#uhhh also if I posted some of these twice

[purple-the-turtle]

Whenever I draw Zoro he looks like he’s mogging I can’t take this anymore

[akascow]

derek going around making his pack with people who own basically just sweatpants and hoodies only for them to show up in his posse with an entire leather wardrobe that they definitley did not have before do you think he took them on a shopping spree at like jcpenney bc they needed to match his dark mysterious black leather and jeans aesthetic

they wake up turned and hes like congrats ur not dead, now get up we're going to dillards

isaac :((

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Trigger Points

Pairing: Erotic Massage Therapist Ezra x f!reader (not romantic)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Medical kink, massage kink (is that a thing?), erotic massage, mentions of sexual dysfunction and difficulty orgasming, consent forms, the clinical is erotic now, power imbalance due to the masseur/patient dynamic, mentions of uhhh *checks notes* anal massage, lots of vaginal fingering I mean massaging, pelvic floor massaging but make it erotic, dubcon only in the sense that Ezra says orgasm is not the goal and then definitely deliberately gives her one anyway, g-spot orgasms, squirting, Penny gets on her soapbox at the end

Summary: Ezra is a massage therapist. What kind, you ask? Internal massage. That’s it that’s the fic.

A/N: I wrote this in twenty-four hours in a horny unhinged writing frenzy. Am I embarrassed that this came from my brain? Yes. Am I posting it anyway? Also yes. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for the beta (and all of the screaming) and to @leslie-lyman for egging on the medical kink that I definitely don't have.

Masterlist

You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.

This isn’t like you.

As you stare at the nondescript building–no sign, no name on the door–you think back to the seemingly random circumstances that brought you here.

The party you hadn’t wanted to go to. 

The friend–acquaintance–who insisted.

The man with a distinctive blonde streak that kept lingering by the snack table and popping cocktail shrimp into his mouth with an enthusiasm that had made you look twice in wary amusement.

Like so many men, he’d taken your glance in his direction as an invitation to come over and start a conversation, but the resulting discussion was decidedly unlike any other man–or human–you’d come across.

Loquacious to the point of being humorous, the man–Ezra, he told you–was disarming and insightful. You opened up to him immediately; he seemed to have this uncanny ability to pull your life’s story from your lips, much to your surprise and chagrin. Did you really tell a strange man at a party that you’ve been from doctor to doctor, complaining of sexual pain and dysfunction, only to be given dismissive, unhelpful advice? Have a glass of wine, one said. Use different soap, said another. Make sure your laundry detergent is fragrance-free. 

“I think I’m just built wrong,” you said bitterly, taking a sip from your wine glass. “Anyway, it’s fine. You didn’t sign up to listen to a stranger’s problems at some house party.”

“On the contrary,” Ezra replied mysteriously, raising one eyebrow as he regarded you with amusement. “I think our fortuitous meeting must have been arranged by the universe itself.”

Fishing his wallet out of his back pocket, he had handed you a business card that had only his first name–Ezra, no last name, and a phone number.

“I just happen to be a certified massage therapist, trained to assist with the very complaints of which you speak.”

“What kind of massage?” you’d asked, scrunching up your face in skepticism.

“Internal massage.”

You may have told him to fuck off then and there. You may have made your excuses and left the party in your embarrassment over having spilled your heart to a stranger with a questionable line of work, to say the very least. 

…You may have called two weeks later to inquire about an appointment.

The woman who answered the phone in that same kind of warm, soothing tone that seems to be common in so many legitimate massage practices made you feel slightly less insane about calling. The lengthy consent form she emailed after hanging up, however, sent you spiraling again.

Extensive questions about sexual history, your beliefs about sex, your relationship to sex, your experience with pain, dysfunction, your sexuality, etc. Check boxes indicating your level of experience and comfort with a number of sexual acts and situations. And at the end, three check boxes asking whether you would like to be massaged vaginally, anally, or both. 

A bell tinkles pleasantly when you open the door, and the scent of lavender fills your nose. Soft, soothing music plays from a hidden speaker somewhere, and one of those self-contained rock garden water fountains bubbles away in the corner of the brightly lit waiting room.

A woman behind the desk greets you–it must be the same one you’d spoken to on the phone–and checks you in. She walks you through what to expect during the appointment–first, you’ll meet with Ezra to discuss the consent form, then you’ll be asked to disrobe and lay on the massage table under a sheet. The type of care you’re given, she tells you, depends on what you put down on the consent form, which of course she hasn’t read, so she can’t tell you any specifics. 

“But he specializes in women with sexual dysfunction?” you ask skeptically. It had said as much on the forms. 

“Oh, yes,” the woman nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s an unusual service he provides, but Ezra is a professional, conscientious, and passionate about the work he does.”

You nod slowly, and she flashes you a warm, comforting smile before instructing you to sit anywhere.

You do, trying not to look too nervous as you wait.

Thankfully, you aren’t there for too long before a door opens, and Ezra softly calls your name.

Your nerves cause you to babble as you follow the man to the quiet, dimly-lit massage room. “Sorry I told you to fuck off,” you say. “That was pretty rude, and I’m sure it’s weird that I’m here now even though I clearly thought you were a pervert at the party, and–” you trail off, standing awkwardly beside the massage table as Ezra sits on a rolling stool.

“Now, now. Water under the bridge, I assure you, sprite. My profession is often met with skepticism at best and outright hostility at worst, but I let the testimonials speak for themselves. I assume you’ve read them?”

You nod, thinking back to the paragraphs of women saying they’d never known their bodies were capable of such pleasure before experiencing what they had called erotic massage.

“And I have read your consent form very carefully; I like to commit these things to heart, you see. Helps me do my job to the very best of my ability. Now, I did have a question about your very last answer: you made a checkmark indicating you were interested in vaginal massage only, but drew in a little question-mark next to anal massage.”

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, too quickly, jumbling the words together. “Depends on how… how…”

“How everything goes. Of course.” Ezra nods, making a quick note on your form. “I’ll consider you to be a vaginal-only patient for now, to be revisited at a later date if so desired.”

“Kay,” you squeak.

“Allright, let me give you a rundown of how this works. I’m not a sex worker; my job isn’t to make you orgasm. Like any massage therapist, my job is to find muscles that need to be worked out, and work them out. I just happen to specialize in muscles that other areas of practice typically ignore. This will involve both internal and external work–you might find that I might press on your lower abdomen, for example, with the other hand inside you. I always start slow with new patients; I’ll begin externally, massaging the entire pubic area and finding spots that might require extra attention. When you’re ready, we’ll move to an internal massage starting with one finger and seeing how many is most comfortable for you right now. Eventually, as we progress through your appointments, the goal is for the internal massage to involve two hands.

“Now, all that being said, the goal of these sessions might not be orgasm, but I want to let you know that it is normal and okay if that happens during your massage,” Ezra continues. “This is a safe space, and your comfort and pleasure is encouraged through this process. All of that seem hunky-dory?”

“Mmhmm,” you nod rapidly.

“Perfect. If you’re ready to get started, I’ll leave the room so you can get undressed. You can undress only from the waist down if you’re comfortable, or you can disrobe completely; the rest of you will be covered by the sheet, so it’s all down to what you prefer.”

Ezra leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, and you take a few moments to steady yourself before taking off only your pants and underwear. Grimacing at the awkwardness, you tuck the underwear into your jeans and place your shoes on top of both on the spare chair in the corner of the room. Then, you lie down under the sheet and wait.

Ezra taps lightly to herald his return before opening the door. “Good,” he says, seeing you laying stiffly on the massage table. “I’m going to check in many times during this first appointment especially,” he explains. “So much so that you may tire of it. You may simply say ‘good,’ when I ask how you are feeling, and I will continue. If you do not feel good at any point, I must ask that you say so. Sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, this massage table is custom made for my area of practice specifically,” Ezra explains, reaching under the table and unfolding a pair of stirrups–the kind you’ve seen many times at the gynecologist–and you grimace.

“Ah, I know, most people on this table do not have the most positive memories associated with these,” Ezra tuts, “and if you aren’t sure about using these, we can simply rest your legs on either side of the table.”

“I think I’m okay,” you tell him, cautiously reaching your feet out until your legs are uncomfortably splayed open. 

“You tell me if that changes.” Ezra sits down on the stool and rolls it over to sit at the front of the table. “I’m going to do the external massage with the sheet down,” he says. “No need for a cold breeze if it isn’t necessary, after all. As discussed before, I’m going to feel around the entire pubic area, finding anything that needs extra attention. If you’ve gotten a regular massage, you might notice that this one is much gentler; there won’t be any harsh poking or prodding, just light pressure and rubbing. If that’s all good, sprite, say the word and I’ll begin.”

“I’m good.”

“Very good. First, we’re going to warm up a little by touching your inner thighs. All muscles in this area are interconnected, so this will help soften things up as well.” 

You keep your eyes closed and let out a slow breath through pursed lips as you feel Ezra’s large, warm hands slowly working out the tension in your thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of someone’s hands in such an intimate area is an odd one, at first, but you can’t help but slowly begin to relax as he works out the delicate muscles of the upper-most part of your legs.

“Checking in again, sprite, how are we feeling?”

“Good,” you answer, with a little more confidence this time. “It’s good.”

“Excellent,” Ezra praises. “If we’re feeling nice and comfortable about it, I’m going to start to move upward and inward. You’ll feel me touch your outer labia, your perineum, and your pubic bone as we move forward. How do we feel about that?”

“Nervous,” you admit, giggling awkwardly. “But good.”

“Of course, sprite, it’s normal to be nervous about an unfamiliar sensation. Always remember that you are able to say ‘stop’ at any time.”

At your nod, Ezra’s hands shift, his thumbs beginning to rub up and down the outside of your labia. He rubs little circles around the entire area, including–something that makes your entire body flush with heat immediately–the skin just above your little puckered hole. 

“I know, I know,” Ezra soothes. “Just trying to get a complete picture here. We aren’t doing any internal massage in this area, but you may feel my fingers on the skin around it occasionally.”

“Okay,” you agree, nodding again.

“You’re doing so well, sprite. I’m going to stay external, but we’re going to start to examine a little deeper, does that sound okay? I’ll be rubbing your inner labia this time, spreading them apart to examine your vulva, urethra, and clitoris with my fingers. This is where it might start to feel pleasurable, or it could feel odd and uncomfortable as you become accustomed to this type of massage.”

“Yep,” you say, voice tight with anxiety again.

“I need a little bit more than that, sprite,” Ezra chastises. “Are you good to continue?”

“Yes. Good.”

“I can tell you’re nervous; why don’t you take a deep breath in for me for the count of five…” he counts slowly as you obey, “...and as you let it out slowly, you’re going to feel my hands move inward.”

The feel of Ezra running his slicked fingers up and down your inner labia doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable as you’d feared. You’ve never been touched like this, or even touched yourself like this. It’s an exploration of sorts, collecting some data that means something only to him, perhaps. After a short time, he pulls you apart with his thumb and forefinger, spreading you open. 

“I’m going to rub back and forth just on the surface level,” Ezra says, “You might feel my thumb press down on a few places to locate any areas to focus on later.”

You take more slow, even breaths as you feel his warm thumb move from your perineum to your clit, then back down again. In a few places, he presses down, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he locates some unknown source of tension.

“How well you're doing,” Ezra praises warmly. “I've definitely found some areas of tension that we can work on during your sessions. This isn't the end of the external massage, per se, as I'll still want to work on some of those spots, but this is where I start to add an internal component, if you're up to it. What are we thinking?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I'm okay with that.”

“Good. As I explained before, I'm going to start very slow. I work with clients with a wide range of comfort levels and ability, and I'm not going to push anyone too far before they're ready. Not to be glib or reductive, but this is not dissimilar to a basic shoulder massage. I'll be working all along the muscles of your vaginal wall. We'll start with just one finger, and if that's comfortable for you, we'll see how it goes with two. I'm going to slowly slide one finger in, let you adjust to how that feels, and then I'll begin the massage on your right side, moving to the back, the left, and then the front, around in a little circle like so. At the same time I'll be gently pressing with my other hand so that I can get a feel for the muscles that are stiff, sore, or carry any tension. If at any point any sensation is unpleasant, please bring it to my attention immediately. In that event, I will stop and reassess. If that discomfort is the result of muscle or pelvic floor tension, we will slowly, slowly work through it without causing you any pain. Is all of this acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“And am I okay to begin your internal massage?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Just as before, I'm going to spread open your labia nice and wide, only this time you are going to feel my finger slowly enter you. Once inside, we'll take a few deep breaths together, I'll ask if you are comfortable, and I'll begin the massage.”

As Ezra speaks, he does each action in turn. You feel your labia being parted, and then one slick, warm finger slips inside. It hits a bit of resistance when he passes your pelvic floor, but doesn't cause any pain. At his instruction, he guides you through three deep breaths as you become accustomed to the sensation.

“I'm going to begin moving now,” he announces. “Beginning on your left side.”

It's an odd feeling to adjust to, the way Ezra’s finger moves inside you. With his other hand pressing sometimes on your hip, sometimes at your side, you can feel him pressing against your wall in–true to his word–the same way one might massage a shoulder. This is just… very different. Or perhaps it's the same, and your brain only perceives it as such. 

Despite the awkwardness of having someone rubbing such an intimate, deep, vulnerable part of your body, you can admit that something does feel good about this. Ezra is right, of course; there are muscles internally as well as externally, and you've never had yours attended to in such a way before. 

Ezra’s finger rubs this way and that, covering all possible knots and tense spots on that particular side. 

“Checking in, sprite,” he intones gently. “How does it feel?”

“Weird… but kinda good. I think I understand why you say it's just like a shoulder massage–I never really thought about having muscles there, but… I can feel them relaxing the same way they would as… as if it were my shoulder.”

“No physical difference between the two,” Ezra says, voicing your earlier thought. “Only up here do we make a distinction.” He taps the side of his head and gives you a sideways grin. “If we’re feeling pretty good with one, would you like to try adding one more? It all depends on your level of comfort, but it is easier to get at the muscles with two, rather than one. Would you like to try?”

The gentle loosening of the muscles you hadn't even known were tense is surprisingly soothing, so of course, you agree.

“You're doing so well at checking in with me,” Ezra says. “Take a nice deep breath for me, and we’ll switch to two fingers. Ready?”

You make a little noise of assent, and as you exhale, you feel the pressure inside you increase as Ezra slips another finger inside you. 

“Doing good, sprite. I’m going to move to the muscles at the back of your vaginal walls now, which means my other hand is going to be pressing up on your lower back and buttocks. Is this fine?”

“That’s fine, yeah,” you nod, and at your consent, Ezra goes back to his steady, methodical working of your pelvic floor. 

At this new angle, the sensations inside you are new and different from before. When he was massaging your left side, all you could really feel was the gentle push and pull as your muscles were soothed and relaxed. You can still feel the muscle tension easing away… but it’s very quickly being replaced by a different kind.

You try to focus on taking deep breaths in and out of your nose as Ezra seems to draw heat into your core with every stroke. You stop focusing on the relaxation entirely, instead concentrating every effort to not make any awkward noises that indicate how much your body is responding to his touch.

You really should have known better.

“Many people find that different areas of the vaginal wall can cause different kinds of sensations,” Ezra says quietly as he gently rubs small circles from within you while pressing just above your puckered hole. “The front vaginal wall, of course, has the tendency to produce the strongest impression because of what most people call the g-spot, but the rear wall is also very responsive. I want to remind you of what we discussed earlier; that you are welcome and encouraged to lean into those feelings. It is common for patients to come to orgasm multiple times during a session, and can be helpful for further muscle relaxation. All this to say, sprite, you don’t have to work to suppress the fact that this feels pleasurable. Of course it does. It’s far more advantageous for you to allow it to happen rather than spend the session working to rein it in. Understand?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, trying to sink back down onto the massage table again and stop fighting against your body’s automatic responses.

Even so, you don’t really believe you could orgasm from just this. Hell, you can barely orgasm during sex even when you use a vibrator. Your body’s need for intense, prolonged clitoral stimulation is simply a fact. A law, as immutable as gravity, and no amount of “internal massage” would ever have the same effect. 

“If you ever do wish to revisit that last little question on the consent form, one type of treatment that can be incredibly effective is to massage the area in between, if you take my meaning,” Ezra comments lightly, as though discussing the weather. “It’s perfectly workable through what I’m doing now, of course, but even though I’m capturing the same general area, in my years of practice I’ve actually found that anal massage is an important component in achieving a comprehensive relaxation of all pelvic muscles.”

“Okay,” you say dumbly. His words–all the more impactful because of the detached clinical tone–combined with the constant pressure of his fingers, are creating a maelstrom of pleasure in your brain. You still aren’t sure if you’re “allowed” to find this entire situation to be incredibly erotic, but you worry you’ll soon have no choice, especially if your mind keeps conjuring up how it might feel to have both of Ezra’s hands rubbing something deep within you. How full you might feel.

“Nothing that needs to be discussed now or even in the near future, sprite,” he adds. “But just something to keep in the back of your mind as we progress through treatment.”

“Mm,” you agree. It’s–oh God, are you going to come? The pressure is building, building inside you, and even though there’s nothing touching your clit, it feels as though you might be reaching that point of no return. You make a soft, whining, desperate little sound as Ezra massages your vaginal wall with methodical precision.

“I know, I know,” he soothes in that syrupy voice of his. “Take a few deep breaths for me–I promise, it’s okay to let it go. Allow your body to do what it’s meant to do.” At this, he presses down even harder, and you gasp as you suddenly begin to clench around his fingers. Your chest heaves as you ride the waves of pleasure until they subside to a gentle ebb. Ezra remains still throughout it all, waiting patiently until you stop twitching with aftershocks.

“See? So much better when you listen to your body,” he praises. “Can you feel that? It causes your muscles to relax even further, so much more effectively than even I can manage. Feel the difference right here–” he rubs a wide circle up and down your wall, “–there’s so much less tension now, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” you agree, still catching your breath.

“Let’s do a quick check-in before I move on,” Ezra suggests, “and while we do, I’d like to make a quick recommendation, if you are amenable.”

“That’s fine,” you answer. 

“Give us a quick run-down of how you’re feeling,” he says. “Any pain? Discomfort?” When you shake your head, he continues. “How about mentally? Orgasm can make us feel vulnerable, and that’s perfectly okay, of course, but not if it leads to feeling uncomfortable or unsafe.”

“It still feels a little… strange, but I’m okay.”

“Ah, of course. Now, as far as my recommendation… Now that you’re far more relaxed, I think it might be helpful to switch to three fingers. How do you feel about that?”

You swallow. “It might feel like a lot,” you admit quietly.

“Indeed,” Ezra agrees. “As a general rule, the more fingers I am able to use, the more effective the massage. The ideal internal massage would be either with all four fingers on one hand, or a combination of three and two. If you’re feeling at all apprehensive about discomfort, however, I think it would be better to wait and see, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod gratefully. 

“Moving on to your right side, sprite,” he says cheerfully. “Halfway there, and doing great.”

You can see what Ezra had been saying–you can feel that your walls are more pliant and moldable after your orgasm. However, it’s also made your nerves more sensitive to his touch, and the intense feeling of pleasure continues to flicker inside you with every gentle probe of his fingers. 

You begin to float, losing track of time and simply focusing on the sensations within you. Ezra quiets down when he senses your more meditative state, and continues to massage with minimal commentary. When his thick fingers begin to move, pressing upward toward your abdomen, however, your breath catches and your hips lift of their own accord.

“My apologies, sprite. I should have warned you I was moving to the front wall before I did so, but you were in such a state of utter relaxation that I was loathe to speak up.”

“S’fine.”

“You may find this area to be the most intense in terms of sensation,” Ezra comments. “There’s a reason I usually save it for last.”

You make a slightly garbled, strained noise of assent as his other hand rubs gentle circles on your mons pubis while the other continues its deliberate path up and down your walls, soothing out all of the tension and finding some incredibly sensitive spots as it does.

Ezra pauses over one such area, and, in such exquisite torture that makes you actually cry out into the room, curls both fingers up to apply even more pressure.

“Ah, that,” he chuckles to himself. “That thing–the little area they call the ‘g-spot’–it’s not some mysterious, unique phenomenon, nor is it mythological. What they didn’t know at the time–and far too many people still are not aware–is that the clitoris is much larger than just the little bit that we see on the outside.” His fingers rub little circles, back and forth, up and down, massaging so meticulously that it feels almost ruthless. “Sooo many nerves in one relatively small place,” he murmurs. “Stimulating the clitoris is normally the most reliable way to acheive orgasm, and yet so little of it is accessible. But here–” he presses up again, and you gasp, “–here we are able to access the other end of the organ.”

You can hardly concentrate on the original goal of muscle relaxation with so much pressure on your g-spot (or, apparently, the back of your clitoris) but you can still feel Ezra dutifully and clinically working out the tension in your pelvic floor. 

“Doing so well, sprite, so well. One nice, big, relaxing orgasm for me and then we’ll gently explore how the tension lessens afterward.”

Despite his insistence before your appointment that orgasm was not the goal of these sessions, you can’t help but notice Ezra appears to be guiding you towards one with masterful precision. With one hand applying light pressure on your abdomen and the other pressing upward to meet it, it feels as though he’s got the most sensitive organ of your body trapped between his fingers. He plays it like an instrument, each finger working independently to stroke different parts of the soft, spongy membrane. 

Finally, finally, the pressure becomes so much that you simply seem to implode; all at once, you clamp down on Ezra’s fingers like a vice as your lower back lifts from the table. A feeling of pure, hot, wet relief surges through you, and the release feels endless, as though your body simply cannot stop pulsing and contracting. Dimly, you realize that it must be the ruthless stimulation from Ezra’s hands keeping you suspended in what feels like a never-ending orgasm. His fingers press upwards, rubbing quickly and insistently back and forth against the sensitive organ, and the movement draws more and more rhythmic clenches that seem to ripple across the entire area. 

And–Oh, God–with each intense throb, little streams of fluid splash out over Ezra’s hand, and you realize with absolute mortification that the sheet, massage table, and Ezra’s white coat are already soaked with your release.

“Oh shit, I’m sorr–” you try to apologize as soon as you have the presence of mind.

“Now, now, not to worry, little sprite. Any manifestation of pleasure is welcomed and encouraged here, and I’ve been at this long enough to know that stimulating the back of the clitoris oftentimes results in strong and voluminous ejaculations…” You twitch with one last, pathetic aftershock, and Ezra soothingly rubs his fingers up and down your wall in the same way one might rub someone’s back after a long day. “But feel the difference, little sprite. Feel how supple and pliant your muscles are compared to before. This is the state we strive for, little sprite. Complete and utter relaxation. When you find yourself starting to tense up again–such is the consequence of the stressful lives we lead–I want you to call up this moment, and the way your pelvic muscles so easily move for my hand, and try to get back to this state. With enough practice on your own in between sessions, this will become easily achieved.

“I’m going to do a couple of nice, wide circles with my hand to stretch out those muscles one last time, and as I do, I’d like you to take some nice, deep, easy breaths with me. Once we get  to five nice big breaths, I’ll slowly remove my hand. Does this sound good?”

“Yuh-huh,” you nod.

“Nice big inhale,” Ezra reminds you, and you dutifully suck in a deep, cleansing breath of air as you feel his hand circle around your vaginal walls, pressing deep into the muscle as he does. You repeat the action four more times, and on your very last exhale, the light feeling of pressure within you finally abates as his fingers slip out of you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty relaxed,” you say with a relieved laugh.

“Mentally?” he prods.

“I dunno, fine,” you shrug.

“Any feelings of vulnerability are normal,” he says as he stands from his stool and helps you guide your legs out of the stirrups and back onto the table under the sheet. “You may find that these feelings may be delayed by a few days, even, so be gentle with yourself for the next week or so. Light muscle soreness is also normal, in the same way it can occur after a normal massage. If at any time this light soreness transforms into pain, please do not hesitate to contact me.”

Ezra picks up your consent form again and scans it briefly before setting it back down and giving you a serious, thoughtful look. “You told me three weeks ago that you were ‘built wrong,’ and you mention several times in your form that you have difficulty bringing yourself to orgasm. Little sprite, I have lost count of the number of clients who have the same complaints and who have similarly insisted their bodies were simply different from ‘normal’ people’s. Now, mind you, the sample size may be biased, but from this data I can only conclude that no human being is ‘built wrong.’ The problem lies in our minds, and more specifically, in the social conditioning we’ve all received since birth–conditioning that in no way favors the female experience of pleasure. Society has failed you, has labeled your pleasure as secondary, illusive, impossible, or even imaginary. Your sessions with me will help to reverse the physical symptoms from a lifetime of unhelpful social conditioning, and now that you know your body is not only capable of experiencing pleasure, but of doing so in ways you weren’t even aware, your mind will follow.”

“Wow,” you breathe, awestruck by how different you feel. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“I’ll leave you to get dressed, little sprite,” Ezra says, briefly patting your hand in a comforting manner. “When you’re ready, go ahead and open the door and I’ll walk you to the lobby to schedule your next appointment.”

[katyspersonal]

Idk if you have enough to say since he’s a fairly minor character but can you give thoughts on the Hornsent (NPC)? I love him so much and I absolutely agree that he’s a huge parallel to Marika herself and I wanna hear more of your thoughts on that and him in general!

Hey, he is not THAT minor! xD All seven NPCs that were attracted by Miquella and are our guides through SOTE's lore are pretty much in the spotlight! Elden Ring's story just has these important Demigods and characters more strongly involved with them that their gravity makes it harder to focus on the Little Guy 😔 (and all Thiollier fans laughed sfdhfdh)

Okay so uhhh, I will post observations and thoughts in order, because yeah, with this guy you sort of need to pay attention twice or something?

1) He originates from Belurat

The kind of mask he is wearing could've created some confusion, but "the tower" exclusively refers to Belurat in the lore!

Freyja states this much at the beginning, and it is admittedly easy to forget because most likely you check this dialogue just on the first playthrough and before what 'tower' is clicks properly.. but yeah!

A more bold evidence here is that Hornsent will recognise the meal that is trademark of Belurat!

2) Don't be confused though, Grandam is not his mother!

He states in dialogues upon being killed by Leda and if he was not summoned to fight Messmer that his child, wife and mother were killed during Crusade!

2.1) He doesn't mention father nor gender of a child, though?

I think this on itself is interesting, and opens a bit more for potential backstory! His father might have been dead before the Crusade, or... maybe even divorced. x) Or maybe, he survived the Crusade, like Hornsent himself, but perished for another reason; maybe old age, maybe even upon seeking revenge as well? It would still make sense for him to not mention his father even then, because he would not count as massacred IN purge of the Tower!

Saying 'child', not 'son' or 'daughter', also gave me a kinda fucked up idea, listen! What if this means something? For example, his wife was merely pregnant, or the purge happened at the time when she just gave a birth, so he never learned whether it was a son or a daughter? I know I should not make it even darker than it already was, and it is probably just to specify the 'status' (he does say 'wife' rather than calling her by the name, after all)... But imagine...

In any case, his child was still very little! In Japanese he refers to his child as '幼子よ', and I checked... Yeah, it refers to basically an infant, it seems!

3) He is very reluctant to make a connection, even under spell!

After Tarnished gives him the Scorpion Stew, he gives them Furnace Visage (useful item for killing two Furnace Golems that can't be killed normally and to "wake up" one blocking the way in Ruins of Unte). His motivation is, "I desire not to be in your debt"!

And he refuses if you try to give him another Scorpion Stew:

The last phrase (お前と、慣れ合うつもりもな…) is more accurately says something like "I have no intention of getting used to you"! The only thing Miquella's spell did was to give him hope, but he can't open up even to "comrades"!

4) He is not likely to be a potentate, despite his mask!

He is wearing the mask that is otherwise worn by potentates, however, there is something else about potentates:

By the practice of his village of birth! It looks like this is basically a "family business" inherited through generations, something Hornsent already is probably excluded from, since he is one of the people of Belurat!

I think the simpler explanation for why he has this mask is not its context but its practical purpose: "to ward off thoughts and distractions (from his honorable quest of revenge)"! He must remain focused on vengeance; no friends, no falling into despair, no "wax nostalgic 'bout days gone by"... I also played around with the idea that this mask was from his mysterious never-mentioned father rather than something he picked somewhere! Maybe he was one of those Potentate barbarians that somehow climbed social ladder a bit by marrying a woman from Belurat! Don't know whether it is something possible in this society, it is hard to tell :p

Hornsent also doesn't use trademark weapon of Potentates, their butchering knife, but his weapon Falx - something created with the purpose of vengeance! I think it implies that he was not even a fighter before, and only started to wield weapon to begin with FOR vengeance!

4.1) He must not oblivious to where it comes from, though, so what does it say about his character?

Regardless of whether the mask comes from, I doubt he doesn't know its actual origin! I am positive that the people who executed Shamans are long ago dead, but the practice itself is alive. Besides, even Hornsent themselves get this treatment if they've convicted:

So you'd wonder what he is feeling avenging "his beloved people" who put other people in jars, and whether there is some hypocrisy, right? Well, I THOUGHT there was some awareness:

It makes it sound as though he is, at the same time, aware that his folks are not perfect either, and believes in Miquella's new world to fix their flawed, even barbaric culture as well, right? I double checked for Japanese text, and I do not really see it as translation mistake?

ミケラが、その誓いを違えず、一族をも救う神となるのなら

一族を、救って…

In Japanese, he uses 救, which means to 'save' or religious kind of 'salvation'! To 'redeem' doesn't seem to be too far removed from original meaning, but I'd say this gives off more of the vibe of 'salvation' that is justice for the martyred, for those who were murdered unfairly! Justice of God upon sinners and to help out the victims, rather than the 'cleanse our sins' kind of 'salvation'!

Maybe I am looking at it through the wrong angle, but I also kind of like this interpretation more! He is not exactly in the mindset to question imperfections or straight up hazardous religious practices of his nation when the wound of losing his own family, and countless other families being burnt in "cleansing" is what defines his whole life now! Hornsent culture deserves to be criticised, but it is not his priority for the long time now, maybe never again, and it is fair enough!

^ Another line pointing towards him certainly not having "criticism" towards his clan nor intending to, as this is translated very plainly:

…よくも、我らを汚物と呼んだも��だ どちらが真に汚物なのか、自分でも知っていただろうに！

5) He disrespects Leda without crossing her boundaries

He never once addresses her by name! It is not just how he is, as he addresses not just Miquella by name, but also Marika and Messmer, his sworn enemies! However, Leda he addresses only as:

The thing is, she is not just Leda, she is Lady Leda! She has the title by her knightly status, and calling her by the name is something reserved only to either close people or those who wants to be an asshole on purpose x)

He surely would not call her Lady, and it could be not quite personal but just because he chronically dislikes Tarnished! But he also would not shorten the mental distance between them by using her name without honorfic. I think it is a neat detail!

6) He doesn't use the flasks to heal!

I actually only learned it from @slavonicrhapsody here ( x ) as I was not paying attention, but, yeah! Developers actually bothered to differentiate him by not having him use flasks, a thing of the Erdtree, that fits the lore!

7) His invasion location might be not coincidental!

Hornsent still invades us even if we helped him to complete his revenge upon Messmer because FromSLOP hates us and our desired bonds with the characters in case you haven't noticed that upon finding dead bodies of Ansbach and Thiollier lmao. But his invasion location is particularly quite close where Romina is, and in the place full of Scarlet Rot+! And Romina is herself form Belurat!

Perhaps, even though he called us a "comrade-in-arms", maybe meeting her made him turn upon us after all? Sure, he does say that after all, he doesn't wish Miquella's help but only vengeance upon everyone under Erdtree, but come on, dude, we are friends now!

But maybe meeting another Belurat survivor face to face after a long time knocked him back to his previous mindset harder, and he decided that "no, not a single person of Marika's world deserves to be spared, not even my comrade that helped me"! As opposed to just thinking up of a change of a heart on his own! It is one thing to keep the 'idea' of victims he is avenging in his mind as his compass, but another to meet one face-to-face, to see her living in the ruins now and latching onto twisted Eldrich God of endless death-and-rebirth that was not meant to be released similarly to Formless Mother! This is a far cry from Hornsent's religion and their worship of Divine Beasts from Heaven, Romina is "ruined" and so is the nature itself in some way, and it is all Messmer's and Marika's fault...

8) Another nameless character!

There are other characters in Elden Ring who abandon their names and instead take up titles that reflect their new purpose (like Dung Eater or Goldmask)! I can only assume that he forsaken his name, instead simply using title of his nation as one, after he lost his family. "The man I used to be died in the fires with them" kind of thing...

This is just an idea that I like, but I think if he was to ever find new relationship, he'd allow this person to refer him by the name or a nickname they pick for him! But he never wants to use his former name again. He might try to start a new life in the best case scenario, but never repair anything from the former one. Things once broken... you know.

9) You KNOW where his mapping skills come from!

He doesn't just also follow Miquella, but is an invaluable help to the team in picking and mapping his exact traces! He has been pursuing Messmer and his forces before in vengeance, and needless to mention that the size of Elden Ring's world is only scaled down for the sake of a videogame not making your brain AND computer explode x) He for sure needed a lot of spyoning, researching and seeking to both find his ways and not prematurely die.

I just think it works better if he lived comfortably in Belurat, a pretty high-class place, and HAD to develop both fighting and mapping skills as a response to his trauma and craving for revenge... I know there ARE military forces in Belurat too, but he is not exactly an armoured warrior, nor a Curseblade. And think about tragic drastic change of a character.... Miquella's charm sort of put those developed skills to a good use.

10) I am not sure what to think of his face data!

(From video by Zullie the Witch ( x )) I just had a flashback in black-and-white filter to the guy that passionately tried to prove us with the foam at his mouth that Fromsoft was super lazy, and honestly... all his arguments were super wrong, yet he never would mention something like THIS! You can absolutely tell that developers created one of these characters first, and then made the other one atop of these sliders instead of making a new one. 🙄

@slavonicrhapsody suggested that burnt marks on Hornsent's face could be from him surviving the purge, and I totally like this idea! Them making a unique character first with clear idea in mind and then remembering "ah, shoot, right we need a few annoying invader NPCs too" makes more sense! Especially since Potentates invaders are all generic, without variants! Basically, I think Hornsent holds priority in this kind of face data for obvious reasons, but, god, if they picked another type of beard, why not remove burnt marks? 🙄🙄 #FromSLOP

__________________

Tbh I already liked this character instantly upon first jumping into DLC! According to my friend @val-of-the-north people were thinking he was kind of an dick, which apparently absolutely went over my head as I didn't feel this way? Maybe it is because I am both familiar with distrusting other people as person with PTSD and not familiar with "being polite" as a concept as an autist lol dhsfh

I just found him intriguing, but his monologue after being summoned for Messmer scared me a little bit. The way he grows more obsessed with revenge, and doesn't intend to stop only at people who were actually guilty... Fun fact: I've summoned him on Messmer's arena by pure accident! XD I didn't know it could be done, I just randomly saw a summon sign while running from Messmer all over the place fhshfds Apparently it was a good call, because most people skipped this turn of character on their first play?

Also unpopular opinion, but I think him being "unlikeable" on some sort of objective level is good? I feel very strongly about the whole mindset of 'only feeling compassion for the 'good victim'' that lingers in society. Like... gooooood forbid if the victim becomes angry, or ends up hurting the world back, or otherwise develops the unlikeable traits, right? Only soft "likeable" victims that just weep and clearly never did anything wrong before OR after their trauma deserve compassion, right? (Slavonic I am using all my willpower to not link your post about Beebus rn fsdhfdhs) I think Hornsent developing negatively as a person is good and realistic. I praised the base game for how Dung Eater and Mohg were executed (not everyone who opposes the oppressive system or was a victim of it is automatically a good person), but Hornsent is not even a villain, and it is even better! He is "not good victim", and it doesn't mean that he doesn't deserve sympathy and recovery!

At the same time, really good character in his function, to show how revenge will only endlessly create more revenge infinitely! I think he deserves better than being automatically written down over what his mask item is given all the other context, and he definitely deserves all the "I can fix him" Tarnished bitches. 😔😔😔

[aluminumneedles]

The Great Knitted Christmas Gifts Bonanza of 2024

(Working title)

Besties and beloved mutuals, welcome to the chaos.

This will be wacky. Zany. Incredibly boring at times and possibly excessively dramatic for no reason at all except my (and hopefully your) amusement. We will laugh! I will cry! We will perhaps commiserate over things and also I will aggravate my carpal tunnel! I will ask for advice on things I don't know how to do! I will make polls because audience participation is enrichment for me! Good shit good shit let's get started

At the time of writing it is September 18, 2024, also known as 98 days before Christmas Eve, which will heretofore be known as The Deadline™️. I have, at present, four family members for whom I am making gifts. Now you may be thinking "Kay, that's only four people. That does not warrant a big post." But I'm making one anyway so here we goooo

PERSON #1

Mom. I already decided on my mom's gift, she's getting a shawl. It's my first shawl and I'm kinda geeked about it. It's the Cosmos Textured Knit Wrap from Mama in a Stitch

(photo taken from Mama in a Stitch's website I hope that's ok??)

Yarn is Red Heart worsted weight acrylic in Royal. Now here's the situation: I haven't made a wearable with acrylic yarn in awhile and I wasn't a huge fan of how it felt last time. But I know people do it literally every day, so: when the time comes I will be soliciting advice on how to make it soft and comfy. Plus I hate blocking and I'm gonna have to block this so yay growth!!

PERSON #2

My sister. Adorable, likes a pastel, super long hair, so I was thinking...scrunchies? And then I was thinking scrunchies are not necessarily on the level of gift I was aiming for so I thought...scrunchies + matching leg warmers (babydoll goes to the gym sometimes so i thought it would be cute)? And then. AND THEN. Was scrolling Pinterest instead of sleeping and I found these!!!

Now there are pros and cons

Pros:

I have been wanting to knit lace

I have been wanting to knit socks

Cons:

I have no experience knitting lace or socks

Oh well f*ck it we ball! Will still try to match the scrunchies to the socks. Send thoughts/prayers/advice/yarn recs, because idk what I am doingggg

PERSON #3

My brother. So, at the first of the year I started knitting a blanket kind of just because--I really liked the pattern and I wanted the feeling of starting something new in the new year. In April I decided it would be a gift for my boyfriend at the time, in May it became too hot to knit with wool, and in July the relationship ended. My brother has expressed interest in a blanket from the same pattern and has offered to take this one off my hands. I'm about 3/4 of the way done. Should be an easy gift, right? Maybe I'll throw in a matching pillow?

However, I once promised to make him this sweater:

(image snagged from the MomentsinTwine Etsy shop)

I bought the pattern, I bought the yarn, and I never delivered. (I started it and frogged it twice because my gauge was so so off.)

So uhhh PLEASE do the poll I need help deciding. Yarn would probably be a golden yellow wool blend, because that is the color he wanted 3 years ago and if I ask for an updated color choice he'll know what I'm working on 😭

PERSON #4

My dad.

Y'all.

I have no idea what to do for this man. He is a very classic "I don't want anything" person, and I am a classic "Must. Give. Gift." person. So already, times are tough!! What am I supposed to knit this man???

So I was thinking slippers-- I found a pattern for Woodland Loafers on Ravelry (pattern by Claire Slade) and I thought they were adorable. But then I was thinking why not make a whole, like, cozy care package? So I thought slippers, mug rug + mug cozy, maybe something else? He likes music, he likes to relax and watch his lil shows, he likes M*rvel?? Open to so many suggestions babes.

So...yeah. That's the show. I'll update as I go along, and if you're ever curious about how things are going or want to bully me about not making progress, please nudge me!! Sorry this was so long okay bye

[lokisprettygirl]

Under his influence (Post Avengers! Loki x female reader)

Read chapter 11 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 12

Summary : Your relationship with Loki is growing, your mom tries to play a matchmaker again.

Warning: 18+, Soft Smut, mention of psychological torture, angst, insecurities, self deprecating behaviour, anxiety and overwhelming emotions

"Captain? " Loki called out for Steve as he was about to step out of the training room so he turned around and looked at Loki "May I have a word with you?"

"What is it?" Steve crossed his arms as he questioned.

"I wanted to discuss that statement you gave about me, that I was pretending to be you to steal the scepter" Steve chuckled as loki said that,

"Loki loki, everything is out in the open now, you can drop the act and your lies..it was probably something you did before you disappeared" Steve turned around to leave again

"But what if I'm not lying? What if I wasn't there? What if it wasn't me? Steve halted in his steps as he thought about it "Give it a thought"

Loki walked out , leaving Rogers to contemplate over his words. How could it be possible? He saw the exact doppelganger of him and only loki had the ability to do that. The doppleganger did seem a little different though.

Loki was supposed to be at some gala with other Avengers in the evening and the thought saddened you, mainly because you knew you probably won't see him tonight and you had seen him just twice in the last week, and he was also taking Melisaa to the gala so there were plenty of reasons to keep you anxious throughout the day. You knew he wasn't interested in her but there will be other women there, it was a fancy Gala and all famous rich people were invited, what if he meets someone interesting and they hit it off? What if he realizes that you weren't the best thing he could do in midgard.

Was it too soon to show him your crazy side yet? It's been almost five months since you had met him but it already felt like a lifetime, you have never had a man who made you feel so fulfilled and you didn't even have sex yet. He had so much more to offer to you than just sex, he understood you and your neediness but that could get tiring with time. That's what drove so many guys away from you because you showed them your crazy side too early.

You sat down on the sofa after work and turned the tv on, there was a red carpet and everything. You watched these people and you couldn't relate, you could never imagine yourself to ever be a part of such a circle. However Loki fit in just fine, he was a prince and it showed, his upbringing made it easier for him to blend with those pretentious people, watching him with Melissa hanging around in his arm only made you feel worse. He had a black suit on and he looked handsomer beyond this realm.

"Loki, a quick question..who are you wearing?" The girl interviewing all the celebs asked him and he seemed perplexed.

"Uhhh who am I wearing?" He looked at her confused so Melissa answered on his behalf, the furrowed brows and pursed lips made you want to hug him instantly.

"God you're cute" you whined to yourself, you felt extremely hormonal today, maybe you were pmsing again.

'You're such an embarassement" Melissa whispered in his ear so he glared at her, why would they even ask such a stupid question? What was he supposed to say?

He wished you were here with him, you probably would have found him cute even when he was fumbling like a fool. As soon as they got inside the venue he let go of her hand to get away from her.

"So that's the girl he was staying with for months before you guys captured him again?" Pepper asked Tony so he looked at her for a few seconds before he spoke,

"Yeahh whhy? Isn't she perfect for him?"

"Is she? I mean they're not even talking to each other, look at him" Pepper said to him so he looked at Loki "He'd rather spend his time at the bar then be with her, they look so in love in interviews and stuff" Tony squeezed his eyes as she said that.

"Yeah may be the relationship has run its course"

She looked at him confused and then she shrugged. Her curiosity has been peaked though.

"Brother, when all these people are inebriated I can drop you off to see lady y/n' Loki gave him a side eye as Thor approached him with the proposal.

"Alright, what am I missing here? What is the catch?"

"Catch?"

"Motive, you must have a motive, you are not helping me because of the goodness of your heart are you? Where do you go?" Thor was taken aback by the sudden scrutiny.

"I'm appalled brother, is this what I get for reuniting you with the love of your life? Must it be this difficult for you to believe that I want your happiness?" Thor retorted.

"Hahaha, I laughed, now tell me the truth, who are you seeing? Oh is it the mortal you were besotted with?" Loki asked him again.

"I am not seeing Jane.. absolutely not"

"That is fabulous, Asgard's first man in the line of throne is courting a mortal, what is mother's opinion about that?" Thor sighed, there was no denying it any longer.

"She doesn't know yet and she can not know and for the love of norns lower your voice"

"Oh I'm just overjoyed brother, mother might be unaware of your insolent behaviour but do you really think the loyal snitch would stay quiet for long?"

"Yes he will, Heimdall gave me his word" Loki rolled his eyes as he heard that.

"Oh I forgot he was the royal snitch of Odin, Frigga and Thor"

"Well perhaps he might have been fond of you if you hadn't played those countless tricks on him as a child" Loki scoffed at the insult.

"Yes, a child, I was a child"

"You froze him merely a few years ago"

"He commited treason "

Thor rolled his eyes at the comment but what Loki said next pleased him "Whatever your hidden motive might be, I'm still grateful so–"

"Are you trying to tell me you appreciate my help?"

"Yes"

"Well I appreciate your appreciation "

Loki shook his head before he smiled.

Your phone was ringing so you picked it up hoping that it was Loki, unfortunately it wasn't him but your mother instead..

"Hey mom"

"Hi, listen, remember David's best man Eugene?"

"Gee mom I'm good, how are you?" She groaned at the response before she asked you the same question again.

"Can't say that I do"

"Okay whatever" She sighed deeply before she spoke again "His son is going to be in Minnesota for two days, I'm going to send you his phone number, talk to him" the anxiety rose as she mentioned one more guy she wanted to set you up with.

"What? Isn't he like 40??" You screamed as if you weren't canoodling a guy who was forty plus an extra thousand years.

"He's 35 y/n, he's a doctor and well reputed, you're not some 20 year old yourself, just do me a favor and meet him once"

"Mom I'm not going to do that, I'm seeing someone" you said to her, hoping she'd respect that and would realise that you were fucking 30.

"Yeah who is it? Who are you seeing?"

"God"

You could feel your mother's eyes rolling at the quip, but you weren't lying to her.

"Just show him around, if nothing..you can atleast be friends with him, are you against that as well now?"

You groaned as she continued to be insufferable about it so you agreed to see this man, after all he'd only be there for two days.

"Fine I'll show him around"

You hung up the phone and sighed, this wasn't what you needed, it was like a cherry on the top of a perfect day. You opened YouTube and saw several videos about the stupid gala, you just wanted to see what people were saying about the new IT couple Meloki as they liked to call them affectionately. You stumbled upon a video that showed their relationship timeline from the moment they met. Wow some people really had way too much time on their hands to be so invested like this. You read the comments and some of them made you laugh while others made you feel even worse,

You put the phone down in order to not hurt yourself any more.

You felt horrible at the moment and every time such feelings occurred you felt overwhelmed by the whirlpool of emotions. You were in love with him and he had become the best friend you had always wanted in your life, someone who wouldn't use you and deceive you for selfish purposes, there was a genuine affection from his side that you always felt whenever he was around you but then you have had such friends before, you had those people who cared at first but now they didn't even know whether you were alive or dead.

Sometimes it was who had to cut them off because they couldn't stop hurting you but that didn't mean that you came out unscathed, it still hurt, the memories hurt, the promises hurt, the loss of friendship hurt.

You laid down on the bed and cried your heart out, you spent a month where you couldn't get in touch with Loki and those days were damaging, you didn't think you'd be able to go through that pain again. It was easier to move on when the people you considered your friends had hurt you but losing Loki? You didn't think you'd ever survive losing the way he cared about you, you couldn't imagine seeing a day where you two would be nothing but strangers to each other.

It was starting to get harder to breathe, your own overthinking was driving you into panic, you stuffed your face between the pillow as you cried and cried. In that moment you just wanted to talk to him and have him tell you that he won't hurt you or leave you like others did.

When you heard the knocks on the window just a few seconds later for a second you thought you had imagined it but then you looked at the window and there he was smiling so innocently so you got up, wiped your face as best as you could and walked towards the window to open it so he could get in, he had a dark green shirt on and a black trouser, you could see his long hair waving because of the wind,

"Hiiii" you mumbled as you opened the window but before he could climb in he grabbed your chin and pulled you in to kiss you softly before he let go "Ummm i thought you were not coming tonight"

"I was missing you darling" you nodded and stepped back so he could get in, he noticed you had his shirt on that he had left there or in other words the shirt you had stolen from him.

"Are you okay..you seem..were you crying?" You shook your head as you turned around, you didn't want to snap in front of him.

Before you could get away he grabbed your arm around turned you towards him, he hugged you briefly before he pulled away and grabbed your chin to make you look at him

"Now tell me what's wrong and this time I don't want you to lie to me" he asked, his voice was tender and sweet.

"Nothing..it's nothing…I was just missing you" you pursed your lips to control your sobs but they came out anyways,

"I was missing you"

"You were?" You sobbed even harder and his eyes teared up too.

"How could I not sweetheart hmm?" He cupped your cheeks, leaned down to kiss you and his thumbs proceeded to wipe your tears simultaneously,

"That's just not it, is it? Something else is eating you up..tell me, share with me" he questioned you but you could only hiccup between your cries. Why were you like this?

"It's ..I don't want to annoy you"

"Annoy me? Did I annoy you that day when I wept like a baby in your arms?"

He questioned you softly so you shook your head, you looked like a child at the moment and it made him smile. He just wanted to take away whatever was bothering you and make you feel better

"I just don't want you to leave because people leave when I'm like this, they don't like me like this" the broken voice and the fear your words held made his heart sink, to learn that people had hurt you so badly in the past that you felt afraid sharing your feelings with him was heartbreaking for him.

"Like what princess? You feel hurt and you just want to be held and comforted, there's nothing wrong with that" the back of his fingers brushed against your cheek as he cooed.

"No???"

"Why would this ever drive me away?"

"I just don't want you to leave " you sobbed even harder so he hugged you and gave you the time to let it all out, he could feel your heart thumping in your chest and he knew this thing has been building up from quite some time now. You both had your insecurities and he wanted to be there for you the way you have been there for him.

"Princess I just need you to know and understand that I'm not going to leave, I'd always need you more than you could ever need me" you pulled away to look at him as he said that. You didn't know why would a god like him would ever need you but you liked the sound of that, mainly because of the look on his face.

"Come here sweet thing" he cupped your cheeks again to kiss your forehead and then he took you to the bed, perhaps cuddles would make you feel better. For once he was the one being the bigger spoon here, he made you lay down on his chest and you held onto him as tightly as you could.

"I was just watching you and Melissa on the tv or should I say Meloki and it just bothered me alot" you mumbled so he laid you down on the bed and turned towards you so he could look at you while talking, he laid sideways on his arm and used those fingers of his to caress your scalp while the other hand wrapped around waist and you felt them running up and down on your back

"Meloki? What is that? An ailment of some sort?" you chuckled as he said that

"It's just not her.. I kept thinking about all those gorgeous people at the gala and I just wanted to be there with you..but at the same time I know I'd never fit in"

"Not fit in? My sweetheart you'd not only fit in but stand out between those shallow dimwits, they are just a bunch of buffoons anyways" you giggled as he said that.

"You're so cute" you scooted closer to him and placed your head between the crook of his neck, your arm curled around his slender waist,

"Someday we will tell this whole planet of our truth and it would be glorious"

"It will be glorious" you said excitedly

"Are you feeling better?"

"Mmmhmmm now that you're here I'm Okay..are you gonna stay?"

"Absolutely, besides Thor is out galavanting with his own mortal"

You pulled away to look at him as he said that.

"Is she the same girl he fell for when he came here?"

"That would be her"

"Ahhhh that's nice..ohhhh your parents are going to kill you both"

"Not me, I'm no Asgardian any longer" he chuckled so you kissed him again. He was so adorable.

"Ummmm I have to tell you something..my mother is trying to set me up with this doctor guy, he's the son of my stepfather's friend " he pulled away slightly to look at you.

"I don't like the sound of that"

"Trust me, me neither, but he's going to be here for two days so I'm just gonna meet him and show him around the city"

"What happened to the don't see other people pact?" He pouted so you pecked on his lips again.

"I'm not going to see him, I'm just going to be a fancy tour guide"

"Uhhuhh but what if he sweeps you off your feet?"

"He can compete but he's never winning against thisssss right here" you pointed towards his heart so he smiled "Mr Loki there are no men like you"

He chuckled before he got on top of you and kissed you, he hated the idea of you going out with this guy he knew nothing about but he couldn't have stopped you either, your mother wanted you to see him and you couldn't have denied, besides from what he had heard your mother hated him so it wasn't really wise to tell her about you two just yet.

"Lokiiiii" you moaned into his mouth so he hummed.

"I have your shirt on"

"You think I didn't notice?"

"Mmhmmm did you notice that I am not wearing much underneath it?" He stopped kissing you and looked at you intently, of course he noticed, you just had your underwear on but he didn't want to say anything that would make you feel uncomfortable.

"I did"

He leaned into you and kissed you again while you pulled his shirt out of the confinement of his pants before you unbuttoned it slowly, he moaned into your mouth as your fingernails caressed his bare skin,

"It amazes me how you are so unaware of your good looks" you whispered in his ear and he let out a nervous laughter, kissing down from your jawline his lips trailed over your collarbone slowly, every inch of your skin felt tingling with anticipation of what was about to happen or how far you both were going to take this.

He shifted on top of you, situating his knees on either side of your waist to support his weight.

"If you're ever burdened by those tormenting misconceptions regarding yourself again just remember that no matter where I am, your thoughts are all I carry in my head" your eyes teared up as he said that.

"Mmmmhmmm really?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you little one, i just wanted to come back here and love you like this" you gulped as he said that, your fingers curled around his neck and you pulled him closer to you to kiss him passionately,

He wanted to stay patient but how could he when you touched him and kissed him so desperately, he could feel the heat radiating off your body, he never knew that he'd ever come to crave the feeling of a woman's warm body underneath him, he wanted to get burned by the heat you were radiating, the energy that felt torturous in other situations only gave him pleasure at the moment.

His hands sneaked under the shirt you were wearing and you let out a loud moan as his fingers trailed over your erect nipples,

"Looo..gosh babyyyy" you whined and bit on your lips as he gave them a little squeeze,

"I have thought about this a countless times since we have met" he mumbled softly.

"You did?"

"Mmmhmm especially when we were separated, your thoughts were the only thing keeping me sane at nights, in every possible way" he whispered in your ear before he sucked on your neck, you wrapped your legs around his waist , the feeling of his cock rubbing against your core was almost too much to take, your body felt shaky, you have never been the subject of such eroticism before, you only read about it and saw the sweltering passion in movies but now you knew how it felt to be touched so sensually by man you were actually in love with.

"Gossshhh Loki…oh goddd"

You cried out his name as he gyrated his hips into your core, your hand gripped his bicep to feel a sense of security because even though you were on the bed you felt as if you'd fall down even lower and deeper into the grounds, it felt like a trance that you were afraid to break out of.

He grabbed the collar of your shirt between his fists and ripped them apart in one quick motion, breaking all the buttons at once, the subtle flaunt of the inhumane strength only added to your arousal, the things he could do to you and with you and the things you'd allow him to do to you were infinite in number. You'd do anything for him as long as he'd continue to rub against you like this .

He allowed the shredded fabric to stay on your body but your breasts were visible to him now, his cock had gotten so hard that he feared he'd come almost instantly.

"Norns you're beautiful, so beautiful, it's taking everything in me to not claim you as my own" he whispered so you cupped his cheeks,

"I'm all yours i promise..i promise" he kissed you feverishly before he grabbed your hips and aided them to match his own movements,

"You are mine darling and I'll never let you go, never"

"Yessss godd yess stay with me, be with me, all of you..with me, I need it lo, I need it"

Your voice trembled as you spoke, words barely audible but he heard them when you whispered everything in his ears, the day he had met you he felt so strangely connected to you and with time he had only fallen in love with every little thing about you that made you so completely you.

"Lokiii I'm gonna…oh wowww" you moaned his name and he couldn't take his eyes off your face, the dimly lit room made the moment even more perfect. He could see you, touch you, you were half naked underneath him but there was still a sense of mystery.

"I know, i know love, let go, cum with me"

You didn't need anything else, it worked like a charm, a trigger, him asking you to cum in that deep husky breathy voice of his was the only push you needed, the hold of your legs around him tightened and your body convulsed underneath him, if he wasn't holding onto you so fiercely your body would have thrashed uncontrollably, maybe someday he could watch you do just that..

You lifted your hips up and gyrated against him in the wake of your high, that made him combust too and it was glorious in every way, he had sex a million times before but he had never been so pleased like this, it wasn't the orgasm itself but the woman who was pleasing him beyond belief.

He placed his head down on your breasts to calm down, your fingers scratched his scalp gently, both of your bodies felt utterly spent.

After a few minutes he laid down next to you so he wasn't crushing you underneath his weight. You turned towards him and gave him a smile which he returned immediately.

"So now we are friends who kiss sometimes, don't see other people and do Thattttt" he chuckled as you said that

"Princess at this point it's safe to say that we are friends who are also lovers"

"I love being your lover"

"So do I"

You kissed him lovingly before you got off the bed to clean yourself up but he was too relaxed to even move a muscle so he used a charm to take care of the mess he had caused in his pants, when you came back from the bathroom he was in a fresh pair of pants.

You didn't remember much after that because as soon as you got back to the bed, he spooned into you like a baby and it merely took a minute for you two to fall asleep.

He woke you up around five in the morning because he knew Thor would be there to take him back to the tower and he wanted to spend some time with you before he would leave.

You kissed him again and you kissed him in a manner that would keep him obsessing over it for the rest of the day

"Don't fall in love with this healer"

"And if I do?" You mumbled teasingly

"I would just have to murder him I'm afraid"

You giggled at the response. He did enjoy stabbing bad people. You fixed the collar of his shirt and his hair seemed all poofy so you made him sit down at the edge of the bed while you brushed them with a comb.

"You have the softest hair lo..such a pretty baby you are" he giggled at the comment. God you loved him.

You missed him as soon as he was gone and now you had to worry about meeting this guy after work, your mother had given you his phone number so you called him, you didn't understand why he wasn't the one to call you since he was visiting. Just the phone call was enough of an indication that you weren't going to get along with this man. He sounded arrogant

"I'm sorry I'm late" you apologized as you spotted him at the restaurant, your mom had mailed a picture of him to you so it was easier to recognise.

"It's fine I guess, I'm used to such tardiness" he smiled but you could tell he was annoyed, you didn't miss the sarcasm in his tone.

"Ummm okay actually I don't think I got your name yet, my mom told me everything except your name, I'm y/n by the way" you raised your hand forward so he looked at it for a few seconds before he shook it.

"Hello y/n, my name is Doctor Stephen Strange"

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Tag list (if you want to be tagged or removed let me know.. also I’m not able to tag some of you, please check your settings)

@annoyingsweetsstranger @mcufan72

@nixymarvelkins @stupidthoughtsinwriting @fictive-sl0th @huntress-artemiss @eleniblue @violethaze @anukulee @ladymischief11 @12-pm-510 @wolfsmom1 @whylokiissocute @hyperlokilover @vickie5446 @pics-and-fanfics @daddylokisqueen @tallseaweed @olivertwistrabbit @blog-the-lilly @prettylittlepluviophile @flashhxn-lights @vanilla-daydreaming @somewiseguy @yaaamadaa-blog @dragonmurray @nyxxharmonia @elthreetimes @gruftiela @thenotoriouserg @optimisticyouthdefender @mcuhplover @greep215 @yallgotkik

@obscureenigmatic @janineb86 @sflame15-blog @nyxlaufeyson @lokidokieokie @purplekitten30 @sunnixart

[quinloki]

quin-uhhh:

would you?!

Fic authors self rec! When you receive this, reply with favorite five fics you've written (include links, and if you want- a few thoughts about each one), then pass on to at least five other writers if you're up for it. Spread the self-love ✨

If you don't, I'll just... I'll just... well I won't do a thing but please?!

many fist pumps,

▲ I'm a symbol now

\o/ Tri, my sweet friend, you are - if anything - a symbol of good cheer =D ♥

Let's see, five favorite fics I've written. That's much easier than trying to pick just one ^_^

Birds of a Feather Marco/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - This is my most recently completed fic, at least at the time of this post, but I love it so much. My passion for Marco feels like it came out of nowhere and has made itself reigning champion in my thoughts. But a story I expected to be relatively short, ended up almost twice as long as I expected, and it was so easy. It was fun to write, and I think it goes down smooth, despite being nearly 90k words people consistently devour it in a single sitting.

Quicksand Sir Crocodile/Reader ( tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - Not sure if you're a fan of the sandy crocodile-themed warlord? Tread carefully, reading this title is statistically likely to convert you. Quicksand has an alternative ending because the story was originally intended to be a very dark Yandere - to the point that Doflamingo would've been the "good" guy. That's not how things went, and I'm quite glad for it. Quicksand going its own direction is what helped seal the deal in creating the Tales of the Grandline Metropolis, which is currently 3.8 completed stories. (it'll be at least 8 before it's done).

A Light Touch Eustass Kid/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - My first Eustass Kid/Reader story. Set in the same AU as Quicksand, it was started from a pun, of all things. I figured Kid would be fancy tech stuff like neural-linked prosthetics, and the idea that would make a prosthetic for the reader after they lost a hand was something I wanted to write. Creating something like that would take a light touch, and if it glowed, that would be a different kind of light touch and getting close to Kid requires a light-- you get the point. Like I said, it's all based off a pun, but I'm really proud of the story, it's one of my favorite re-reads.

Some Direction Zoro/Reader (tumblr / Ao3 / Wattpad ) - A Modern AU where the government mandates who you marry. I have to give thanks to @lyndsyh24 for not only inspiring me to write this one (start to finish in a single month, I was obsessed!) but also for allowing my to play in the AU she'd built up. From Matchbook to the laws themselves, it's all thanks to Lyn. Zoro started out as one of my favorite characters in the series - I still have love for him, and I'm always happy to write him, but he's taken a bit of a back seat to my top three. Still Some Direction is a story I'm really proud of - even if I worry there'll be a mob after me for who the antagonist is 😅

Family Ties Doflamingo/Reader ( Ao3 / Wattpad ) - I was torn on this last choice - even with five slots it's hard to decide between stories I suppose ^^; Also, oops, apparently I only put the first ten chapters on tumblr... I need to fix that >.> Ahem, anyway, Family Ties is the first fic I wrote after over ten years of not writing at all. It's my first reader insert, my first true multi-chapter too. When I wrote it, it was the longest fic I'd written by nearly 50k words. I wrote it because I wanted a more morally ambiguous reader compared to what I'd been reading. It's not a dark fic though, it's pretty tooth-achingly sweet, honestly, but it's currently the only fic I have where the reader is a murderer in a very undisputed and direct manner.

Honorable mention I almost posted as piece 5 - The Dragon's Clause - my Sabo/Reader Noble/Fantasy/Magic AU, and also the only title I mention that's incomplete. But it's a an ode to my favorite genre, and a great many of my favorite tropes.

[tuxedokit]

Tell me everything about Della Duck 👀

ILL TRY MY BEST BUT I WILL MOST CERTAINLY NOT SUCCEED!!!!! SHE IS SO COMPLEX AND VAST AND I wanna kiss her on he mouth I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT

ok SO!!!! heres the tuxsys / luna infodumps about della duck post!!! this is my interpretation, uhhh yeah lets go

shes donald ducks twin sister, and mother of huey, dewey and louie duck. she is described as persustent, headstrong, bold... she would never let people tell her she couldnt do ghings just cause shes a girl. shes a pilot as well

shes not present in her sons lives, at least up until their canon ages of roughly 10 years old. in the older canons, it is simply left there, however eventually in one comic it was expanded upon and revealed that she is on the moon! i believe in this continuity she has no idea 10 years have passed, and is shown in one to only believe herself to have been away for 15 minutes. truly tragic, considering no one has the heart to tell her.

in ducktales 2017, thats where my expertise shines cause my autism show, she haunts the narrative for the entire 1st season, and is presumed to be dead. at the end of the season, it is revealed that her disappearance caused a major rift in scrooge and donalds relationship, with them going no contact from before the boys hatch up until the shows pilot. also, like before, shes on the moon. idk why im talking so formally.

the second season we finally get to meet della and she fucking rules. she reminds me of my mom personality wise, which computes to me as that is a woman who never got an adhd or autism diagnosis and very likely needed one. shes silly, shes brave, shes impulsive, shes reckless. she learned her uncle was making her a surprise rocket ship and stole it for a joyride before it was done. roughly a week before her kids hatched. i have thoughts about that, but thats for later or maybe another ask.

ANYWAY. evidently, stealing an unfinished rocket ship is a Bad Idea; it gets swept up in a cosmis storm and she crashes on the moon. her leg is pinned under some debris of her ship, and she is forced to amputate it. keep in mind she is Completely Alone. then she spends the next ten years, still alone, slowly trying to find a way home to her kids. she has a picture of her, scrooge, donald and the eggs taped up the the wall and she drew what she thinks her kids might look like on the back of it. she went from building SOS signs to trying to rebuild the ship herself (teaching herself ROCKET SCIENCE in the process)

shes in rhe final stretch and then she meets moon aliens who have been here the whole time and also have a thriving society and all the materials she would need to rebuild her ship. because of course theyve been right there the whole time. sure. ten years of solitude and theres been guys here the whole time. at least one of them is a hot butch like twice her height?

the moonlanders help her rebuild her ship and she finally gets to go home and see her family. donald is sent away until the finale because they dont want me to be happy /j fr tho the twins reunion was underwhelming but its wtv i can cope

the reunion of della and scrooge is magnificent though!! along with her meeting her kids <333 they spend a few scattered episodes briefly exploring how she missed so much of their lives and ultimately doesnt know how to be a mom, but theyre a family and theyll work to figure it out. they make like... 2 brief nods to how she spent a decade alone on the moon, but judging by the appearances of younger della in flashback stories, it seems as if shes nearly completely unaffected (i call bullshit but wtv. ill write it myself)

uhhh yeah! theres a LOT of details i didnt touch on this is just a brief synopsis

ALSO!!!! i think shes an aromantic lesbian AND shes my wife bc wheeeee

[somerandomcryptid]

ah no no sorry i confused the words bc i was asking of You wanted to talk more about the cpunz and cquackity and c!cryptid stuff related to your recent art post but i got confused if it was part of You previous au or a new one and got confused, sorry 😓

-cleo

Ah yeah that makes more sense. No problem! actually kinda good you got confused cause I think I may have cooked something kinda fire so before I absolutely lore dump on you have some sketches of an au where Punz is a big doggo I just did

Man’s best friend :)

Anyway onto such less wholsome stuff because yeah those sketches were for Dreaming of death

also tw for implied child abuse and one mention of a child being hit (not contiunasly just twice with different people behind it each time), and one other mention of a child being harmed in a relatively minor way

I really should have clarified this is almost directly after the other Cryptid and Quackity in formal wear arts I’ve done. which I don’t think I’ve ever really explained? because honest i haven’t decided all the details. i just know that a fancy event is held at las nevadas and afterwards the las nevadas crew kinda like, goes around the server? like bar hopping but without the bars? they’re still all deunk though. it’s very chaotic.

They just so happen to run into staged duo (not directly but staged duo can see them, if they actually had awareness they’d probably be able to see them too)

and uhhhhhhh welll Cryptid and Q aren’t exactly.. obeying quaritoine rules?/platonic this pisses both Dream and Punz off. amd wellll Punz is kinda the more confrotational of the two?(he feels like he should fight dream’s battles because he wasn’t there for him in prison)

so he uhhh yoinks his child cryptid. They do not appreiate this. Q also, does not appreiate this. but Punz kept Quackity in his basement for 2 weeks and experiemented on him, safe to say he has the intimadation points. and the height advantage.

Anyway yeah that’s all the context I SHOULD have given. But brain was wprking a mile a minute because dod!Punz is walking contrictions if they were good at pvp. and I love him for it.

to elaborate on that. the guy is one, trying to gaslight himself imto thinking he doesnt want to make out with Dream, two trying to gaslight himself into think he doesn’t care about Cryptid.

which like…. wrong but also he does truly hate Cryptid a bit and is hella jealous of them. He also has tucked them into bed and condsidered for a brief second staying with them when they request him to.

And that’s not even touching how Cryptid feels about him. because he is the reason for aproximately a 4th of their issues. and also their idol a bit.

and they just hate each other but also care about each other in such an interesting mix.

Punz genuinely thinks they are a brat and that they are incredibly dramatic about how bad their lofe is because they have it ”good” in his eyes. but he also genuinely would never want to see them hurt and seeing them with Quackity makes him seeth because their risking their safety and also that their wasting their potential which he begrudgingly admits they have.

But also. he is the only person on the server to have scarred Cryptid(physically I mean), when they first met properly he held a dagger to their throat. they were fine, it’s just a little scar but it was still signifagant. He is also one of the only people to have hit them, the only other person being Quackity, was only once. still happened though.

Sorry this kinda just spiralled to me rambling about dod!punz with no real end point but he’s one of my favorites for just how convoluted he is. i would ramble more. but also it’s 6:30 am and I should go to bed lol.

(Since I’m main tagging I’m going to put the big ol’ Dreaming of death is an au of the fic penpal by @calamari-minecraft-corner :3)

[strangesmallbard]

I did not get why all of the barbies just agreed to the ken patriarchy. like, I watched the film twice and still didn't get the flip.

omg right that did not track for me at all! like it frames patriarchy as inherently alluring in some way, even on a surface level. which is ummm pretty ahistorical and also nuts. (wrote a slightly longer post about why the barbie movie + internalized misogyny here). and it doesn’t even work according to the movie’s own logic. if the kens weren’t happy in their subservient roles, why would the barbies be?

there was a tiny subplot about how difficult it is to be in charge, but that still doesn’t make the writing decision work for me LMAO. also something something men put themselves in charge —> are now complaining about having to be in charge. i get that barbie 2023’s Ultimate message was egalitarianism, but they also made barbie apologize to ken for uhhh the matriarchy. i don’t even know man i’m tired

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 32 - Pupuce's Life

Finally, an episode where I won't have to say anything At All.

To extract some value from this ep despite how it is kinda boring, I will overanalyse this room now.

Firstly, Kerubim is so orphancoded. He's so old and sleeping on a bunk bed with no lower bunk.

I like to think that, in the orphanage, Kerubim and Atcham got into bloodied battles where they scratched the shit out of each other over who gets the top bunk, and due to not being hairless Kerubim always won and bullied him into sleeping on the lower one.

I like to think it was one of Atcham's many tragic backstories. Like that's when The Darkness truly began to grow.

I genuinely think it's fucked that Joris, at 7 years old, is sleeping in a cat bed. But also, that's not even one tenth of the most insanely evil things about their household.

They have so many potatos and so much bread... Heaven on earth.

Ever since I mentioned it in one of my earlier posts, I had wanted to elaborate just a bit on some other evidence for my headcanon (or, well, pretty-much-canon?) of Joris being a night owl, and this moment of Joris just blatantly oversleeping is as good time as any to bring it up:

We often see Joris awake at night, or staying up very late without any issues.

Perhaps, it is due to Kerubim himself often staying up late, and also due to, y'know, the child neglect that was probably happening before Simone, that he developed a circadian rhythm that has him being so okie-dokie staying up late.

I won't even point out that there's a random knife on the floor. I am fucking numb to the sheer neglect in this household by now. Kerubim could leave rat poison in Joris's bed and I would be like "oh that silly goofster!"

But I will point out that it seems that Kerubim often leaves Joris alone with Simone, and I will be real — in my heart of hearts I know that this fucker left Joris home alone since he was like four whenever he needed to do something. Or he'd be like "uhhh go across the street and sit at miss Julie's, brb" and be gone for hours. He probably left him home alone over overnight too. You can't tell me I'm wrong.

It would be out of character for him to get someone to actually babysit. Especially with how shit their home was.

"No, little pupuce, don't go into SCP-914!!"

"Oh mon dieu, c'est un scp full of evil clonen !"

Kerubim is insane. All these pictures of his ex, and none of his son. He really is insane.

I think Kerubim still draws, at least in some capacity. No other reason for there to be oil paints in their home.

Though perhaps Kerubim is into the idea of his son getting poisoned by expensive-ass professional-grade paint. Maybe he's just into that.

"ASTRUB CITY" repeated twice. + "Dofus Pets 2" (obviously.)

Also, jellyvision movie theatres are real. And so are traffic lights. Though I didn't bother screenshotting the second thing.

Oh this one is even better than that time we found out that someone at Ankama called a person named Emilie a bad word in this kids cartoon. You'll love this.

I'm sorry french person from 2013, but I've been translating this text with a huge grin on my face. You ARE the interesting find.

This ad is so beautiful. Thank you, Kerubim.

The man might pretend that he doesn't like Pupuces as a species all he wants, but his actions speak louder than his words. He's never beating the love allegations.

They are all so bad at taking photos... Also! This confirms that at least a Single photo of Joris, as well as Simone, is on a wall somewhere in the house. Big day for regaining belief in Kerubim's normalcy.

This says "ANNIV PUPUCE", which finally made me realize, that there are three champagne glasses on the table, one in Joris's hand, as well as some weird looking food with candles in it (probably pupuce's food?).

This changes EVERYTHING. Kerubim is no longer an evil fucking cat/enemy #1 of this blog. Kerubim has been forgiven.

[arbitrarynostalgic]

lmao op of that post vwe wvere talking on removwed some of your replies +is a proshipper so uhhh

OHHH yeah the moment I accidentally entered their account and stumbled upon that Dirkdave post I didn't think twice before clicking bloooock

ALSO I'm sorry if I genuinely upset u sometimes I forget things in this app and death happens

[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.”

[dr-eepy]

Hi! You offered so uhhh

My biggest problem right now is the first two gyms, the so called “beginner” ones, are bug and grass. I only have my bounsweet and azumarill. And I know they could do it, eventually, but I also don’t want to push them too hard. Like, Lapis (azumarill) could probably take on the bug gym but she’s still getting back in the swing of battling after becoming disabled. And she’s still learning signs for battles. So it’s not fair to expect her to take on three bug types (well. Ones a normal type terastalizes into bug) in a row, and Bowsette can’t support very well because. Grass type. So I called the battle off when lapis was getting overwhelmed. But also the other “beginner” gym is grass type and neither lapis or Bowsette can do much there.

I’ve tried catching a third Pokémon to add to the team but… I haven’t been able to.

-💎 ( @flowerandjewel)

your pokemon definitely don't have great matchups, but let's see what we can do.

long post + battle strats under the cut

I've never trained or battled with a disabled pokemon, so I can't give you much advice there. keep working on teaching your azumarill battle signs, because that will help with speed and ease of communication. a lot of battling is learning how to work with your pokemon, and your pokemon learning how to work with you. battling is hard work, and takes time. make sure not to push your pokemon too hard. it can be a detriment if they're under a lot of pressure. focus on being encouraging, and reward behaviours you want to see more of.

now for battle strategy.

bounsweet, as a grass type, is obviously a bad matchup against bug types, and it's a similar situation with azumarill and grass. neither pokemon are known to have access to moves that change their type, so that's off the table.

the bug gym will probably be easier to tackle (ha ha) first.

according to research, most azumarill know rollout from a very young age. I'm going to guess and say that your pokemon aren't very experienced yet, but if your azumarill doesn't know/has forgotten rollout I'd see about talking to a move reminder.

rollout is a rock-type move that gets stronger with consecutive uses, though it's a bit more likely to miss than most moves. rock is super effective against bug type pokemon, so I'd give that a shot.

if your azumarill has defense curl and is having trouble, I might use that once or twice at the start of battle before committing to rollouts. azumarill tend to be tanky, and as a fully evolved pokemon they tend to be a little stronger, so you have that on your side.

tail whip is inferior for this purpose because you lower the attack the opponent pokemon, who in an optimal scenario are going to be fainting, and you don't want to break your rollout streak by tail whipping the next 'mon. defense curl raises your own defense, and given what you've told me you're unlikely to be switching out of lapis, so that should last you the battle.

this strategy also has the advantage of only needing two signs, so it shouldn't be too hard to teach.

if you want a bit of an edge up going in and are willing to give your opponent a free hit, you might try sending bowsette out first and having her use sweet scent before switching out, which will lower the evasion of the first pokemon you face and make getting the ball rolling (ha ha) on rollout easier. it shouldn't be necessary, though.

if you are still having trouble, my advice is that you're probably just not ready for the gym yet, and you should practice some more before trying again.

however, if you're willing to spend the time/money, getting your hands on a wide lens will increase the accuracy of rollout so that it almost never misses, but you should make sure it's worth the investment first. they're around P20,000 new in paldea, which is obviously a lot, but you can get them secondhand for around P5,000, which is a lot more reasonable. just make sure they're in decent condition (not scuffed, broken, etc. a bad lens can actually lower your accuracy).

a fire-type pokemon would obviously be a lot of help with both these gyms, and I'd recommend it for type coverage in the future as well. I can't give many tips on catching mons- most of mine picked me, if I'm being honest. there are always pokemon shelters, if you're desperate, and you'll be helping a pokemon in need of a home.

I'd recommend avoiding the grass gym until you get another teammate or are much more experienced unless it's necessary. paldeans don't have a set order for the gyms, right?

my only tip for the grass gym with your team as-is is that grass resists grass, so avoid using those moves on your opponents. go for rapid spin instead, which hits for neutral effectiveness.

[screechingsandwichhologram]

explaining my amrev modern au / reincarnation au

so people reincarnate in cycles - people from the same era will reincarnate together. so for example, in the 1800s people from the 400s were reincarnated. if that makes sense. sometimes there are New Cycles which is a period of time (typically anywhere from like 50 years to 1000) where no one (except for wandering souls) are reincarnated.

wandering souls are souls that get thrown off the cycle and don't reincarnate with the rest of the group. for example, in 1800s when the 400s are reincarnated, there might be a few people who were in like. the 600s or the 300s or something. wandering souls typically only wander once or twice before they fall back into the cycle.

people only remember about three to four of their past lives, though instincts may linger from older lives. wandering souls often can remember more

not everyone reincarnates, and some souls may skip cycles. additionally, only about like. 10% of people are reincarnates. (it fluctuates).

border generations are people who were born at the end of a cycle. for example, they reincarnate with the cycle but their children / parents won't. people from the border generations are most likely to be wandering souls.

most people reincarnate in roughly the same place every cycle. (ie, constantly born in the caribbean)

most people believe in reincarnation and religion accommodates for it. science has no fucking clue how it happens but there are tests that can say if you are a reincarnate. they aren't mandatory but it is very common to test when you are born

no one is sure if animals reincarnate or not. veganism is not any more popular than it is now. most people agree that if animals did reincarnate then it'd only be like instincts and general feelings. no one really likes to think about it

everyone has a physical characteristic from their last life. for example, the same eye color or a birthmark in the same place. it could also be the same type of blood or same heart valve. about fifty percent of leftover traits are internal, and not easily visible.

people will have roughly the same dynamics as their past life. if you have a sister, then you maybe be biological, adopted, step sisters, or just really close friends. you will not suddenly be the sisters grandma or anything.

people will always meet people who were significant to them. if your husband was reincarnated, you will meet your husband again and have the opportunity to have a relationship.

bc it's insanely hard to be completely positive that someone is a reincarnation of who they say they are, there's no registration or anything for reincarnates. technology is approaching that quickly tho and every now and then a politician will propose a registration

asking someone if they are a reincarnate is taboo in most cultures, particularly america. america is where people go to have a new life, and even if that's not particularly true, it still holds fast in popular society.

most people do not get famous multiple times.

fashion is only slightly influenced by the current reincarnates.

the un says that people can not be prosecuted for things they did in their past life. that doesn't mean that countries abide to that

the 1700s was a New Cycle. the 1700s has reincarnated starting after ww1. this is a bit unusual bc it was fairly recent. benjamin franklin is part of the border generation, and people born in 1830 is the other border generation.

uhhh thanks for reading all this? and also feel free to ask questions. at some point i'm gonna update designs and post them for these guys. maybe make comics or fics. idk that's a lot of time that i don't have rn

[sysmedsaresexist]

This may be overstepping my bounds or you may not want to talk about this on this blog and if so please feel free to just delete this ask but on the chance this is alright here I have a question or two.

In the recent posts about Colin Ross and other professionals you've mentioned your 'professional circle' or your colleagues being therapists and it sounds like you work in the mental health field? If you do I'm just curious if you'd be willing to talk about that at all?

That's rather vague but I've been thinking about going into the mental health field and I'm curious what that might actually look like especially as someone with trauma.

This must be really odd if I've misunderstood what you've said, or uncomfortable if this just isn't something you want to talk about, and either way I know it's not really similar to what you normally post here so I'm sorry. Whether or not you respond though thank you for reading through this. I hope you have a good day.

I don't mind talking about it! I don't particularly enjoy talking about myself, but I have no issue sharing most information like this.

I do not currently work in the mental health field and I have never been licensed.

Like most of us, I'm sure, I was one of those "gifted" kids. I finished high school early with a several year scholarship, and fast tracked through 4 degrees.

My first degree was in social services and counselling. I worked in the field for about a year as a requirement for my education. In Canada, we have satellite schools for "troubled youth", and one was run out of a high school near me, so I counselled and provided support for about 30 students.

However, I was only 18/19 myself, and I was VERY OBVIOUSLY too traumatized to be working in the field. Some of the students were older than I was, and the things I heard and saw, the students that acted out violently that were twice my size...

I wasn't ready. My supervisor at the time, a woman in her 50s, told me, "In a field like this... you can't help others until you've helped yourself."

So I graduated, but switched into law. I wanted to work with those same youth, but maybe from a legal perspective (there were always police and lawyers involved). I finished my legal degree, took two more legal/business management and administration courses, became licensed, and worked for a few years in that field.

I really wasn't happy, though, as a woman and being so young, unless I wanted to start my own business, I was going to continue to face a bunch of condescending, old white men calling me, "high-school," because I don't drive and carry a backpack to and from work.

I work in sales now, making more money than I had ever hoped for, and for a company that is really, really good to its employees. I'm really happy where I ended up, though it was kind of a fluke. I voluntarily relinquished my legal license a couple of years ago because there's zero point in paying $2k a year in upkeep when I'm not going to use it.

Point is, though, I've kept in contact with a number of people in both the legal and sw field. My first therapist and I developed a bit of a weird relationship (not bad) but I was able to go to her on several occasions to talk as colleagues, not just client/therapist. I'm still in touch with her and occasionally reach out for questions. She gave me the info of a couple other specialists, of which I spoke to two of them.

I don't drop these names because it would really narrow down where I am, but on top of Colin Ross and Kymbra Clayton, I've also spoken with Marich, Loewenstein, I've tried to talk to the CTAD clinic, uhhh... Sunshaw is pretty open about her opinions. I'm trying to think of some other big names.

On the second part of this question...

Once you have a handle on your own trauma, you can be very, very successful in the mental health field. You have a unique perspective that can really help others.

It was an amazing experience, and I wish I had been older. I wish I had been through multiple therapists at that point, to see how others behaved. Being in therapy yourself is such an important step that no one talks about.

Trauma fatigue is a real thing that beats people in the field down into nothing. You'll hear every therapist say, "make sure you have your own therapist," and everyone nods their head but never actually goes to therapy. It's not just good for your own mental health, sitting on the other side of that chair can be terrifying and it's important for therapists to remember what that feeling is like, and to see how other clinicians handle clients. What do you like that they do? What do you hate? What are you not going to do with your next client?

You would be shocked to learn how many clinicians out there actually have DID! It's possible and highly rewarding. Just take your time and make sure you're actually ready for it.

There's no age limit on changing careers or going into a new field. Go slow, and take care of yourself first. Then you can be the best resource for others.

I hope that answers both questions <3