entered. You put on your seatbelt and he fixed the seat and complained at how tiny you were. He was expecting you to fight back and bicker but you were already asleep.

He leaned forward and fixed your head so you wouldn’t hurt your neck. He started the car and began driving back home. He saw the two empty cups of coffee and some energy bar wrappers on the floor. The phone wasn’t playing any music but the volume was up to 20. You must have been so tired driving all last night and the night before for nine straight hours. No wonder you blasted music to keep you up and drank coffee.

He soon made it home and tried waking you up, but you didn’t budge. Not even shaking you work. You were a muttering unconscious mess when he helped you out and carried you bridal style once again. His mom let him in and he told Akira to unroll the futon in the living room since he couldn’t take you upstairs. He successfully placed you down and helped take of your blazer, he thanked god you were wearing an undershirt thanks to akira checking (no somnophilia shit here atm) and he helped unbutton your dress shirt so you wouldn’t feel hot. He put a light blanket over you. “Can’t believe I have to get you ready for bed like a child.” He muttered with a shake of his head. “Silence bottom, it’s mimi’s time.” You said in your sleep.

The kids ate their breakfast in the car as well as Karin. They were already awake and playing with Chewy outside again. “Mom.” He called, “Yes?” She asked from the kitchen. “Can I borrow your makeup wipes?” He asked. She smiled softly, looking out the window to check on the kids. “Yeah go ahead, they’re in the bathroom.”

Rin came back with the wipes and began wiping the makeup off your face. He didn’t want to press too hard to hurt you. But damn, this makeup was hard to take off. Finally you slept comfortably without makeup, without any interruptions. “Sweet dreams, love.” He smiled and moved the hair away from your face.

He stood up and grabbed the bag with all the kids school stuff and sat in the picnic table outside. “Alright you rascals time for school!” He yelled and the kids yelled an okay and went to join their dad.

“Hey dad..” Rini said. “What’s up?” Rin looked at his son, “I love you a lot. To infinity and beyond. Mama says that’s called unconditional love.” He said and Rin smiled with a nod. “Exactly, and I love you two unconditionally as well.” He said and Akira peered up from her work sheet. “Do you love mom unconditionally?” She asked Rintarou.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Fun facts:

Someone asked me to do fun facts and if I had any for future chapters so here I go

The song YN sang is love like you from Steven universe but this is my fav version.

‘Mimi’s’ means sleeping time, Akira didn’t know how to say sleeping when she was a toddler so she would say Mimi’s cuz uncle Oikawa would say “es tiempo de dormir.” Which means ‘it’s time to sleep’. So MIMIS is taken for the ‘mir’ in dormir. (Sorry that was a long explanation) (if you live in a Mexican household then u might usually hear this)

YN drives a Black Honda CR-V (nice mom van) ☺️ while Rin has a White Nissan GT-R but he’s thinking of trading it in for a four door sports car to take the kids and yn along

Rin still has his old black mustang in a garage rental back in Tokyo where he would drive with YN everywhere. He wants to fix it up and gift it to one of his kids when they’re older 🥺

Idk why I’m talking about cars

Rin was a blushing mess when he was getting yn ready for bed and his heart stopped when she snuggled into him

After he admitted he loved YN unconditionally, Akira called him a simp

🏷: @therealwalmartjesus @differentballooncollection @aaesuki @atsunflower @dope-squish @prettysetterboiss @june-phantom @tomo-uwu @austriasmariazelle @xrnia @katsulia @aprettyfruit @shut-your-eyes-kiss-me-goodbye @tvbiio @sun-daddy-yoriichi @kamenoyaki @ppangiiroo @loeyprivvv @kmskj92 @lovinnoya @sarahvvictoria @tris-does-stuff @mokkeguts @sunaluvr6969 @bara-rose-would @sempiternal-amour @volleybloop @leykyuu @bokutoichigo @stfucanunot @iloveanime691 @atsumusdomain @ohrintarou @shoutosimp @mqrinqcele @bokutosdivineass @anngelllla @toworuu @hidden-otaku-stuff @seijohiselite @caxsthetic @aquariarose @hhwanggu @bakuhoetoedoroki @yoozuku @osamus-onigiri @akaashi-todorki @donica95 @kakaokenma @airheadpillar

[taeslovehandles]

I never meant to target you and I'm sorry you felt that way. You properly tag everything and adhere to the "don't like, don't read" rule. I don't follow you nor you follow, because we simply don't vibe together and that's okay.

But there are posts that are on the more "innocent" side that do represent fat people as a joke and it's like they don't even realize it because it's something so well ingrained in our fatphobic society.

For example, all the characters are having fun except the fat one or referring to someone as "twice his size" (like... If they want to say he's huge, they should just say it, not imply that there's a "right size" for someone to be).

I don't think authors should censor themselves, just acknowledge the role they play in how fat characters are perceived by the community they write for.

-🍓

First of all, since you obviously haven’t blocked me, you could have come to me via direct message. This is not a topic that needs to be brought out into the public eye even more than it already is. I have worked with anons before, I would have been the last person to reveal who you are. You could have made a trash account to message me in dm’s, but since you didn’t, I will reply to you here.

I want to make one thing clear. This will be my last response on the topic. If you do not like me as a member of the community please use the block button and filter me out, because I will stay. I have many friends here, and know that many people enjoy my content. Just because a small handful of people don’t appreciate dark themes in fiction, the contents of which they can easily protect themselves from, won’t make me falter.

Now, I want to debunk this ask because your ‘apology’ actually made me very upset.

I know you don’t mean it when you say you are sorry because you’re backpedaling on what you’ve told your friends and it really rubs me the wrong way. You could have owned up to your mistakes and apologized sincerely like others had but you continue to play victim and excuse your behaviour with tales of your own trauma, projecting your own insecurities onto my blog and thus hating me.

I know for a fact that you despise my blog, especially my writing, because you do not like how “obviously skinny people write about weight gain.”

Honey.

I couldn’t be any further from skinny.

I don’t mind sharing my actual weight, which has actually gotten worse due to COVID. I weigh 490lbs. I am morbidly obese. I have always been morbidly obese. For you to come and be “nitpicky” about a genre you don’t even enjoy? Why are you even reading my fics then?

The way I write about obese people, their struggles with literally everything… that comes from real life experience. I write this to share embarrassing and exhausting daily life tasks I personally struggle with.

A skinny person would never write some of the stuff I do, because they simply don’t know. They don’t know how scary it is to hear the line “we are going to a restaurant.” They don’t know how scary it is to go into that new restaurant, scan the chairs and think “Shit, am I gonna fit? Is the chair gonna creak? Is there enough space for the next table? What if I won’t fit?” A thin person doesn’t have to think this way.

And, let me tell you something else. Yes, I agree. The world is fatphobic.

In one of my recent posts I talked about movies and shows where they make fun of fat people because I hate it. Because it is REAL LIFE. And I am all for the body positivity movement and I do believe that all bodies are beautiful, because they are.

You do not know me personally.

And that leads to my next point. If you personally have issues with the phrase “twice my size”, then that is on you. And guess what? I cannot count how often I’ve heard lines like that my whole life.

“Oh wow two people would fit in one of your pant legs.”

“Wow, you are so fat, I could use your pants as a tent.”

So trust me, I know. I KNOW. But anon, this is the important part for me. Everyone processes trauma differently.

Inked ch3? Or literally any story I have written with a fat character being forced, insulted and talked down to like they’re dumb? That’s what I have been living with my entire life. Most of these stories, some obviously more extreme than how I had experienced them since it’s fiction, have been recordings of trauma I have went through.

My own dad force fed me. Forced me to eat food and gain weight. My first boyfriend was a feeder that manipulated me into gaining more weight and took measurements. Called me pig names and abused me. Hit me, manipulated me into having s** with him and then let all of his fantasies out on me.

I don’t make this shit up. I hate my brain for being so twisted now, that I actually find it hot and arousing. It’s weird. I know, but that’s how it is.

I’ve also never had friends in school. Not even kindergarten. Why? Because my “fat incased body could spread like a virus.” I was being bullied like JK was in Pondus.

I had hot water thrown at me, got glue put on my seats and hair, had my hair ripped out and even got a cigarette burn mark on my arm. Just because I was fat. Just because of how my body was shaped.

I was strangled and locked into a small locker for a night. I was almost killed for running away from my abusive dad from his car and had to listen to things like, “You are going to die when you are 30. No one will ever love you and your body.” That I have trust issues now and am paranoid about everything and everyone.

Those dark stories. I use those dark stories to try to work through my trauma. And yes, it may be absurd to you. It may disgust you, what I write. But sadly, most of it? Most of it really happened to me. To me and other people I’ve talked to as a friend or seen online. Most of what I write will be dark because the human species is made up of terrible creatures.

Fatphobia is an important topic, and I am happy the media has been slowly getting better about it, that people accept us more. But my writing is how I work with my trauma. If I can make fictional characters feel the same things I had to feel, that makes me feel better.

And I’m not hurting anyone with it. So how is it wrong?

I do not support any of this behaviour in real life. I never bullied anyone, I always try to speak up for my friends and tell people if they are being assholes. Because I hate them too and it makes me angry when good people get shit when they do nothing but breathe.

And how @pudgecuddles already said. I don't need you to advocate for body positivity and all that shit when you go out of your way to bully someone that may have experienced the same shit you have. I do not know you or what you went through in your life, but I am sorry. I’m sorry you feel like my stories aren’t okay to write, but this is how I work on my trauma and I need you to respect that.

I’ve said this before. We don’t have to be friends, or even talk to each other.

Just be neutral.

Block me. Filter me out. Pretend I don't exist. But, whatever you do, don’t make posts that call me out while making it obvious you’re talking about me, with the cover that you are advocating against fatphobia. That’s got a name. Cyber-bullying.

Have you hurt me with those posts? Yes you have, but I’ve never wanted bad blood. As you may have noticed, it wasn’t me that made a post. It was my good friend. Because I told her how exhausting it was and she knew about the posts back then.

I have a good idea of who you are.

I remember you.

But I kept my mouth shut. Because this community is my home and the last thing I wanted was for the people who like both of our types of content to feel like they have to choose sides.

In the end, we all rub one out to fat gay boys in a band. No user is better than the rest, and if there are topics you do not enjoy, there is a button for it. No need to drag everyone into it with posts. It’s exhausting and irritating.

Now, I do not accept your apology because you lied to me and I also do not feel like you meant it sincerely knowing what I know now after reading some dm’s. But I also won’t sit here and start shit.

This is my last post about this.

Please block me and enjoy the content you do like.

Nonetheless, I hope you have a nice day and a lovely weekend. Whatever you are experiencing or going through, I hope it gets better. Because even if you hate me personally for creating content you do not support, I’d say that I am a really friendly and nice person.

I do not believe that anyone deserves to be bullied like that and talked down in official posts. It happened before with a friend of mine and you probably remember that I did speak up about it.... But apparently no one learned from it. I really hope this time you do.

Insult me and shit talk me all you want in dm’s, but don’t do it publicly. No one deserves that kind of hate or passive aggressiveness. No one. Since you sound like someone that went through a lot of shit too, you should know better. You should know how it feels to be bullied and what damage it can cause.

I’m already depressed enough and I have bad lows. Let me write my erotica and just enjoy it? That’s all I want? I am a part of this community just like you were. You leaving because you did not like my content, is not my problem. If you cannot block me or ignore it and go so far as to read them and then rant about them negatively, what do you want me to do? I won’t leave the scene just because you don’t like me.

So, you either trash talk me in dm’s from now on so that I do not see it, or you block me. The latter of which would be the more mature thing to do. The more humane thing to do. Because talking behind someone’s back is just as bad.

Again, I don’t know why you felt like it was necessary to send me an ask with lies in it when I got screenshot proof of something else you have said/issues with, so don’t backpedal on me. I know Hun. I know already.

At least stick to what you said and actually apologize or, if you can’t, just block me.

But this ask? This ask just upset me.

Have a nice day.

p.s: The fact that this even needs to be talked about is so absurd and ridiculous to me. The whole thing is a petty party in my eyes that isn't even worth anyone's time? Do people on here really not have any other issues right now or am I in the wrong movie?