#it was like meeting a comfort character in person

[writingfics-passingtime]

Gentle

pairing: Loki x female reader

synopsis: You don't think you're ticklish. Loki offers to prove you wrong.

word count: ~3500

warnings: lots of swearing, sexual tension, suggestive jokes and innuendo, possessive!Loki, minor violence (training sparring)

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a sexually-charged relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: This fic is for all the people who aren't affected by rough and tumble tickling. Who know that gentle can still be ruthless. I see you.

Sam was grounded.

So while he was strong, fast, and stubborn, he didn't have his wings. No aerial advantage.

And you were sharper. You moved with practiced ease, letting him tire himself out as he swung and lunged across the sunken sparring pit, meeting his strikes with sidesteps, well-placed counters, and a smirk you hoped was infuriating.

He went for your ribs.

You caught his wrist. Twisted. Used that leverage to hook your legs around him, then used his thrown balance to send him down.

His back hit the mat with a solid thud.

For a moment, he just blinked up at you, winded and momentarily stunned.

You grinned, settling your weight on top of him, knee digging into his ribs just hard enough to remind him who the boss was. "Tell me," you mused, "who did you say was getting their ass handed to them today?"

Sam huffed, mouth pursing into something half-annoyed, half-amused. "Yeah, screw you."

You arched a brow. "Not much of an apology."

His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. A second’s hesitation. You pounced.

Your fingers slipped under his ribs, pressing just enough-

"Shit!"

Your smirk quickly became a grin.

A choked laugh ripped out of him before he could stop it. He bucked violently, twisting beneath you as laughter tore through him like he’d been struck by lightning.

Your hand followed wherever he turned. "Something wrong, Wilson?"

"You demon-" He twisted again, finally using sheer force to throw you off. You hit the mat with a sharp roll over your shoulder, coming up to your feet in a fluid motion, laughing as he swore under his breath, breathless.

You two weren't the only ones laughing.

Thor chuckled, amused. Bucky smirked, arms crossed. Steve shook his head, exasperated. And Loki...

Loki was watching you like a cat watching a caged bird.

He tilted his head, eyes sharp, lips lifting in a slow, knowing smirk. "That," he said, "seems like an extraordinarily reckless tactic to introduce."

You dusted your hands off. "How so?"

Loki’s smirk widened. He took the bait. "Because every person in this room is stronger than you. And now you’ve gone and planted a very particular idea in their minds."

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate. You crossed your arms, lifting that same brow in challenge. Giving him space to continue monologuing.

"I mean, really," he mused in a silken voice, "do you truly want to tempt fate by giving them the notion to simply hold you down and take their revenge?"

The air shifted, and you held back your confident smirk, just to play with him a bit. "They're welcome to try."

Bucky stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "It's futile." He shot you a begrudging look. "We learned a long time ago - she’s not ticklish."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and it’s annoying as hell. Not many ways to get her back for all that sass."

You shot him a sly smile.

Loki made a sound in his throat - amused, unimpressed. "You’re wrong."

Your eyes slid back to him, fixing him with a look. "Wrong? I'm not ticklish, Loki."

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Yes, you are.”

Tense silence fell upon the room as the others turned to Loki, confused, silently hoping.

The moment stretched, electric.

Smirking eye contact, the crackle of something just shy of violent, just shy of something else.

You squinted. "I'm not lying. I've never been ticklish. Ask anyone in here."

“Hmm, I'm sure they have tried with their clumsy mortal hands,” he murmured, voice low, rich, laced with wicked amusement. “I, however..." His smirk grew downright devious. "I could take you apart without breaking a sweat.”

Your stomach did something sharp and treacherous. The heat in your face spread down your neck before you could help it.

Sam snorted. “Oh my god.”

Bucky shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Steve exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting his life choices.

You, however, refused to flinch.

“Yeah, right.”

Loki chuckled, slow and dark.

“I’ll gladly prove it,” he insisted, voice a lazy taunt, “as soon as you’re not afraid to submit to it."

The words pushed like a slow blade between your ribs. The challenge, goading you to agree to being pinned and tested, for him to catalogue your responses. It’s not like he was going to succeed in tickling you, but submit?

No way in hell.

Your mouth parted in a scoff, heat flushing your neck, your cheeks, something sharp already forming on your tongue-

“Okay, this,” Sam interrupted, pointing one hand at each of you, “is the one of most sexual things I’ve ever seen in my life, and I once walked in on Thor oiling himself up for battle.”

You lunged.

Sam yelped, dodging back, but before you could reach him, a familiar arm hooked around your waist, effortlessly hauling you back onto the mat.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Easy, killer."

Loki chuckled, low and pleased, as you pushed Bucky's arm away.

“I do so enjoy this part,” the god mused.

You exhaled sharply, still flushed, still coiled tight with something restless and unsatisfied. You took the bait. “What part?”

His gaze flicked to yours, amused, knowing. “The part where you pretend to be annoyed.”

The others snorted.

Your mouth opened, but before you could fire back, Loki winked, turned, and made to leave.

Something in you rebelled.

“Hey!" You called after him. "Come put your money where your mouth is, Your Highness."

Loki stopped.

He exhaled a low, dark chuckle, then, slowly, began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, baring forearms lined with lean, deceptive strength.

“I didn't think,” he murmured, “you'd want an audience for what’s about to transpire.”

Sam made a strangled noise. “I hate this. I hate this weird foreplay.”

Thor’s booming laugh filled the room.

"Of course I want an audience," you hummed, ignoring the riffraff. "I want them all to witness you making a fool of yourself." You stepped back onto the mat, uncrossing your arms, opening your stance. "But I’m not submitting. If you want me at your mercy, you’ll have to earn it.”

Loki turned back, and - lazily, deliberately, with a smirk that was pure sin - prowled toward you. “Very well,” he purred with a tilt of his head. “Let’s play.”

But the moment his feet hit the mat, you got the sinking feeling that you'd just walked into a trap.

You’d never sparred with Loki before. Hell, you’d never even seen him fight outside of an actual battlefield, where his chaos and skill blurred the line between strategy and sheer fucking audacity.

But now, circling each other under the dim gym lights, with him as your adversary, you saw raw, precise power coiled beneath his deliberate movements, waiting to unravel.

His stance was fluid, deceptively relaxed. Beautiful, cocky bastard. Every shift of his weight, every flicker of his gaze, calculated. You could tell he was watching you, reading you, in a way that made heat lick at the base of your spine. And deep in your belly.

So you lunged first.

In the blink of an eye, he dodged, slipping around your advance like a fast-flowing stream through your fingers, barely exerting any effort. Your body twisted, adjusting on instinct, throwing your weight into a feint before coming back around, aiming for his side.

But again, he was faster.

Loki flowed around your strike like water, his arm shooting out with lightning precision. You barely registered the movement before his palm landed solidly against your ribs - not with brute force, but a firm, pointed push, sending you stumbling off balance.

You caught yourself, breath coming sharp through your nose. He stood there, utterly at ease, watching you with a glint of amusement.

Smug, infuriatingly hot, cocky bastard.

You exhaled. Steady.

Regrouping, you moved again, but this time, you were smarter - testing- feeling out the way he reacted. The next time he dodged, you anticipated it, twisting mid-motion and using his own momentum against him, catching his arm and yanking.

It almost worked.

The instant you felt his weight shift, you knew - he’d let you do that.

You barely had time to react before he countered, twisting with impossible grace, his body moving like an under-sea shadow. You felt it before you saw it.

His hands on you.

Turning.

Your feet ripped out from under you.

The mat met your chest with a harsh thud, your breath shooting out of your lungs in a rush.

Your wrists flexed, instinctively pushing to lift yourself up - except one of them wasn’t moving. Something heavy and warm pressed you down.

Your pulse jumped.

Loki was above you, his thighs caging your hips, one hand securing your wrist above your head. Your left side was left exposed, vulnerable. You snuck a glance at the rest of the team - on your... right - he chose to test the side they couldn't see. Why?

There were more important matters to tend to.

You struggled, but his grip was like iron, pressing your wrist into the mat, keeping your body still beneath his. The sheer weight of him was suffocating, and intoxicating, his lean muscle like warm steel.

The sound of your panting filled the space between you as you used your free hand to push against his knee, against the mat, to try and pry his hand off your wrist.

Nothing budged. Nothing. Especially not you.

So, finally, you gave up the fight, relaxing underneath him, letting your forehead fall to the mat as the others chuckled on the sidelines.

A low, satisfied, hum rumbled from his chest.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the way the heat from his body seemed to sink into yours. “Yeah, whatever. You're a thousand-year-old god, of course you're gonna win."

Loki chuckled. And that sound - deep, smug, thoroughly entertained - was infuriating.

You scoffed, and gave a snarky chuckle, lazing your head to the side, not the slightest bit concerned. "Well, go on. Do what you need to do. All of these guys have tried, failed, and reaped the embarrassment of prodding my stomach while I stare them down. Your turn."

"My turn," he repeated in a low, heat, murmur that made your neck prickle. "They’ve all tried, have they?"

His eyes flicked toward the others - Bucky, Sam, Steve, Thor - still watching with rapt attention.

"I'm guessing they wrestled you, pinned you," Loki mused, "and I imagine they grabbed at your waist, or jammed their fingers clumsily under your arms, yes?"

Your stomach clenched at the cool, casual confidence in his voice.

His head dipped lower, lips brushing just past your ear.

"But no one's ever been gentle with you, have they?"

The implication landed hot in your stomach. With that tone, he definitely wasn't just talking about tickling.

"I don’t need gentle," you gritted out, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Loki hummed again. And then -

A single touch.

Soft. Featherlight. Unfamiliar.

A slow, wandering drag of fingertips under the hem of your shirt, gliding over your side with aching delicacy.

An involuntary shudder rippled through you, sparkling sensation travelling up your neck, down your hip.

Your breath hitched.

Loki’s low chuckle vibrated against your back.

“Oh, my. Was that a reaction?"

You tested your wrist again, his grip didn’t budge. Iron.

“I-” You wet your lips, breathing out a nervous chuckle. Steady... “If this is tickling, why do people react to it so violently? Sam practically-”

The words died in your throat as his fingers slipped higher.

A slow, agonisingly light scratching at your ribcage.

Your body shifted before you even realised. Some strange, new sensation bloomed alive beneath your skin - an almost electric tingle, sharp and shivery, not... uncomfortable but not something you could control.

You winced, feeling your own muscles betray you, your arm instinctively trying to pull down. Your brow furrowed.

Silence from the others.

Your pulse pounded as you turned your head and met their confused stares and raised brows.

Loki’s voice dipped lower. “Tell me,” he whispered, dark and taunting, “what do you feel?”

You swallowed. Your breath was unsteady. “I don’t know, I-”

You barely got the words out before his fingers slipped higher, that damnably light touch moving quicker, scraping against your skin and nerves-

A sensation erupted.

Your body jerked.

A strangled noise caught in your throat - somewhere between a gasp and a sound you’d never made before - bubbling up.

No.

No fucking way.

Your fingers dug into the mat. Heat roared through your veins, panic flickering, because something strange was happening. Your body was reacting. Your breath hitching, catching, some kind of force simmering deep in your lungs-

“What the hell are you doing to me?” you demanded, voice breathless, confused, desperate.

Loki only laughed, dark and rich, and said, “Proving a point.”

And then he picked up the speed.

A choked, gasping giggle burst out of you before you could stop it.

Your eyes widened.

The others on the sidelines looked gobsmacked.

The sensation grew, intensified, as Loki’s fingers didn’t stop.

You twisted violently, struggling under him, but his weight was unforgiving, his grip relentless.

Your lips parted, a stream of breathless giggles slipping free.

Oh, fuck.

Your body shuddered as his fingers skimmed higher, up to the skin stretched over the centre of your ribcage-

Your head hit the mat as laughter was yanked out of you. Your legs kicked, trying to gain traction, but Loki only chuckled at your useless attempts.

“Wait- fucking- you-"

“Well,” Loki purred, so fucking pleased with himself, “Not ticklish, was it?”

The laughter ripped through your throat, unrelenting, spilling out in gasping waves as Loki’s damnable fingers continued their excruciatingly light torment. The others on the sidelines cheered in pure delight as you laughed and laughed and twisted and squirmed.

But there was no escape.

No amount of tensing, no desperate attempts to throw him off, could do anything against his sheer strength and control. His weight pressed you into the mat, keeping you exactly where he wanted, his hand moving with deadly precision - every stroke of his fingertips dragging something shivery and unbearable from your skin.

Bucky's surprised scoff cut across your struggling. "Well I'll be."

"All this time, huh?" Steve huffed a laugh through his nose.

"Oh, you are definitely getting it from me," Sam's chortling threat made you turn your head away, back to where only Loki could see your profile.

Gods, Loki.

This wasn’t the clumsy, forceful jabbing of a sparring partner trying to elicit a reaction.

This... this was deliberate. Skilled. Loki had found something new in you, and he was taking his time exploring it.

And the worst part?

The heat.

The deep, simmering pull in your stomach had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with the way his body pinned yours, the warmth of his breath, the slow, dangerous way he was learning you.

You were done for.

“Now,” Loki called to the others, voice smooth and pleased and maddeningly composed over your breathless gasps, “what exactly should I be dishing out punishment for? As long as you all have tales of her misdeeds…”

His fingers fluttered along your ribs, light and delicate, dragging over the hyper-sensitive skin. Your body seized with a squeal, then a sharp, gasping laugh.

“…I’ll keep going.”

The traitorous bastards on the sidelines did not hesitate.

“How much time you got?” Sam called, laughing.

"She replaced the protein powder with flour," Bucky offered. "Had us all drinking sludge in our shakes for days until we realised."

Loki hummed in amusement. "Clever." His fingers never stopped - the feathery, unbearable strokes at your lower ribs making your body tremble under him.

"Last week she convinced Thor that the Alexa was not only a real person, but 'Midgard's Only Goddess.'" Sam snorted. "Had Thor trying to win her favour for hours."

Loki chuckled, shaking his head as though deeply ashamed of you. His fingers slid higher up your ribs, the change in focus so sudden it made your breath hitch violently - your body arching before you could stop it.

"Oh, that’s good," Sam laughed. "Keep her goin', we got more."

"She told the new recruits that I get my hair done at a salon called ‘Thunder Struck,’" Thor added, betrayal in his voice. "The rumours-"

"-are completely true," you gasped, still somehow defiant through the breathless laughter spilling out of you.

Loki sighed in faux fatigue. "A habitual liar, too. Unfortunate." His fingers shifted again, this time creeping into the soft space under your arm-

Your laughter folded into silence.

A sharp, breathless inhale was all you could manage, body seizing as your nerves exploded with sensation. Your free hand slammed into the mat, trying to brace yourself.

Loki noticed.

“Oh,” he purred, sounding far too satisfied. His fingers didn’t move, just rested there, as if savouring the way you tensed beneath him. “I see.”

Your eyes widened. Somehow, you knew what was coming.

“I believe,” he murmured darkly, “I’ve found the perfect place for my discipline.”

His fingers twitched.

A sharp, shuddering noise burst out of you.

Then he started moving.

Slow. Dragging.

Your body jolted before you could stop it, a sharp, helpless squirm beneath him. Your breath hitched violently in your throat, trying to hold in the laughter- you couldn’t let him win-

His fingers curled against your skin in a perfectly devastating way, grazing soft circles in the deepest, most vulnerable part of that untouched nerve space, and the laughter broke out of you in an uncontrollable rush.

Loki sighed, as if he were so terribly disappointed.

“What was it you called me last week?” he mused, tracing, scratching, slow, taunting circles over every tormenting inch. “Ah, yes - ‘horny Shakespeare?’”

You shrieked. Your trapped hand trembling into a fist, tears of mirth threatening hot behind your eyes.

The others roared with laughter.

“Or was it-” He shifted, pressing in closer, lips brushing against your burning ear, voice dripping with amusement, “-‘overgrown magician with daddy issues’?”

You shrieked again, laughter breaking apart into gasping, desperate protests.

“Oh, I rather like this one-” His fingers swirled, still unbearably light, sweeping quickly over the taut skin. “You said I ‘probably cry after sex.’”

“I TAKE IT BACK-”

Loki laughed, dark and dangerous, sitting back up as his fingers scraped gently, just enough to send fire through your nerves, to make your laughter break, to send your legs kicking uselessly against the mat.

"Ah, and my favourite," Loki continued, relentless, "-you looked me dead in the eyes, in front of the entire team, and asked me if my horns were, in fact, just overcompensation for something far more-"

He was cut off when his fingers stroked, just so, against the place just below your arm where your ribcage ended, and laughter tore through you, something wrecked in your voice, your body shaking against his.

"Oh, you didn't like that, did you?" he soothed in mock sympathy before his voice gave way to a dark, sensuous chuckle.

"Loki- PLEASE!"

You had never begged before.

But you'd never been ticklish before.

And Loki - Loki fucking knew.

His chuckle returned as his hand slowed to a stop, fingers still perched threateningly as your ragged breath expelled beneath him.

"Did you hear that, gentlemen?" Your chest heaved, body shaking from the sheer force of it all, something deeply unsettled in your bones as his palm smoothed down your side, lingering before his fingers tightened at your hip, his grip possessive. "I do believe our dear girl has finally learned some manners."

Your entire body burned.

Then, Loki pushed off, moving effortlessly to his feet as if the last five minutes hadn’t utterly destroyed you.

True to his word, he hadn't broken a sweat.

You barely managed to push yourself onto your knees, your body unsteady, your breathing still laboured.

"Wait, hold up," Sam interrupted, holding a hand towards you. "Loki, you gotta show us how to do that."

Loki stiffened. It was barely noticeable. A flicker. A shift in the air.

And then - smooth as ever, with an icy calm that sent a clear warning, "I used magic," he said, holding up a hand with fingertips glowing green. "You are not capable, and you should not try."

You looked up, saw the chilled death in his stare that bored into Sam.

Liar.

That's why he chose to test the side no one else can see; he didn't want anyone else knowing how to undo you.

And everyone knew it. The implication was clear:

Back off.

Sam held up his hands immediately. "Alright, damn. Not trying to start an intergalactic incident."

The tension in the room eased as you caught your breath, but the tension inside you only burned hotter.

Loki turned and met your gaze with something solemn in his expression, something dark and wanting... protective.

Something only for you.

And fuck, you were both done for.

.

.

[aventurineswife]

so if the sahsrau and sagau characters made it to our world what would be the first thing they'd do would they try to find the reader or would they erect (hehe erect) some sort of statue or museum for you and your art also how would they treat the reader and assuming that the reader is like most people at the moment how would they react if the reader was living paycheck to paycheck?

If the SAHSRAU and SAGAU characters broke through into our world, it would be absolute chaotic worship meets reality check energy.

First Thing They’d Do?

They’d 100% try to find the reader immediately.

Their divine GPS (aka terminally over-romanticized sense of direction + desperation) would kick in. Most of them would tear through space and time like "WHERE IS OUR CREATOR??" while others like Welt or Nahida might be like, “...maybe we should get a lay of the land first.” But nah—Reader comes first.

And if they couldn’t find you right away? Expect a museum. No—a cathedral, actually. Statues, murals, and literal light shows. They’d start collecting every piece of your art, vent-post, old doodles, angsty OC lore, and unfinished works like they’re holy texts. (Even your high school sketchbook? Priceless artifact. Protected in glass.)

How Would They Treat the Reader?

Like you were the sun and the sky and the stars rolled into one.

Yanqing (or older male character if you don't want the kids here) would bring you tea and kneel like an ancient knight trying not to show his blush.

Acheron would speak in soft metaphors, treating you like a sorrowful dream made real.

Albedo and Silver Wolf would take apart your phone and try to understand how it connects to you.

Jing Yuan and Zhongli would treat your words like prophecies—“...the Creator said ‘I’m broke,’ which must be symbolic. We must fix this imbalance.”

Boothill would try to fight your landlord or job manager or whoever.

Dan Heng and Xiao would just silently keep watch over you like tired guard dogs with severe trauma and too much reverence.

Ayato, Blade, or Kafka might take a more... personal approach. You’re overwhelmed? You need someone to take care of everything for you? Consider it handled, sweetheart.

If You Were Living Paycheck to Paycheck?

First they'd be horrified. Like genuinely shaken. Because in their eyes, you're a divine being, the Source of Worlds, the One Who Created Them—and you’re living in mortal drudgery? You’re suffering? You're stressed about rent?

Oh, no no no.

Aventurine opens seventeen credit lines in your name and maxes them all out immediately to get you out of debt and into a comfortable apartment.

Nahida or Raiden Ei might try to completely overhaul modern society for your convenience.

Neuvillette and Bronya would go to your employer and issue divine litigation.

Childe just: "Let me fix it. Let me fix everything."

Pela and Cyno are putting your boss on trial.

Even someone like Kaveh would offer to live in your place for a week while you recover and maybe even cook for you. (You don’t know where he got the ingredients but it’s the thought that counts.)

And if you ever say: “I’m fine, really…”

They’d just be so quiet. Hurt. Like: “You shouldn’t have to be fine. Not alone. Not ever.”

Basically:

You’d go from paycheck-to-paycheck to gilded-idol-worship-meets-overprotective-cult-leader-found-family in the span of a single tear rolling down your cheek.

Would you like the world remodeled into a utopia? Because that's what they'd try to give you. And maybe... just maybe, you'd start to wonder if letting them stay was really such a bad idea after all.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I love Pearl so much, she's such an interesting character.

I feel like Pearl is someone who is constantly in conflict with herself, always torn between what she wants, what she think she 'should' do, what's expected of her, and what she's capable of.

Pearl wants companionship, she wants friends, she wants to relax and have fun. Pearl can be a very friendly, fun, and chill person. She's honorable and most of the time loyal. Pearl is most comfortable during peace times, or, barring that, when she's fighting beside someone.

She tries to drop the anger and hurt of her past too. Pearl wants to forgive, wants to feel better, wants to rebuild bridges with the people who hurt her, and the people she hurt.

But there's always the spectre of 'Scarlet Pearl'.

Part of it is the expectation of other people. Everyone still remembers her victory, the blood on her hands, looking at her and seeing a threat, or a weapon. Ironically, though, the person who wasn't present for Double Life is somehow the worst. And Pearl wants to do right by Gem, wants to give Gem what she needs from her, so she tries to fall back into that persona, covers herself in red and promises to fight beside Gem, but it never quite works, Pearl can never quite meet the expectation of violence people have for her.

But it's not all about other people, is it? That would be too simplistic, to say Pearl is only what other people make her into. I've never thought of Pearl as particularly weak willed, the expectations of other people is a factor, but Pearl has her own reasons for always glancing back at that persona that never quite fit.

For starters, there's an empowerment to it. A safety in feeling yourself covered in blood and gore, in knowing you're capable of painfully clawing your way to victory. Pearl doesn't want to be 'Scarlet Pearl'- never wanted to be, not really- but there's something comforting, I'm sure, about the concept, the myth, of what she's capable of, something that's hard not to want to recapture, at least a little bit.

I also think there's an aspect of guilt repression. It's something Pearl struggled with a lot in Double Life, in a lot of things, but especially when it came to Scott. Because Pearl did hurt him, and I don't think she ever fully convinced herself he deserved it. You see in Double Life, over and over, the way Pearl will falter or even backtrack sometimes, just to convince herself she doesn't care if she's hurting people. I suspect it's still a relief to have the 'Scarlet Pearl' persona to lean into sometimes, this image of someone who doesn't feel remorse (even if that was never really true), something Pearl herself utilizes when topics come up that she doesn't want to think about, wants buried, this version of herself she likes to think never regretted a thing.

I honestly think Pearl is far too attached to the idea people have of what 'Scarlet Pearl' was, even if it's just a mythologized version of a hollow persona built as a defense mechanism.

People- including Pearl herself- keep digging up the bones of the myth of who Pearl was during Double Life, and even if it's not good for Pearl, even if she doesn't want to be that person, never wanted to be that person, can't be that person. It's an impossible expectation, one Pearl struggles to meet, and I don't think she'd be happy if she did meet it. But it's also comforting in some ways, easy to put on, even though the cracks seem to grow every time the mask is worn.

I'm just obsessed with Pearl guys.

[romanticizing-writing]

After being reblogged a second time with this, I have finally mustered up the courage to do this! @majoringinfanfiction tagging you here because technically you reblogged it to me first, so in case you're interested in hearing my responses.

1. If you could be any animal, which one would you choose to be?

I would choose to be a cat because I'm a cat person, I enjoy alone time (I'm an introvert), tend to wander wherever *cough cough* pace through rooms *cough cough* when I'm bored, and my love language is physical touch, so I get definitely see myself being affectionate in cat ways.

2. What would you choose to wear when you're in a hurry?

It genuinely would depend on where I'm going: Is it a formal event or a casual meet-up? Who would be there? Friends, superiors, or foes? Assuming I wouldn't have enough time to figure out these variables, I would most likely decide to wear something that would fit well in any category: A white blouse decorated with black flowers, small ruffles on the edges, and two drawstrings towards the bottom that can be used to shift it into a fancier shape; a black undershirt to complement the black flowers and because I don't feel comfortable exposing too much skin; faded blue denim jeans that flair out at the bottom with a cut in the side and flowers sewn into the design; and, lastly, a simple pair of black tennis shoes.

3. Are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren, or mermaid and why do you think so?

This was personally a difficult question for me. I already had an idea of what each creature was like, but I still googled them to have an even better picture of which one I would most likely be. In the end, I settled on the mermaid. I love the water — it feels natural to me — and I am an excellent swimmer. I have a strong will and don't bend to other people, which, personality-wise, are what mermaids are supposed to be like. Also, I'm not 100% if singing became a hobby associated with mermaids when they sorta fused with sirens (in terms of concepts) and became the modern version of them, but I love to sing and am very much a theater kid at heart!

4. What is your style?

So, my favorite clothing style and the ideal way I would dress (if I had the money to afford it 💀) would be kawaii lolita. For those not familiar with the style, it's essentially adorable frilly dresses with large, poofy skirts — all colored in pastel! I love it and I feel like it radiates my personality (you'd be more likely to agree if you knew me irl 😅).

...

Unfortunately, though, I don't actually dress that way due to the financial debt it would put me in. In reality, my style ranges from what I'd describe as cute casual to casual chill to extremely fancy. I wear a lot of sweaters (both open ones and regular, collar-less ones) and leggings when it's colder. Once it starts to get warmer, you won't ever catch me dead wearing shorts; it's skorts only! I dress, admittedly, very feminine with my clothes. (Please don't take this as me saying I think there's anything wrong with that — there's not, I'm just saying it in order to give a better idea of what my style is like.)

5. Regular milk or plant-based milk?

I only drink regular milk. I didn't realize that plant-based milk was something people drink until this question, though I suppose it makes sense.

6. Milk or cereal first?

I find it crazy that people debate over this kind of stuff. I put the cereal in the bowl first, then pour the milk second. Otherwise, I would do drastically terrible measurements and end up with a mess of overflowing milk. Then, I would be murdered by my family for causing such a disaster, and I would never be seen again. The end.

7. Favorite way to kill someone?

I just want to preface this by saying that I'm no murderer, nor do I intend on becoming one. With that being said, in terms of actual methods, I don't have one. However, I do love it (from a writer's perspective) when a character just monologues about all of the crazy ways to murder someone like an info-dumping machine as they casually perform the deed. It's displays just how unhinged and detached the character is, which I enjoy from a — and I repeat — writer's perspective.

I'm not pressuring any of you to do this, but I'm supposed to tag mutuals, so...

@ameluvs @kat-reich-4222000 @sunbxf

Once again, don't feel like you have to do this. It's all a matter of choice.

thankyou for the tag @preposterousray 🖤

get to know your mutuals♡

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to) I think I would choose to be a bengal tiger because I have always resonated with them 🐅 <3

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

hm, a black singlet top, fishnet tights and black denim shorts with lace, hair in two spiky buns, eyeshadow and lipgloss, some bracelets and obviously my scoliosis brace but that is a mobility aid lol

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

I think either a witch (darkness, chaos, magic, freedom, and power, and animals, besides I’m already into witchery) and a vampire (turning into a bat, flying, supernatural powers, macabre)

what is your style?

idk man I love and admire both gothic fashion and punk-rock fashion. diy, scraps, lace, patches, studs, spikes, fishnets, jewellery, mesh, paint, safety pins, stockings, short skirts and shorts, crop tops, weird hairstyles and makeup, expressing individuality and rebellion and the macabre and unusual — and if I’m being formal then thrifted suit jackets and vampy curly updos ✨

regular milk or plant based milk?

regular milk 🥛

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

milk because I am a psychopath

nah I’m actually kidding I obviously put cereal first I just wanted to annoy whoever was reading this

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

pull one of their eyes out with my fingers, shove a handkerchief into their eye socket, and then throw them the fuck overboard a ship to drown in the unforgiving sea kaz brekker style

tagging @vilecemetery @rottingangel9 @mossterious @urlocalbone @butterflypython @ball-of-insecurities @sandmoondooh @calder-a @sparklykat-hideoutenthusiast and anyone else who wants to join

[dance-is-life27]

Easy Mornings

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: You cherish an early morning with Joaquin as you wake up to him admiring you.

Warnings: Trans Masc/Male reader, implied reader has top surgery, use of masculine pet names and other language to refer to reader (ex: handsome, boyfriend), implied he/him pronouns for reader but never explicitly used, fluff, kissing, short and sweet fic

A/n: I guess it's mandatory for me to write some form of waking up early/early morning fic with a character if I fall in love with them. Which is really funny cause I'm not really a morning person lol

You wake up slowly, the haze of the world around you leisurely fading with the final remnants of your dream. You’re only aware of how comfortable you are beneath the blankets and under the light of the sun streaming in through your windows, until you feel it. 

Gentle, barely there touches against your chest, tracing at the lines that run across them, and you look down to find Joaquin. 

The morning sun reflects off his sleep tousled curls, turning his normally black hair brown. The side of his face is lit up too, unbothered by the rising sun. He looks nearly dazed, like he’s so at ease to the point where you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in the middle of a daydream. And given the way that you feel, it almost feels like you’re living in one too. You’re not used to the calm and the quiet, usually mornings between you both are filled with movement and music as you both get ready for your day. The peacefulness doesn’t come until night falls, when you're both at home, no more work needing to be done, no more people that need saving. This has flipped everything upside down its head and yet, you welcome it regardless. How could you not? 

You don’t know how long it is when Joaquin finally looks up at you, you haven’t moved in fear of breaking the serenity in the air and looking at a clock seemed like the kind of thing that would break it easily. Joaquin smiles at you as your eyes meet, the gentle brush of his fingertips against your chest stops as he pushes himself off of you, inching closer until your noses brush against each other. You can practically feel the gentle smile on his face, you know that your smile mirrors his exactly. 

“Good morning handsome,” Joaquin greets in a whisper before pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “You’re finally awake.” 

The smile on your face stretches at the compliment and you find your hands raising to cup at the sides of Joaquin’s face to prevent him from pulling too far away from you. 

“What’re you doing here?” You ask, gazing into Joaquin’s brown eyes. 

He shrugs over you, “Sam gave me the day off and I wanted to spend the morning with my boyfriend.” 

Your brow raises, “Admiring your boyfriend you mean?” 

Joaquin laughs, light and breathless before he leans back down to press his lips to yours once more, “Same difference.” 

The two of you trade kisses back and forth, lost in a space where the rest of the world ceases to exist. Where time slows to a crawl in the confinement of your bedroom, and nothing else matters beyond the soft feel of Joaquin’s lips and the warmth that fills you every time that you’re with him. It feels like you could spend forever in this moment with Joaquin, an eternity spent right here has never been more welcoming to you than right now. 

Eventually though, despite you not wanting to, Joaquin pulls away. 

“So, as much as I hate to admit it, a make-out session isn’t a proper substitute for food, so we should probably get up and eat before we starve.” 

You groan as Joaquin shifts off you to stand beside the bed, “I would rather starve.” A laugh falls from his lips at your words, the sound makes the pout on your face disappear for a moment. 

“And I would rather you not do that,” Joaquin states as he stares down at you as if he’s trying to will you to get up with only his mind, “But I suppose we can stay in bed for a little while longer.” Joaquin concedes with a grin. You’re quick to drag him back down into bed as soon as those words leave his mouth, a victorious smile on your face as he laughs once more when he catches himself from falling completely on top of you. You can’t help but laugh too when he rolls over you to his side of the bed, looking every bit joyful and yours in every sense of the word. 

[amenti-aardwolf]

Got to meet Kai's VA Vincent Tong a few weeks ago, and I took this photo of him that just seemed so incredibly Kai that I had to make it a draw-over! 🔥💪

He was so sweet, I was so glad that I got the chance to meet him! (Bonus under the cut: photos of my signed Kai plushie and me in cosplay next to him :3) ⬇️

Geeking out hard over this, ughh

[laisse-mourrir-le-passe]

Not to mention the deleted scene in Iron Man 1 with the two girls in Dubai where he says "I'm not entirely comfortable with this and I never have been. Do you know how easy it is to get a reputation and how hard it is to lose? And I'm not playing the victim, I'm not ya know, complaining. It's just, it's something that has occurred, over time."

Like eXcUsE mE WHAT. And they both just LAUGH. Which is extremely on brand for 2008, actually, but STILL. That scene is heartbreaking. Not to mention Obadiah's freaking massive violation of consent at the end of the movie, taking the arch reactor out of Tony's chest after PARALYZING him. The vibes are absolutely rancid fam.

On the surface, Tony Stark—Billionaire, Playboy—is a character that should have aged like milk. Nowhere is that perhaps more apparent than the blink and you miss it reference to Hugh Hefner / Stan Lee cameo in Iron Man 1. If you combine that with everything that has come out about Epstein and Diddy, and the Me Too era of 2016, you'd think even the character of Tony Stark would have gotten cancelled somewhere along the way (this is Tumblr after all). But the character was written with nuance and also AS A GOOD PERSON—and played that way by RDJ—and instead of aging badly you have an incredibly popular character that is also definitely a victim of SA but is never defined by it. And if anything, it is ignored or not recognized in a way that is sadly realistic.

My head canon is that if the MCU also had a Me Too era, that it was after those public conversations about consent, that it actually started to click in Tony's head that "hey, maybe I was actually a victim and being gaslight into ignoring it because Toxic Masculinity ✨" It also would coincide pretty nearly with him meeting Peter which I think would also have him like 👁️ 👄 👁️ I was THIS AGE when I was (fill in the blank traumatic event(s)).

TW: mentions of SA

Tony Stark is so "yeah I lost my virginity to a hot older woman 😏" "um you were a child and she was supposed to be a trusted adult baby you're A VICTIM" coded

Tony proudly thinking he's all cool and suave, especially with people like Obie telling him what a man it makes him, but he was like 14 and it was a 30 year old business associate, or a 22 year old college student, or any number of staff/family friends/MIT students who were too old for him that found it easy to take advantage of an awkward gifted kid who's been told he's too smart and mature for his age his entire life

Rhodey would for sure be the first one to tell him he's a victim and all Tony's notions of toxic masculinity kind of crack (and then he doubles down on bad sexual decisions and toxic relationships because ✨trauma✨)

[squishosaur]

hey man. i'm just saying. why would we put inexperienced teenagers with over-inflated egos and obvious emotional issues into combat classes and make them claw their way to the top of their dorms and expect things to just run smoothly. who actually thought this

[zablife]

@darklydeliciousdesires I know I've been an absent reader due to my new fixation, but I'm here now to binge all the stuff I've missed. Yay for me bc I get 2 chapters of Sanctuary at once! I'm really enjoying the journey thru this incredibly detailed world you've built 🤩

I think I was as nervous as Erika leading up to their first meeting, unsure how the dynamic might shift as they interact in person. However, it's clear the connection they have on paper translates to the real world. Their chemistry is palpable! And the fact that they can't touch each other makes the slow burn even more enticing. (That little forbidden kiss at the end had me squealing with glee!)

Most of all, I love the way Lucas and Erica provide comfort for each other. First, Lucas makes her feel at ease in an unsettling environment and then she acts as a source of light and hope for him. That is so beautiful 🥹

I have to tell you that I adore Lucas' character! I was immediately struck by his humor and warmth, but more importantly his deep remorse for his crimes. He seems like such a gentle soul and I'm still trying to reconcile that with the events of the past. I have a feeling that will be revealed when we meet Nils tho. Looking fwd to that interaction as well as Lucas' release (oops, heard it as soon as I read it aloud, but oh well. You know what I meant!)

Sanctuary - Chapter Two.

Guys, when I tell you I was elated at your response to this story! Thank you so much to everyone who read and offered such kind feedback. ILY <3

Summary - It was a crime that shook the metal community and beyond to its core, the Solna Satanic murder case blowing apart the lives of many. With Lucas and Nils - frontman and drummer of popular metal band The Hanged - trialed, found guilty and subsequently sentenced, few were inclined to believe either deserved any offerings of a second chance. Lucas, in particular, did not consider himself worthy until salvation came in the form of a letter.

Words - 3,271

Previous Chapters - One

Warnings - 18+ content, mentions of violence. Of course, it'll be smutty too, eventually! Minors DNI!

That voice. She’d once heard someone liken Lucas’s voice to a ripsaw shredding through a led pipe, that guttural, gravelled roar sending an illicit shiver down her spine every time she heard it. Listening to Warfare, the highly acclaimed debut album by The Hanged, Erika still couldn’t quite believe that he was just fourteen and fifteen years old when he wrote it, sixteen when he’d recorded it and seventeen when he’d toured with it.  

They’d been babies, still, just kids up there on the stage. She remembered well from going to see them live, just a kid herself of thirteen at the time after pleading with her parents to allow her to attend the gig. There he’d been up on stage, this tall, fresh-faced boy, but with a roar like something hell had spat out for being too hostile.  

Oh, how she’d wanted to try and get backstage to meet them, but couldn’t on account of her father looming like an albatross, Lasse parked up in his Land Rover to the side of the venue, waiting to take her and her friend's home. Now here she was seventeen years later, driving out to Södertälje in order to meet the man himself for the first time.  

To say she was nervous was an understatement.  

It was a typically cold February morning, yet to prevent her anxious sweats, Erika had the air conditioning on full pelt, her coat slung into the back seat of her car. She was tired, finishing late at work the previous evening, going home to sit at her laptop, eating her favourite girl dinner of various cheeses and sliced meats while indulging herself in a little time with Lucas. 

What that meant to her was watching old interviews with him and parts of the DVD from their last tour prior to his and Nils’s incarceration. God, he’d been so funny, such a live wire of a guy. One of her favourites was a scene she found herself backtracking a few times, him and their lead guitarist Alex meeting a female fan backstage who’d been quite overcome in their presence. 

“Oh, I think I’m going to faint! Hi!” 

“Breeze!” Lucas had shouted, looking around. “The woman needs breeze!” He’d then looked to Alex. “Pass me that. Here, I got you. Breeze via Terroriser magazine, there you go, we’ve got a draft going now!” he’d chirped, fanning the by then giggling woman with a rapid flourish of the publication in his hands. “You good now? Don’t faint on me, girl!” 

She’d told him how much the entire thing had made her cry laugh in a letter, Lucas revealing in his reply that he remembered that night well. Perhaps, though, his penned recollection wasn’t quite so humorous. To him, at least.  

So yeah, I ended up taking her to the tour bus and having sex with her. It was going great, until she suddenly got a wave of drunken nausea and threw up all over my chest while she was riding me. Thank fuck the venue had a shower, but shit, my bunk wasn’t salvageable at all! Had to sleep in the seats at the front until our management could get some mobile valet guys to come and deep clean it!! 

The second part of the video offerings that never failed to have her in fits was the scene cut from an interview, again of Lucas and Alex – a renowned double act if ever there was one – speaking to a journalist in Düsseldorf. 

“I like it here in Germany,” the latter had spoken enthusiastically, “you have great beer and even better women!” A small rumble of laughter had sounded from various people in the space, Alex continuing. “Not that any of them want my wiry ass, they all go for this motherfucking pretty boy right here!” 

The camera had then panned over to Lucas, who’d puckered his lips and pulled up his t shirt with a lascivious smirk. “Look at him! If he wore enough lipstick, I’d probably fuck him, too!” Alex had then exclaimed, everyone in hysterics as he’d grabbed Lucas’s head and promptly licked his cheek.  

“Give me enough of this good German beer, and man, I might let you.” He’d chimed, both of them in utter fits of booming laughter. 

Erika had sighed hard then, thinking that perhaps if he’d remained as close to Alex as he’d been at that point, he might have escaped the dark path he and Nils were fated to tread upon. How different things might have been for him, had he not fell headlong into Nils's ominous orbit.  

Alex was a good guy, she could tell that just from watching him on video, and of course from Lucas’s stories. Nils, she tended to agree with others over. There was something inherently dark about the man, but she could only hope that as Alex had revealed while visiting Lucas, the seeds of change had been firmly planted within the once deeply disturbed young man. 

Putting the thoughts of her viewing a time gone by to rest, she focused on the drive, moving from the highway to the narrower roads leading up to Anstalten prison. It was mind boggling to her, that she was just over half an hour away from meeting Lucas for the very first time, her heart beginning to race rapidly in her chest. 

Pulling up in the seemingly endless concrete of the car park, she cut the engine and climbed out, taking a few deep breaths before walking over to the visitor's entrance of the prison.  

“Oh my fuck, oh my fuck I’m actually here!” she whispered, reaching the door and being granted entrance after buzzing in. Upon her arrival inside, she had to check in with the warden on the desk, show her ID and stand aside, ready to be searched before being allowed further into the facility.  

Standing with her legs and arms spread, she was patted down, a second warden thoroughly examining the contents of her bag. It was a thorough search, her boots removed to check within, Erika also having to open her mouth wide and show beneath her tongue, too, her hair lifted and searched through as well.  

God, the numerous ways contraband could be smuggled in. She’d never even think to hide something in her hair, should she had been that way inclined.  

“Buttons.” 

She gaped a little at the warden’s statement. “Excuse me?” 

Nodding downwards, he didn’t miss a beat. “Your buttons. You’re about to walk into a room full of sex-starved inmates. Do them up.”  

Oh. Immediately, her cheeks flushed, hands moving quickly to fasten the buttons of her dress. She felt naive and out of place, having a few other visitors titter with laughter at her expense. The shame of it. There wasn’t much time for that shame to manifest itself further, though, she and the rest of the visitors called for, all filing through the heavily reinforced doors of the prison and into a long, white painted corridor. 

It looked very sterile within, and it was much quieter than she had been expecting, the warden gesturing to the wide double doors that lead to the visiting room. Her heart began to jackrabbit strongly then, walking in and immediately glancing around the room for him.  

Lucas was distinct enough to spot, being close to two metres tall, heavily tattooed and with a mane of waist length, dark blonde hair. With every man whose visage she scanned, though, she failed to match them to the mental picture of him.  

He would have changed, of course, being that he was just twenty-two when he was incarcerated and almost thirty-four now, but still, where on earth was he? Had she gotten the wrong day? No, she couldn’t have. They’d have told her when she checked in. Panic rapidly began to set in before suddenly... 

“Erika.”  

Stopping in her tracks, she turned to her right to see the form of a huge, shaven headed man with a neat, dark blonde beard rise to his feet. Good fucking lord. That was Lucas? 

Looking at him and trying hard not to begin salivating, she wagered he’d likely spent most of his sentence sequestered in the prison gym. To say he was stacked would be an understatement; the formerly rail thin young man had gained about thirty kilograms in thick, hulking muscle.  

“Hiya! Shit, I um, I didn’t... shit, you look different!” she floundered, his wide smile and rumbling chuckle somewhat setting her at ease, but doing little to slow down the accelerated thundering of her heart. He’d been stunningly handsome in his early twenties, but now? God alive. “Can I give you a hug? Am I allowed to?” 

He nodded, opening his arms. “You are. Only a little one, though.”  

Did little hugs truly exist with that much man?! 

Before she could feel her insides whittle themselves away into further nervous chaos, she was embraced, those two powerful arms wrapping her in a hug. As a tall girl, she rarely felt small, but there in Lucas’s strong, yet gentle embrace she felt truly tiny. To touch him, smell him, oh. It felt better than she was expecting. 

“How fucking dare you come here looking so hot, and I can’t even give you more than this.” His lips met her cheek in a briefly pressed kiss, Erika feeling herself spark. “Seriously, you’re even more of a knockout than your pictures showed. Why the hell are you here to see me?” 

He put her at ease instantly with his charming humour, yet she still found herself the victim to her own nervous floundering. Placing her bag down on the chair, she then sat on it, shooting back up to move it, making him snort with laughter.  

“Don’t be so nervous, I might be a fucking murderer but I’m not that scary anymore.” 

Oh, but it wasn’t because of that. 

“I’m not, it isn’t that,” she began, winding her hands around before lacing her fingers together to stop herself. God, she’d turned into Nina! “It’s just... meeting you for the first time. I know you’re my friend and I feel like I know you...” 

“Right, and you do know me, so calm down,” he kindly interjected with. 

“But you’re still one of my favourite musicians, and I confess, I had a bit of a fangirl moment!”  

From the way she was looking at him, he knew that wasn’t strictly all it was, but he was too nice to mention it. Besides, he had his own reaction to seeing her in the flesh for the first time to placate. He would be taking one hell of a cold shower, come the end of the visit. Wow.  

He could tell that her nerves were still jumping within, wishing he could reach for her hand in an effort to steady them. It might have the opposite effect, for both of them, though. Instead, he chose to steady her through his words. 

“Tell me about the tattoo convention, then. How’d it all go?” Engaging her in something she knew she exuded confidence over would surely do the trick, and it did, Lucas watching as her shoulders loosened a little. 

“It was so good!” she enthused, her eyes lighting up. “I felt like my hand was going to fall off after three full days of tattooing back-to-back. My feet hurt like hell with all the walking around and networking in the time between that, but it was great!” It was so surreal to her, Lucas Borgström in the flesh, sitting right across from her. Asking about her life!  

His smile widened, and she felt like sunshine was gilding her tummy. Oh, the man was knockout handsome. “I’m pleased for you! Did you get any good contacts? I know you told me in your last letter you wanted to maybe travel, so a few guest spots here and there?” he asked. “Oh, and how’s Nina’s foot now? She okay?” 

That touched her, that he’d remembered her mentioning Nina and her broken foot fiasco. “She’s in less pain, but pissed off about the big boot she has to wear. And yeah, I did. I managed to organise a three-week spot in Essex in the U.K two months from now, with an artist named Jason Butcher, who I love.” 

Ahhh, the common ground they had there, Lucas rolling up his t shirt sleeve and pointing to the large tattoo beneath. “Jason did my Odin for me, managed to get in with him towards the end of our first U.K tour. I wish he’d done a whole lot more, because look at all of this embarrassing crap I have on me.” He began to shake his head, pointing at various etchings on his two full sleeves. “Like that, and that! Oh, fuck, you have to cover that for me eventually, please!” 

What he pointed to was the large, black, inverted pentagram on his inner elbow, a sigil she knew well he no longer aligned himself with. While he had no issue with the branch of Satanism he’d once favoured, after what had happened, it was something he wanted to leave behind in its entirety. He was happy to commit to agnosticism nowadays. 

She couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him at all for such a stance. “Yeah, yeah I can cover that, no issue. Maybe completely black it out and then once healed, I can go over it with something in white ink?” 

He clicked his fingers, pointing at her. ��That, yeah! Let’s do that, I trust you, just draw me something you think I’d like. You have roughly four months, so get on it.” He winked then, Erika’s eyes widening. “Remember how I said there was talk of me getting out earlier? They’re putting me up for early release come June, since I will have served two thirds of my original sentence. Apparently, I’ve been a model inmate, so fingers crossed I might be a free man come summer.” 

Clapping her hands together with joy, all she wanted in that moment was to reach across the table and hug him again. With the ever-watchful eye of the prison wardens, though, and only minimal physical contact allowed, she lamentably had to rein it in. “Lucas! This is huge, I’m so fucking happy for you!” 

He nodded, smiling, yet the smile didn’t reach his eyes fully. “Yeah, yeah I am, too. I just... fuck. Do I even deserve it? Twelve years doesn’t feel like enough time for taking a life, y’know?” 

She sighed, cocking her head. “Look how much you’ve changed in the time between,” she began, the light earnestness in her voice making his heart flutter for a moment. To be seen as anything but a murdering monster was something he’d worked very, very hard to accomplish.  

The fact that the woman he knew he was developing truly real feelings for saw it honestly elated him. Erika really was just as sweet as she’d seemed in her letters and on the telephone. “You did something horrific a very long time ago, but the man sitting in front of me now, he isn’t that guy, and he doesn’t want to be that guy ever again. I see that, I really do, and I think anyone truly important to you will see it, too.” 

He shrugged, the cold, spiny prickle of guilt coiling through him. “Pieter’s family will think very much otherwise. I wouldn’t blame them for a second either, regardless of what his dear father eventually said about us.” 

Indeed, the courage and grace of Anders Arneson had been surprising, when five years previously he had stated in an interview that in order to move on from the pain of losing his son, he forgave Pieter’s murderers. “They were still kids themselves, not much older than my son. Just like my Pieter, so wrapped up in the drug culture as well, and in this extreme darkness. I believe they lost their way, as youngsters often do. For that, I forgive them.” 

Lucas had confided in her that he’d cried, after reading those words, not convinced at all he deserved to ever be forgiven for his part in it at all.  

“Listen,” she began softly, looking around for warden eyes before reaching to gently and quickly cup his cheek. It was an action that acted like an immediate balm to him, her words even more so. “If Anders Arneson can forgive you, and legions of your fans still stand behind you, then trust me, you deserve forgiveness. You’ve atoned, you’ve taken full responsibility, and you’ve lost twelve years of your life paying that debt. You deserve your freedom.” 

He smiled, winking. “Having you especially tell me that means so much, really. Your letters and phone calls have kept me going. I don’t think you truly realise how important to me you’ve become, Erika. You see past the monster I used to be.” 

He appreciated her words more than she could ever realise, feeling the warmth and tenderness that he’d ached for, but had eluded him for so long. The world outside the prison walls seemed less daunting with Erika there to receive him as a free man, a beacon of hope in his otherwise darkened existence.  

She saw the good in him, the potential for redemption that he struggled to believe himself worthy of. As they sat together in the harshly lit visitation room, the future seemed less like a distant dream and more like an attainable reality.  

Her unwavering support and belief in his transformation filled the void that guilt and regret had carved into his soul. He could never thank her enough for that. Lamentably, though, the hour visit he had with her ticked by much too quickly, rising to his feet to give her another hug, one he struggled to part from.  

“Thank you so much for coming to see me,” he spoke, wishing he could meld himself to her, leave the prison with her. Four months; it wasn’t long, but at the same time it felt like an eternity. “I’d say come back next week, but Alex is visiting. I should cancel it, really, tell him he’s been replaced by a really sweet, pretty girl I’d much rather be in the company of.”  

She threw her head back, laughing softly. “I can visit the week after?”  

His thumbs skimmed the sides of her waist as he reluctantly pulled from their hug, nodding. “I’ll look forward to it.” He then glanced around, noticing a few warden’s eyes roving over him. “Ahh, fuck it.” Leaning to her, he pressed his lips to hers, beaming in the aftermath. 

“Lucas, dial it back.” one of them called. Erika was glad that he hadn’t, feeling her insides fizz.  

“Worth it,” he spoke, winking. “See you in two weeks, beautiful.”  

She walked out of that prison on a happy little cloud, although it did have somewhat of a grey lining to it. How she wished he was leaving it with her. With some inmates incarcerated in the prison system of their country, home release prior to their actual freedom was permitted, the prisoners allowed to return home for a few weekends in the run up to their release in order to integrate back into their lives.  

With Lucas, he’d been told that such was not permissible. Sixteen weeks until his freedom, though? Truly, it was little time at all. After such a long period of growing close to him via letters and phone calls, she would gladly take that.  

Whether her excitement would reach critical mass or not in the time between was entirely another story, though! 

A/N - Did you like what you just read? If so, please reward your author with a little comment or a reblog. Your support would mean so much to me!

[christine-ye]

Takayuki Tsubaki (Kenzaki/Kamen Rider Blade) responded back to me (on his VTuber account) wishing him a happy birthday on Twitter... please excuse me while I ascend to heaven /pos

[asgardian--angels]

you know it's bad when tumblr's being the more mature social media site when it comes to rancid takes on izzy's death

[bluevillainess]

There is SO MUCH I wanna say

but it's all so deeply personal and I don't know if I'll ever have the right words for it...

[leatherbookmark]

I really admire people who seek out fansigns/fancalls/want to talk to their bias as a celebrity and a fan because this COULDN'T be me.

First of all I'd have no idea what to say whatosever.

Second of all I'd finally come up with something, but the guy wouldn't hear/understand me, he'd go "um sorry could you repeat that?" and I'd repeat that but he still wouldn't understand and I'd die on the spot out of sheer mortification.

Third of all we'd be talking but he'd make a face for a split second that I'd somehow interpret as disgust/displeasure/discomfort and I'd die on the spot.

Fourth of all he'd do the "gasp gasp, who's that on your phone wallpaper/why are you looking/taking pictures of other guys? Only Look At Me! ￣へ￣" bit, and my ick would be so strong that I wouldn't be able to stop it from flashing through my face. And I wouldn't know what to say. Or I'd go "haha sorryyyy" very unconvincingly. Or I'd say "haha um that's not cute to me sorry" with my own mouth. Either way I'd do something horrible and he'd feel uncomfortable and I would, you guessed it, die on the spot. It's just not worth it .

[poliodeuces]

someday i'll step on the soil of that planet with my own feet / a pipe dream finally turning into a worthless reality

saito soma- crystal world

[fingertipsmp3]

Genuinely not sure if I cry easily or if I just have a habit of dwelling on my problems and past grief that I should really be well into the fifth stage of by now but am instead stuck on stage 3 or 4

[hayatheauthor]

The 7 Faces of Friendship: Character Types to Include in Your Book’s Friend Group

Having a balance of different personas helps create a comprehensive cast for your novels. To get started, here are the 7 main friend personas to consider:

1. The Leader

Description:

The leader is the driving force behind the group. They are often assertive, confident, and willing to take charge in various situations. This person is typically seen as a decision-maker, guiding the group toward plans, activities, or goals.

Traits:

Charismatic: Naturally draws people in and inspires others.

Decisive: Quick to make decisions, often with a clear vision in mind.

Responsible: Takes ownership of the group's well-being and direction.

Role in the Group:

The leader often organises outings, mediates conflicts, and keeps the group focused on shared goals. They are instrumental in making plans and ensuring that everyone feels included.

2. The Caregiver

Description:

The caregiver is the heart of the friend group, always looking out for others. This person is empathetic, nurturing, and willing to lend a helping hand or an understanding ear.

Traits:

Compassionate: Deeply cares for the feelings and well-being of others.

Supportive: Always ready to offer encouragement or assistance.

Attentive: Notices when someone is feeling down or needs help.

Role in the Group:

The caregiver often acts as the emotional glue, fostering connections and ensuring everyone feels valued. They are typically the ones organising gatherings to celebrate friends or supporting them through tough times.

3. The Comedian

Description:

The comedian is the life of the party, always ready with a joke or a funny story. This character brings humour and lightness to the group, helping to relieve tension and elevate the mood.

Traits:

Witty: Quick with humour and often makes clever observations.

Playful: Approaches life with a sense of fun and spontaneity.

Positive: Maintains an optimistic outlook, even in challenging situations.

Role in the Group:

The comedian keeps the atmosphere lively, ensuring that laughter is a common thread in the group. They often defuse tense situations with humour and help create cherished memories through fun experiences.

4. The Adventurer

Description:

The adventurer thrives on new experiences and excitement. This character is always seeking thrills, whether that’s trying out a new restaurant, going on spontaneous trips, or participating in extreme sports.

Traits:

Daring: Enjoys taking risks and stepping outside of their comfort zone.

Curious: Eager to explore new ideas, places, and experiences.

Energetic: Brings enthusiasm to the group, often encouraging others to join in.

Role in the Group:

The adventurer often leads the charge for new experiences, pushing the group to try things they might not have considered. They inspire others to embrace spontaneity and explore the world together. Often contradicts the leader.

5. The Intellectual

Description:

The intellectual is the thinker of the group, often delving into deep conversations and pondering life's big questions. This character values knowledge and is well-read, informed, and curious about various topics.

Traits:

Analytical: Enjoys breaking down complex ideas and analysing situations.

Inquisitive: Asks questions and seeks to understand the world.

Articulate: Communicates thoughts clearly and effectively.

Role in the Group:

The intellectual can help stimulate meaningful conversations, adding depth to the group's interactions. More of a quiet yet important presence. They help get the Adventurer out of trouble, and are likely found bantering with the Comedian from time to time.

6. The Connector

Description:

The connector is the social butterfly of the group, adept at bringing people together and building relationships. This character thrives on interaction and often knows everyone’s stories, interests, and backgrounds.

Traits:

Sociable: Enjoys meeting new people and introducing friends to one another.

Empathetic: Understands social dynamics and helps others feel comfortable.

Resourceful: Knows where to go for recommendations and suggestions.

Role in the Group:

The connector enriches the group by fostering relationships and creating opportunities for social gatherings. They often organise events and help deepen bonds within the friend circle. They are generally close to the  Caregiven and the Leader’s partner/close friend.  They help the Leader and Intellectual settle on ideas that are both fun and functional thus appeasing to the whole group. 

7. The Realist

Description:

The realist is grounded and practical, providing a balanced perspective within the friend group. This character approaches situations with a level-headed attitude and often focuses on the facts at hand.

Note: While the intellectual is an inherently smart person, the realist is the apathetic and logical force of the group. They don’t have to necessarily be smart but are insightful.

Traits:

Pragmatic: Values practicality and often offers sensible solutions.

Sceptical: Questions overly optimistic or unrealistic plans.

Honest: Tends to speak their mind, even when the truth is uncomfortable.

Role in the Group:

The realist often acts as a counterbalance to more idealistic characters, helping the group assess risks and make informed decisions. They provide a sense of stability, ensuring that plans are not just fun but also feasible.

Edit: you don't NEED to have 7 friends each with one persona. You also don't need to have all 7. One person can be the caregiver to A and realist to B. They can be the leader in one friend group but the comedian in another (showcasing their comfort with the latter). This is just a list to help pan out your character personality types!

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors!

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