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secretlyazombi3 · 3 days ago

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let's get in the back of your cop car, officer .ᐟ₊˚⊹♡

leon kennedy x afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count: 2.2k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW, 2nd person, some fluff obvi ^_^, established relationship, re2r leon, subby leon kinda, unprotected (pls don't do that), riding, oral (m receiving)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: You stop by to visit your boyfriend in his cop car during one of his nightshift patrols :3

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: uhhh i normally dont write stuff like this bc its not my thing, but oh my god my period has me FERAL man its not funny 😭😭 not proof read im too lazy ! also how do ppl write this without giggling lmao

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” Leon said as he rolled the window down as you patiently stood outside his police car.

“You’re so jumpy.” you replied as Leon glanced around the parking lot anxiously. You knew Leon’s habits, you knew he always stopped at this gas station near your apartment before a night shift. “It’s midnight, forgive me for not expecting someone to knock on my car window.” Leon mumbled as he looked back at you.

You wrapped your hand around the door handle and pulled it open, not caring to ask for an invitation into Leon’s car. He was your boyfriend after all, so why bother asking. “Hey, you can’t just-” Leon stuttered as you entered his car and sat down in the passenger’s seat suddenly.

Leon glanced around the parking lot again. “You-you can’t just jump in my car like that, I’m at work, I’m on duty… It’s unprofessional.” Leon stuttered out.

You looked out the car window and analyzed the gas station parking lot - it was empty, obviously, there was clearly not much demand to get gas at such late hours.

“Nobody saw me get in, you’re fine.” You told Leon as you turned your head back to gaze at him.

“I’m still on duty! I can’t let just anyone come in my car, I.. I need to focus on patrolling.” Leon protested. “Well, I’m not ‘just anyone’, am I?” you replied, batting your eyes at Leon and giving him big puppy eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

Leon didn’t reply, simply staring at you, hesitating before beginning to drive the car out of the parking lot.

“You’re so stubborn,” Leon mumbled as he drove away from the gas station. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“Only if we get caught. We just won’t get caught.” you replied as you looked out the window.

Leon mumbled something incoherently, he furrowed his eyebrows as he continued to drive down a nearby highway, still pretending to be upset at you for forcefully joining him for a ride.

“I just wanted to bring you some company, must be lonely driving all alone at night for hours.” you said quietly before you placed your hand on Leon’s thigh. Leon stopped mumbling and his expression reluctantly softened. He loved physical affection.

Truthfully, he did get lonely on his shifts. It was painfully boring to just drive around the highway, park on the side of the road and keep an eye out for anything suspicious or any speeding. He didn’t mind you being here with him, he truly needed the company or else he’d go insane one of these nights.

Leon pulled over onto the side of the road and parked where he normally parked when he patrolled this highway specifically. It was dark out and a pretty lifeless side of town, there were barely any cars driving down the road. The streetlight Leon parked under was old and the light flickered every so often.

“You just do this all night? Sit in your car all alone?” You asked Leon, sounding a bit shocked.

Leon shyly nodded and shrugged. “I mean, yeah…”.

“I should really come visit you more often, then. You must be so bored.” you replied.

“I-I can’t just hang out with you on my job.” “It’s not like you’re doing anything urgent. You just sit here all night. Nobody will know.” Your hand went up Leon’s thigh. “I can make your night more interesting, you know…” “Stop..!” Leon said, a twinge of whininess in his voice, clearly embarrassed. “That’s so unprofessional.” Leon added, his face turning a bit redder than normal as he desperately prayed you didn’t notice the twitching in his pants.

“You’re such a rule follower.” You replied as you finally pulled your hand off of Leon’s thigh.

Your gaze shifted from Leon to out the windshield. “The sky’s so pretty tonight.” you said as you looked up at the moon. It was a full moon tonight, the moon was resting in the sky just above where Leon had parked his police car.

“At least you get to look at the sky every night.” you spoke softly, glancing back over at Leon. Leon was gazing up at the stars for a few moments before turning his attention to you.

“It’s not as pretty as you.” he said quietly. You smiled - it was cheesy, but it was cute. Leon’s pink blushing face made it better.

“Shut up,” you replied as you noticed Leon leaning in a bit closer to you with a soft expression.

You sat there for a moment, analyzing Leon’s pretty face, memorizing each mole on him before you allowed yourself to be pulled in by him for a kiss.

You placed your hand on the side of Leon’s face as you kissed and used your other hand to take off your seatbelt so you could lean further into the kiss without being restrained.

Leon pulled away for a second for air and quietly mumbled your name in a breathy voice. His hand rested on your cheek, he gently rubbed his thumb against your skin. “You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty…” he whispered gently to you.

You glanced down and finally noticed the bulge in Leon’s pants. “Oh, Leon..” you whispered.

Leon looked away, seemingly embarrassed that he’d gotten hard over nothing, over a simple kiss. “It’s nothing.” he mumbled.

“No, baby, let me help you.” You insisted as your hand moved to his zipper, slowly unzipping his pants.

Leon was breathing a little harder as he watched you. “I-I shouldn’t be doing this.” he breathed as he felt you slowly slide down the fabric of his boxers, letting his hard cock free.

“It’s okay, baby, nobody’s on the road anyways.” you assured him as you moved your hand to gently rub him raw, which immediately made him tense up. You spat on his dick to lubricate it before continuing to stroke him, feeling him twitch against your palm.

“I guess so,” he replied.

“Is it okay if I…?” you asked as you eyed his cock. Leon bit his lip a little, getting more aroused seeing your pretty face so close to his cock. He nodded. “Mhm, yeah, go ahead.” he replied.

You parted your lips and wrapped them around the tip of his cock, which was glistening under the moonlight after he had begun to leak some precum. His face was flushed, he was embarrassed that he was so easy. One kiss was enough to give him a boner.

“Mph..” you moaned quietly, the sound slightly muffled by Leon’s dick being stuffed in your mouth, as you slowly began to lower your head.

“Ah, fuck..” Leon moaned as he leaned his head back, feeling you begin to take his cock deeper, feeling the tip prod at the back of your throat.

“So good, so good for me…” Leon whispered breathily as he gently brushed his fingers through your hair. He tried to keep himself calm and collected, he tried his hardest to keep himself under control but he just couldn’t.

He gently gripped on your hair and tugged it, pulling you down, forcing your head up and down. Leon grunted as he felt you swirling your tongue around his length as he continued to force you up and down, nearly choking on his dick.

Leon rolled his head back, turning into a whining and whimpering mess as you continued suckling on his dick. He couldn’t help but begin gently thrusting against your face, face fucking you.

He eventually managed to control himself and he stopped the movement of his hips. You rested for a moment, dick fully down your throat, your nose resting on his happy trail. Leon finally calmed himself down, still whimpering as he felt you remove your mouth from his cock.

“Baby, fuck..” Leon whimpered as he felt his cock, now wet from your saliva, touch the cold air of the cop car. You pulled Leon in for another kiss and began to rub him again. You flicked your thumb over his tip, which was dripping precum at this point. Leon could taste his skin on your tongue as you two kissed.

“Let me ride you.” you whispered between kisses as Leon whimpered from the pleasure of your hand around his length.

Leon nodded. “Do whatever you want to me…” he whispered. He leaned back in his seat, reclining it to give you some more room as you straddled him after slipping off your pants and your soaked panties.

“Leon..” You whispered as you rubbed his tip against your entrance. You slowly grind your hips down, you enjoyed watching Leon’s reaction as he slowly entered you. His mouth never closed, his lips stayed parted as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. “Ah- ah..! Fuck, you’re….you’re so fucking tight…” Leon moaned as he watched you begin to slowly move up and down, riding him slowly as he held your hips. Leon’s thighs were trembling at this point, he was overwhelmed with pleasure.

Leon slid his hands up your body, pushing your shirt and bra up so he could see your tits. Leon was completely infatuated with your body, you could tell by the look in his eyes.

He was still whimpering and moaning the entire time you rode him. Leon couldn’t help it, he was really noisy in bed, and he couldn’t help but moan like a whore every time his sensitive dick got the slightest friction.

Leon groped your chest after watching it bounce with each movement for a while, playing with your chest as you continued moving up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, Leon…” you breathed as you felt him rub his thumb against your nipple. You felt the tip of Leon’s dick slam against the spongy spot inside you that filled your body with pleasure. Leon clearly knew he’d found your spot by the way you gasped.

“That feel good there…?” Leon asked, looking up at you through his eyelashes, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to keep them open.

You desperately nodded as you felt Leon begin to thrust his hips upward, repeatedly slamming the head of his cock deep inside you, stimulating that spot. “Good boy…” you breathed before pulling Leon into another kiss. Being called that caused Leon to involuntarily thrust his hips harder into you. He loved being called that.

Your hands traveled up Leon’s shirt, you felt on Leon’s abs as Leon gasped for air between each and every kiss. He was clearly getting closer and closer. Leon glanced up at you once you pulled away from another kiss, watching you bounce on his cock as he rolled his head back again, this time letting his eyes shut as he continued whimpering.

“Baby,” Leon breathed as he continued thrusting his hips upward involuntarily. Leon gripped your hips tightly, digging his nails into your skin as he whimpered.

“..’m gonna come, gonna come…” Leon whined between breaths. “Shh, I got you,” You cooed in response, placing your hand on his cheek as he rested back. Leon moved his hand down to rub his thumb against your clit in a circular motion without you even needing to tell him.

“Fuck, good boy, such a good boy, Leon…” you breathed. Leon whimpered as he desperately thrusted his hips into you, pounding your pussy as you pulled him in for another kiss. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come…” Leon whined between kisses.

Leon wrapped his arm around you tightly as he came deep inside you, his cock twitching inside you as your walls suffocated him. You slid your tongue past Leon’s lips as you felt yourself reach your orgasm as Leon desperately rubbed your clit. You moaned desperately into the kiss as you came, hugging Leon tightly back.

You pulled away for air after the kiss. Leon was still a whimpering mess after coming. Leon’s eyes were still shut as he rested back, desperately gasping for air as if he’d been underwater for hours.

You slowly pulled yourself off of his lap, your pussy leaking his cum as you scrambled to put your panties back on, not wanting to leak cum all over the inside of his cop car.

Leon was a panting mess, his dick raw and sensitive after cumming. He was leaning back with his eyes clenched shut, his tongue involuntarily hanging out like a dog.

“Good puppy.” you whispered to Leon as you kissed his cheek.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leon was resting against the window, sleeping peacefully until you poked his cheeks. “Leon.” you said softly, your tone slightly sing-songy as if you were trying to wake a toddler. The sun was beginning to rise in the distance.

“Huh…?” Leon mumbled sleepily, his eyes fluttering open and shut. “Come on officer, your shift ends soon.” you told Leon. Leon rubbed his eyes before glancing around.

“Shit, you’re right.” he replied as he pulled his seatbelt back on. He always got sleepy after cumming, he had been knocked out for hours now. His face was bright red, not only embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep but he was also thinking about what you two had done only a few hours earlier. “Can’t believe you fell asleep on the job Leon, that’s so unprofessional.” you teased him as he slowly drove back onto the highway.

“Shut up…” Leon mumbled shyly, avoiding your gaze.

#resident evil #fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #fluff #one shot #smut #resident evil smut #leon kennedy smut

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cheriesbucky · 1 day ago

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SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

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The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

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If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #lyss’ writings #spencer reid

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numinously-yours · 3 days ago

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Choose a letter: A message from your future spouse

In this week's reading, I have letters from your future spouses <3 Each reading will also have a love song attached along with a specific line from that song that stuck out. Choose a group and happy reading!

Like your reading? Reblog and tag your group!

$1 and $5 tip options are available on my Etsy shop! These are 100% optional, not expected, and always appreciated.

Leave a Tip

Letter 1

Song: True by Spandau Ballet Lyric: "This is the sound of my soul"

Cards for your letter: ace of swords reversed, three of pentacles reversed, queen of cups reversed, and the two of cups

Text: Hi Darling, I’m sure that you’re wondering where I am & when I’ll finally show myself. Right now, I am working to make sure I will be the best version of myself when we finally come together. Past relationships haven’t worked out. I know I get to meet you eventually, but the journey’s been a bit exhausting. I bet you can relate. As I take this time to work on myself, I feel my soul being pulled closer and closer to yours. I know this is a test of our faith. The universe is asking us to following our souls’ purposes. Among all the signs, synchronicities, prayers, and intuition, if we always come back to the needs of our souls then we’ll always be on the path to each other. I don’t know when we’ll meet (I hope it’s soon!) but I know that when we do, this will all make sense. With love, Your future spouse

Letter 2

Song: You're the inspiration by Chicago Lyric: "You know our love was meant to be; the kind of love that lasts forever, and I want you here with me"

Cards: The World reversed, Justice reversed, The Lovers, ten of wands reversed, seven of pentacles reversed, The Fool

Text:

Dear X, The main purpose of my letter is to let you know that our relationship will be unlike anything either of us has experienced before. Where there used to be passive aggression, there will be healthy communication. Where there used to be blame, there will be accountability. Where there used to be burdens we carried alone, there will be an extra set of hands to distribute the weight. In my own life, I am finally gaining the closure I need for the experiences that have brought me down. I am feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. I know for a fact that all the bullshit was to show us we don’t deserve anything less than the feelings above. We will take this upcoming adventure together and I think you’ll be convinced, too. I can’t wait to show each other what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. Let’s find each other soon, okay?? I love you! X

Letter 3:

Song: I swear by All-4-one Lyric: "I'll build your dreams with these two hands"

Cards: Six of wands, page of cups reversed, four of pentacles reversed, The Hierophant, The Empress

Text:

Dear future spouse, This is the fourth draft I’ve written of this note to you. The first three were on paper but with all the scratching out I’ve been doing, I decided to skip the paper and find a keyboard with a backspace button. I want to get my words just right. Up until recently, what mattered most in my world was fancy gadgets and making enough money to buy them. But then something changed and all I can think of is wanting to create a life of substance, not a life of things. My viewpoint of the world has been opened, and with that, comes longing for connection and sharing the beauty of life with someone else. I am ready for that feeling people talk about when they speak on love. I am ready to show someone how important their mere existence is. Now more than ever, I truly believe we only get this one life to live, and it shouldn’t be wasted on the material. I hope that when we meet you will know it’s me. My yearning to connect with you is strong and I would be surprised if my energy hasn’t made it your way yet. If it hasn’t, that’s okay because I won’t stop trying. I finally know what is most important in this lifetime and I won’t forget it any time soon. Sincerely yours, Your future spouse

Letter 4:

Song: Meant to be by Bebe Rexha (Acoustic version) Lyric: "We got nothing but time. As long as you're right here next to me, everything's gonna be alright"

Cards: The Lovers, The World, Seven of Cups, The Chariot, Queen of Swords

Text:

Hey you! Our meeting is right around the corner, I can FEEL it. I’ve been working hard on manifesting the life I want and you are an integral piece of that. You emit an energy that I can’t get enough of. I can just tell how smart, true, and incredible you are. When we get together, there will be a sense of fulfillment that neither of us knew was missing. So many opportunities are on their way to us! I know you share the same value for relationships as I do. I want you to know that I will always work my hardest to make you aware of how special you are. It is my promise that I will be honest, open, and respectful to you. I am SO ready to make these manifestations come to fruition. See you soon! - Your future spouse

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cripplecharacters · 3 days ago

Note

hi, so I’m probably undiagnosed ADHD and I wanna write a character who is diagnosed ADHD and the problem I’m having is with meds. How I was planning to write them is that they’re a drummer and the character doesn’t always take their medicine when they are going to drum because it makes them feel like a bit slower and almost have like a delayed response or something. I’m still working at the kinks, but I feel like that could come off as really insensitive towards how ADHD meds work and like I don’t fully know how ADHD meds make you feel because I’m undiagnosed and I don’t wanna write it wrong and all of that.

-🥁

Hello!

That's... not really accurate to how ADHD meds work at all. Though this would be insensitive, my main concern is the inaccuracy and the harmful misinformation that this is spreading.

First thing: ADHD medication -- like any daily medication -- isn't something that can just be taken when you want to take it. It's one thing to forget a dose every so often but deliberately missing doses on a regular basis is very harmful.

Not taking it regularly can cause the medication to be less effective for your character and can cause them to be hit worse (by their symptoms and their withdrawal) every time they miss a dose. It can also cause the medication to just... stop working for your character as they develop a tolerance for it.

I take Concerta (also known by the name Ritalin) and when I miss a dose, I certainly end up feeling it.

For me, the first thing I notice is just a weird feeling. Like something in the world is different. It's hard to describe but, to other people, I'm told that it looks like I'm spacier and in my own world.

I have a very hard time focusing and can't last more than a few minutes without spacing out -- even if I'm actively involved in a conversation. It makes it impossible for me to attend my lectures and take notes, let alone take a test or an exam.

Because I also have anxiety and several other mental conditions, this also has a major impact on them. The increased rejection-sensitive dysphoria (RSD) that I experience triggers an increase in my anxiety (even if I've taken my anxiety meds), which in turn causes an increase in my dissociative symptoms.

The brain is a complex organ -- one we don't fully understand yet. Nothing happens in isolation.

Aside from the ADHD-specific side of things, there's also the withdrawal.

While it's not as bad as the withdrawal from my venlafaxine (the meds I take for my PTSD, anxiety, depression, and dissociative disorder. Three cheers for medication that multitasks!), withdrawal from my Concerta is still not great.

When I miss a dose, I end up sleeping almost the entire day. I just can't stay awake. I also get a horrible headache that can't be touched by Advil or Tylenol and I end up with no appetite (though apparently most people experience the opposite -- an increase in appetite). I also experience an increase in my depression.

Though it will of course be different for everyone (especially if your character is on a different type of medication), what I'm getting at here is that ADHD medication doesn't work like this. You can't pick and choose when to take it.

Taking ADHD medication doesn't make you feel "slower" or have a "delayed response" or anything like that. In fact, those feelings are more likely to come from missing a dose.

Something else that needs to be considered here is that ADHD medication is constantly portrayed as being bad/evil/negative and especially as something that's only done to dull the character with ADHD and make them more "palatable" to those around them. It's shown as something that stifles their creativity and forces them to become exactly like everyone else.

This can't be further from the truth.

Although it is true that ADHD is often over-diagnosed and over-medicated, the effect that ADHD meds have on those who need them can be life-changing.

These harmful misrepresentations of ADHD medication have major consequences in the real world. Not only do they undermine the struggles of having ADHD and reinforce the idea that ADHD is just being hyper/unfocused, they also discourage people from seeking the treatment that can help them.

When I was first diagnosed, I didn't want to go on medication and my parents didn't want me to either. They thought it would make me dull and lifeless and kill my creativity. Even after I'd done my own research and decided to try it, my father spent weeks telling me that ADHD was just "western propaganda" and didn't actually exist.

I see this same attitude in teachers, other parents, and even doctors all the time.

Although some people can be quick to diagnose a child with ADHD and medicate them when there may be another cause for their behaviour, overcorrecting in the opposite direction helps nobody.

If you want to write a character with ADHD and especially one that's on medication for it, please do your research first. You don't have to have ADHD or be on medication to do that. This article [Link] discusses the impact of poor ADHD representation while this one [Link] talks about what happens when you miss a dose of ADHD medication.

In short: please don't do this. ADHD isn't just the "silly hyper can't sit still" disorder and the medication for it is an actual treatment that helps so many people. Treat it as seriously as you'd treat any other disorder.

Cheers,

~ Mod Icarus

#mod icarus #anonymous #🥁 anon #adhd representation

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goomyloid · 13 hours ago

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Can you tell me about your dt player. Since from the way you portray them they aren’t meant to be you. Kinda your oc in a way huh. It’s a cool depiction so that’s why I’m curious.

well today is your lucky day because i literally just filled out this chart right before answering this:

basically my version of them is thoroughly mentally disconnected from all consequences, because everything is just a game to them.

apathetic with only the desire to see what happens, and what becomes of kris and noelle (in the weird route). They always just barely have the upper hand; if things don't proceed down a certain path (i.e. aborted weird route or something) it's only because they allowed for it to happen. kris is very smart, but 'our' knowledge just objectively surpasses theirs in every way. for the most part.

i guess if i had to describe them as a real-life player, it would be the kind of person that plays all the routes without feeling bad about it, someone that somehow doesnt feel as though they're entirely to blame for the story going this way. (they taunt kris over this, maybe just to pick at their brain to get a look of how they're feeling about all of this.)

after all, deltarune is a game. it's meant to be played, it's only natural that people will want to pick it apart inside and out with its level of popularity. nothing should make a player feel bad about playing the game that they bought and spent time on.

regardless of one's investment in the characters, the world is simply not real to us. but in terms of vessel specifically talking to kris or something, it's not like THEY'RE the one saying "kris you're not real lol" or anything like that, it's more so their existence as a 'watcher' of sorts outside the bounds of comprehensible reality renders them in a similar position as us, someone in control and free from any consequences (presumably), letting kris and co. take the brunt of all your wrongdoings.

there's all of that, but i also like to portray them as being more on the extreme side, going as far as to treat characters fictional even when said character is standing right in front of them.

the 'commodification' of noelle plays into this a lot i think. we haven't seen it much in game so far, but we get the implied player attachment to her via treating kris as a self-insert of sorts just so you can get weirdly, creepily close to and controlling over noelle. it comes off more as vessel only wanting to be close to noelle and kind of discarding kris, just like they once were (lol).

the player's funny little fixation on noelle definitely throws a wrench in things kris-and-noelle-relationship wise, because this Thing is masquerading as kris, and noelle (and maybe toriel to a degree) is the only person able to tell something's wrong. it's almost like Hikaru Ga Shinda Natsu in a way -- your friend has been replaced, and you're the only person to notice just because you know them so well. it comes down to noelle's heart and ability to see through whatever vessel throws at her, if she'll be able to reach her hand out and save kris from sinking away before it's too late.

ummm. im getting off track. got too krisellepilled for a sec. VESSEL. i'm definitely not immune to portraying them more lightheartedly sometimes, but when I do that, it's usually in game, more so showing up as the soul instead lol

they're still sarcastic and blunt and weird, but at least they're not crazy destructive and sociopathic. gotta tone it down for the sillies

anyway i think thats all i can think of to say at the moment, if i think of something else big i might add it in a reblog, idk lol. thank you for asking, sorry about the long post!

#mailbox #long text #text #deltarune #didnt proofread this so ignore any heinous typos i might have missed

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mychemicalweevil · 2 days ago

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Ianthe Tridentarius is a mystery to me in many ways EXCEPT when Coronabeth makes fun of her for not being able to hold her arms up long enough to braid her own hair. Girl, I’ve never related to anything more. I know she’s icky and we love her for that, but this specific facet of Ianthe is just reality when you’ve got cardiovascular or nervous system issues. Ianthe is objectively Gross and she leans into it, and I wonder how much of that is a way to take control of how people view her embodiment… or something else.

Let’s contrast Ianthe’s necromancy with Harrow’s quickly. Flesh and bone are very different domains, but for both characters their specialties seem deeply connected to them, internally (as in, their actual physical bodies).

Harrow braces her own weak limbs with bone constructs. I’m inclined to make the assumption that she does this regularly/for daily activities, not just when she needs to fight in HtN. This could all be explained away by the fact that she specializes in bone: of course she’ll think of a bone-related solution to her problems. But what if it’s also a bone problem? I’m not saying there’s textual evidence for this beyond Harrow bending her fingers backward to the point of dislocation when she’s nervous in HtN. I still think it would be fascinating if part of a necromancer’s ability was connected to their own body’s weaknesses. (This probably doesn’t hold up with spirit magic, sorry.)

Could Ianthe be so exquisite with flesh magic because her own flesh and blood are virtual beacons for thanergetic decay? I’ve talked about chronic illness as a potential well of thanergy a necromancer can dip into, but here I’m thinking about a one-to-one relationship between a physical illness (e.g., anemia) and a necromantic specialty (e.g., blood/flesh magic). Back to Ianthe and how she presents herself. Leaning into looking unsettling is absolutely an emotional response to people making enough comments about your unsettling appearance, but I wouldn’t put it past Ianthe to have made a connection between whatever is happening with her physically and her necromantic skillset, to the extent that it’s now a point of pride. Yes, she’s gross and physically weak. Maybe that in itself allows her to be such a prodigious necromancer. I can’t imagine how frustrated she was growing up in Coronabeth’s shadow, as much as she tries to make it seem like that was an entirely strategic move. She knows she’s not the good looking twin, and she knows people discount her because of that. This would be absolutely infuriating if Ianthe understood that the things that made her unattractive (anemia, chronic illness, non-specific necromancer syndrome) were LITERALLY the reasons why she was the necromantically gifted twin.

I’m clawing at the walls of my enclosure.

Let her be as gross as she WANTS, let her look physically disgusting and create flesh constructs that you can’t even imagine. Let her do all of this because illnesses are only allowed to present one specific way in women, and if you’re not ill in the tragic romantic damsel-in-distress way then you sometimes get treated like a freak. Ianthe is that freak, and I hope she gets worse ;)

#this turned into a sermon my bad #i’ve never thought this hard about ianthe but now I will #the locked tomb #tlt #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #ianthe tridentarius

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onlyyoucanhurtlikethis · 11 hours ago

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I Knew Before I Met You - one shot, kylian mbappe

It starts as nothing. Just one of those quiet moments where time stretches in the warm, honeyed light of evening. The kind that makes everything feel softer, slower—like there’s nowhere else in the world they should be.

Kylian is lounging on the couch, one arm draped along the back, while she is curled up in the corner. There’s a book in her hands—something she meant to focus on but forgot the second her thoughts started spiraling elsewhere.

Kylian has been watching her for the last few minutes, an amused smirk playing at his lips.

“What?” she asks without looking up.

“You’re cute when you concentrate.”

She scoffs. “I’m reading.”

“No, you’re pretending to read while overthinking something completely unrelated.”

She lifts a brow at him, finally meeting his gaze. “You always think you know what’s going on in my head.”

“I do,” he says, unbothered.

The worst part is, he’s not wrong.

She closes the book and puts it down, narrowing her eyes. “Okay, genius. What was I thinking about?”

Kylian tilts his head, considering. “I don’t know the exact details—yet—but I know you’re overanalyzing something that shouldn’t even be a debate.”

She lets out a slow exhale. “That’s not fair. You just described my entire personality.”

He grins. “Then I know you pretty well.”

There’s something about the way he says it—too casual, but not careless. Like he means more than he’s letting on.

She watches him for a beat, studying the relaxed way he’s leaning into the cushions, the ease of his smirk, the warmth in his eyes that lingers even when he’s not teasing.

She nudges his leg lightly with her foot. “Spit it out.”

Kylian exhales, tipping his head back against the couch for a moment before turning to her. “You know,” he says, his voice quieter now, “before I met you, I already knew the kind of person I was waiting for.”

She stills.

She wasn’t expecting that.

She blinks, processing. “What do you mean?”

He hesitates for a second—not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he wants to say it right.

“I mean,” he starts, shifting slightly, “I didn’t know your name, or what you looked like, or how you’d laugh at me when I get too serious, but I knew the way I’d feel when I met you.”

She doesn’t look away, and neither does he.

“I knew it wouldn’t be about impressing you,” he continues. “I knew it would be someone who didn’t care about any of the bullshit. Someone who could see through everything. Someone who was brilliant enough to make me think, but strong enough to make me pause. Who wouldn’t be impressed by what I have, but by who I am.”

Her stomach tightens at the certainty in his tone.

She swallows. “That’s a very specific type.”

He shrugs, smirking. “I always knew what I wanted.”

She presses her lips together, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest. “You make it sound inevitable.”

Kylian leans in slightly, his voice lower now. “It was.”

The air shifts between them.

Not in a dramatic way—not in the way it does in the movies, with swelling music or sudden revelations—but in something quieter. Something deeper.

She watches him, watches the way he says it like it’s just a fact. Not a line, not an attempt to charm her, just something he knows in his bones.

And she realizes—this is how he sees her.

Not as a phase, not as something temporary, but as something inevitable.

She exhales, trying to steady herself. “You’re ridiculous.”

Kylian tilts his head, smirking. “I’m right.”

She glares, but it’s weak. “I hate when you say that.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, inching closer.

And maybe—just maybe—he was right about the overthinking, too.

Because when he kisses her, she doesn’t think about anything at all.

#kylian mbappe #football x reader #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe x reader #real madrid

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csint3rlude · 17 hours ago

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THE BIG BANG THEORY ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ THE SEVEN

summary: the main seven dating some with a nerdy interest.

authors note: i lied it’s kind of just the seven dating someone with an Interest cause the interest isn’t specified. aughhh okay guys. name of the fic (it’s not a fic) is based on the show the big bang theory which everyone should watch btw! gn reader. JASON IS A LITTLE OOC AND FRANKS IS SHORT I COULDNT THINK OF MUCH FOR THEM SORRY DONT KILL ME

word count: 1.1k || masterlist

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤPERCY JACKSON

percy encourages the fact you’re a nerd. it doesn’t matter what your interests are or how “nerdy” they may actually seem, he’s still just happy you’re passionate about something. it could be something that he normally wouldn’t be very interested in, but he’ll still sit there and listen to you talk for as long as you want.

percy slowly starts to accidentally memorize everything you tell him about your interest. over time he knows just as much as you do and corrects people when they get the information wrong.

percy will 100% buy something if it pertains to your interests or he thinks you’ll like it because it relates to said interest. soon enough because of him you have enough merch to fill two whole houses.

percy will probably slowly start to get as interested in it as you are. it could be something he’s absolutely never cared about before but because you like it suddenly he becomes an expert and gets into long conversations about your newly shared interest with you.

⋆｡° ✮ 𓅓 ANNABETH CHASE

annabeth is probably also interested in whatever your interest is. if not, she’s definitely heard of it before and can talk to you about it. she loves that you have something that you really like, even if it’s something a little nerdy. now, if it’s something really nerdy like science or something, she’s just as nerdy as you are and is ready for any long philosophical debate.

annabeth educates herself on your interest if it’s something she’s not familiar with. it doesn’t necessarily matter what it is, since she finds knowledge useful when it comes to just about anything. she’ll read up on it, do just about anything until she’s as interested as you are.

annabeth likes to talk about your interest with you. it’s mostly because she likes to see your own opinions and hear your own takes and thoughts on specific topics, but also slightly because she just likes knowing you’re comfortable ranting to her.

ˏˋ°•*⁀⚡︎ JASON GRACE

jason seems like he isn’t very interested, but deep down he is. he’ll sit there and let you talk while he works on something else and it’ll seem like he’s not paying attention and not listening, but he really is. he may not be fully engaged, but he’s keeping track of everything you say in his head and keeping it in mind.

jason surprises you by remembering things you tell him about your own interests. this can range from many things, from you just mentioning something and him being like “oh yeah, i remember that!” and then recalls whatever the topic is like he’s been rehearsing it and waiting for that moment to use his memorization.

jason doesn’t actually consume the media of whatever your interest is, but he still knows everything about it from listening to you and gets equally surprised when you update him on it. he’s all quiet and nodding along and then if there’s something kind of surprising he’s like “oh???” and wants you to tell him more

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི PIPER MCLEAN

piper also encourages your interest, but on a bigger level than percy does. she also gets invested in whatever your interest is right away so you guys are basically hyper-fixating together. if there’s something new to it, she’s finding you immediately so you guys can discuss it and share your opinions.

piper decides that if she gets any mercy pertaining to your guys’ newly shared interest, she’s co-owning it with you. what’s her is yours if you both like it. that goes for many things, but especially for your guys’ interest. sometimes, however, she gets something just for you to have that she borrows on occasion.

piper also probably very lightly makes fun of you for your interests. she doesn’t actually mean anything by it and it’s all very lighthearted since she’s also interested in it. she does it because it’s funny to her.

ৡ ✧˚ · . LEO VALDEZ

leo, like piper, would also make fun of you. he’d do it a little more often and meaner than her, but he still wouldn’t mean anything by it. he’d still let you rant to him, and would definitely encourage it when he’s not (jokingly) bullying you for liking it.

leo over time starts to actually kind of get interested in your interest himself and randomly suggests watching/reading it with you one day so he can tweak out with you, but doesn’t wanna actually admit it after making fun of you for so long.

leo eventually gets tired of pretending he doesn’t like it and gets into a very deep and philosophical conversation with you about your now shared interest, pretending he never made fun of you and acting like he’d liked it all along. he does it mostly as a joke. mostly.

leo would make you things pertaining to your interest. he either acts like it’s not a big deal or he expects something insane after doing it, but he’ll mostly make you a little figure or something because he likes knowing that he made you happy by doing something for you.

˚ ⋆｡˚ 𖢻 ⋆ HAZEL LEVESQUE

hazel thinks your interest is cute! she’d love for you to tell her all about it. she would sit there and listen to you yap for hours if necessary. she’s very intrigued and involved with the conversation as well, asking questions and committing certain important things to memory.

hazel 100% uses your interest to calm you down if you’re upset about something or just having a bad day. after she figures out what’s wrong and sits down with you and is sure you’re comfortable and in the mood to actually talk, she’ll ask very sweetly, “why don’t you tell me about your thing again? <3”

hazel would try really hard to like your interest, and it would probably work since she’s likely very easily entertained, but if it’s not something that particularly interests her she’ll still happily let you talk to her for hours and hours and still make it a mutual conversation.

.ೃ࿐ ➸ FRANK ZHANG

frank also finds your interest endearing. obviously he sits there and lets you talk, but he’ll also compliment any commodities you have related to your interest. he’ll even let you drag him around a store or something and stand there and let you talk about your interest if you see something relating to it in the store.

frank doesn’t actually try to commit everything you tell him to memory, it kinda just happens naturally. if he sees something he knows you’ll like that relates to said interest he’ll immediately remember if you have it or not or if it’s something you’d particularly want and gets it for you if he concludes it is.

#☆ cookies writing!#percy jackon and the olympians #the heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #pjo fandom #percy jackson x reader #annabeth chase x reader #jason grace x reader #leo valdez x reader #piper mclean x reader #hazel levesque x reader #frank zhang x reader #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #x reader

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batboyblog · 2 days ago

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You know what really upsets me?

1) This song is Still not America’s National Anthem

2) More importantly though, when some Christian Conservatives and fundamentalist minded folk hijack said song, saying it’s proof of Christianity being the US’ religion when in reality it was actually an Abolitionist Song, only given Christian lyrics because the all original version was specifically talking about abolitionist John Brown

https://youtu.be/ibNaHFlfBy8?feature=shared

you know even before I clicked on that I knew you were talking about the Battle Hymn of The Republicans, from "This song is Still not America’s National Anthem" I knew which song,

I've always loved Judy Garland's rendition of it, she captures the raw power and intensity of it that is often sanded off, she has clearly thought about and feels every line

youtube

I don't think you can really understand this song outside of New England, its a place of stoney hills, towering pines, and long snowy months, it breeds men slow to anger but who burn with unwavering certainties.

every line of that song I see row on row of marching men of New England in Union Blue bring their unshakable Calvinist Congregationalist faith with them, The Truth is Marching On.

There's always been two spirts in America, the loud, the showy, the selfish, the showman and the bigot. But along side it something else an iron grit, to do what is right not because it is easy but because it has to be done. Out at sea in 1630 the first Governor of Massachusetts, John Winthrop gave a sermon.

Ironically it's best known today, if it's known at all, for the line Ronald Reagan stole and used "we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us" Reagan always added the showman like "Shining" to City a "Shining city on a hill"

Winthrop would have been horrified as the example he was imploring his shipmates to set for the world was this:

"We must delight in each other; make others’ conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body." and "If thy brother be in want and thou canst help him, thou needst not make doubt, what thou shouldst do; if thou lovest God thou must help him,"

some times I drive past the white washed meeting houses of my native country and I think about that communitarian dream, they were difficult, hard people to like those stoney New Englanders, but some part of me loves them for that vision, to make others’ conditions your own.

Its that particular faith and their God that marches on from every line of the Battle Hymn, that iron resolve and belief in the higher calling of caring for others, its not some lovey dovey hippy idea of love, it is a commission from God himself, it is the certain of what a Christian must do or forsake the love of God forever.

"As He died to make men holy,

Let! Us! DIE!! To! Make! Men! FREE!"

Today's selfish self centered evangelicalism, where wealth is a sign of Gods love, that lays hands on Donald Trump bares no true relationship to the burning faith of the abolitionists, and men like Robert Gould Shaw or Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain who marched with their God south to fight a crusade to free the slaves and destroy the evil of slavery forever.

Lincoln as always put it best

"Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.""

any ways I think that was a long winded way to say Modern American Christians have never felt called by their God to do anything truly hard and would crap themselves if they did.

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druap · 3 days ago

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Hii- I...☝️🥹 um, I don't actually quite know what to say to my idol. But believe me when I say I am absolutely besotted by your art 🫶💐

I actually got introduced to your page via your COD Valentine's Day cards, and have been stalking your account consuming your art like a hungry fella since then.

Did you know: You actually inspired me and my IRL friends to do art? :3 If you don't mind, any tips for self-learning beginners? 📝

And, sorry if this is a whole lot to read—just wanted to let you know that you are such a great artist! And I hope you know that. Great is an understatement, though 🙂‍↕️

omg??? thank you so much qwq it seriously means a lot to me!! <3

a small heads up, i'm not a pro or an art teacher, so these tips are just based on my own experience as a self-taught artist:

just draw. sounds simple, but practice really does make perfect. i always struggle with motivation at the beginning of a drawing, but trust me, the flow state kicks in once you get started

references are your best friend! omg, they make such a difference, especially for bigger pieces or anything you're unsure about

learn from other artists, but don’t just copy. figure out how they do things and put your own spin on it. for me, studying comic artists helped a lot with simplifying anatomy in a way that makes sense (im still learning though xD)

don’t overwhelm yourself! focus on one thing at a time. if you’re doing a composition study, don’t get too caught up in tiny details or textures—focus on the big picture first

listen to your body and mental health. take breaks, stretch, and don’t be afraid to step away for a bit. sometimes a quick walk can clear your mind and recharge you

dont compare yourself to anyone but your past self and if you post stuff/have art blog - dont pay that much attention to likes/reblogs n etc, they dont define you or your art

more under the cut!

i also recommend to check out these: again, dont overwhelm yourself with new information, this section is more of an archive/compilation of where you can find some different stuff

YT channels

Sinix Design - I LOVE HIS TUTORIALS SO MUCH.

Ethan Becker - art tips and critisism

Adam Duff LUCIDPIXUL - honestly i dont really know how to describe his content. it feels like an art podcats but more..personal? just check his channel out and you'll see it for yourself

moderndayjames - more animation based but still a lot of helpful tutorials

Dan Beardshaw - found him through anatomy tutorials but he has A LOT MORE than just them, please check him out!!

Videos

this specific video helped me understand that light is not that complicated

in this video, the author shares how they learned art, and i think they nailed the 4th tip perfectly

another lighting video

part 1 of a "how to splash art" series which goes over almost everything you need to know. this series more of a guide cause you still need to go into a depth for each topic but i just have to share it anyways, other parts can be found in the description

Books / Libraries (google drive links)

anatomy for sculptors - helps a lot with anatomy simplification and understanding

a big library with art books and other resources

another library with some books

MORPHO BOOKS!!!

Constructive anatomy by George B.Bradgman

lmk if something doesnt work or you have something else to add!! :]

#inbox open #inbox answer #asks

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ronearoundblindly · 2 days ago

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hey! fic title: we want what we can’t have

Hmmmm, this makes me think of like a parasocial online relationship, and you know, if it's online, I'm going with our boi, Jakey... From this ask game.

Jake Jensen x influencer!single mom!reader

Not really any warnings except Jake is a liarliarpantsonfire.

It started over at his sister's house. His niece loves to watch DIY videos on Youtube, and you're pretty big with kid-friendly projects that you and your daughter do on camera.

At first, Jake is so focused on not spilling a full jar of glitter across the table and carpet that he didn't notice you were very easy on the eyes, he didn't pick up on the slightly adult, double-entendres you laced in, and he didn't appreciate the stare-at-the-lens moments reminiscent of Jim from The Office.

By the third video though, he absolutely sees the appeal...even if it's not for the same reasons as his family. He's crushing hard, fast, and that was before he found your Twitch stream!

Jake could not care less if you're good at the games because he loves to hear your unhinged laugh when something goes awry. Pretty quickly he finds himself playing your videos while gaming himself and responding to questions you throw out into the void of the internet. No, you can't listen or answer, but IRL social interaction is not his specialty. He's enjoying living vicariously through this stuff.

He actually comments sometimes, not often though since he can see how inappropriate some guys (and girls) get with you in the stream. He knows he's too awkward to make a great impression in the midst of all that, so he keeps it light.

Jake is, however, in complete denial of how bad his crush on you is getting over the many, many months he dives deeper into your 'fandom.'

Once, when he found himself yet again watching a craft video with his niece, he responded without thinking. They were on the porch, squinting at a propped up tablet in the sun, and he quickly typed "me and my girl are loving this!"

Harmless enough, right? Sure, but then he got a ping back.

Be sure to send me a pic of the finished product.

So he did. He laid the two papers beside each other on the glass tabletop and snapped a shot.

😍 Whose is whose, I wonder...

So Jake had his niece hold up hers as he posed with his, ballcap, glasses, graphic-T, and all.

Someone else answered--oh man, is dad single???? --but you liked that comment and responded with a simple "my thoughts exactly 🤭."

He's in too deep now; he wants to talk to you. Jake types those fateful two words.

He is.

It's not strictly a lie, but he in no way corrects the mistaken interpretation. He cannot give up the opportunity.

So he takes some more goofy pictures in front of the wall of art in his niece's room, and you gush about how cute it (and he) is, noting the soccer trophies on one shelf.

Jake proudly tells you all about her many successes in private messages on Twitch [idk how twitch works just go with it if that's wrong], and you mention recognizing his username. There isn't a chance in hell he's letting go now. Guess he's a dad. Cool. He will literally do whatever you vaguely insinuate you want him to do, be whoever you seem to want him to be, anything.

It's still a lie though, and Jake even goes so far as to refer to his niece specifically as 'his daughter.' He's outright lying now, and he doesn't care. He keeps lying, and it spreads to lying to his sister once you announce a summer series of videos--you're taking your daughter to all the largest play grounds in the nearby states, one of which is 30 miles from his sister's place.

Jake floats the idea of taking his niece on this very specific day, says it can't be any other day, and fibs that it's because he'll be gone for work before and after. He messages you the good news that you can meet...if you're okay with that, and he's thrilled when you excitedly announce the girls can meet. Everyone will have so much fun; he's counting on it. Only thing Jake doesn't do is lie to his niece because he knows if he does she will immediately call bullshit and blurt out the truth.

So she's allowed to say 'Jake' or 'Jakey' but he asks her not to call him 'uncle.'

The whole day goes flawlessly, and only like 35% of what he says is effected by dishonesty. He is away a lot for work. He does wish he got more time with, uh, the girl over there playing with your daughter. That girl's mom is absolutely wonderful and they used to live together, technically, a long time ago.

When his niece calls him 'Jakey' in front of you, it's pretty easy to brush off. He's right, there is that age where kids rebel that way, and you remember when your daughter threw her first "no, mother" at you in defiance.

He leaves with your cell number and a long, lingering hug.

Jake's on cloud nine, as is his niece, so he thinks he's gotten away with it, texting with you frequently until days later when he's already deployed with Clay and the team to the other side of the Earth.

Why would my kid be saying that you aren't Cheeky's dad??? She said you STOLE HER FOR THE DAY. Jake, that is your real daughter, right? This is a joke, yeah? Answer me! Did you lie to us?!

No matter what he says, it's over though. He doesn't know how it came up, and his niece did not call him her uncle. Instead, he finds out she mentioned "Jake's not my real father but my mom loves him" which is doubly terrible. You're convinced she's his step kid, and Jake was somehow cheating by talking to you. Admitting he lied but not that bad doesn't help.

All conversation ends when you tell him to lose your number.

How could he possibly fix this?

⬆️⬆️⬆️ how i imagine y'all are about to come at me ⬆️⬆️⬆️

[Main Masterlist; Fic Title Only Asks; Jake Jensen Masterlist]

#ro answers #ask game #jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen imagine #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x y/n #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen angst

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haileygarciasunshine · 2 days ago

Text

Found this in the archives! Let me know your thoughts!

⚠️Spice warning nothing too specific I think⚠️

The air in your apartment is thick with something unspoken, something electric. The mission had been long, exhausting, but now you and Bucky were here—alone, finally unwinding.

You’re standing in the kitchen, still in your tactical gear, peeling off the layers of the mission like shedding an old skin. Bucky leans against the counter, watching you with that unreadable expression—the one that makes your stomach twist, heat curling low in your belly.

“Need some help?” he asks, voice rough, low.

You pause, fingers fumbling over the zipper of your vest. His eyes flicker down, watching the movement. Your breath catches.

“Yeah,” you murmur.

He pushes off the counter, closing the distance between you in two slow strides. When he reaches you, he doesn’t touch you right away. Instead, he hovers, his warmth radiating against your skin. His fingers—one flesh, one metal—brush against your waist as he grips the zipper, dragging it down at an agonizing pace.

Your breath hitches.

His knuckles graze your sternum, barely there, but it sends a shiver down your spine. His jaw clenches, his lips part just slightly, like he’s holding back. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

When he finishes, his hands stay at your sides, fingers curled just barely into the fabric of your suit. His eyes meet yours, dark, searching. There’s something in them—something dangerous, something wanting.

“You always let people undress you this easily?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a rough edge to it, like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

You tilt your chin up slightly, your own smirk tugging at your lips. “Only when they take their time.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lips, and before you can say anything else, his hand moves—quick, precise. He tugs the vest from your shoulders, lets it fall to the floor with a dull thud. His fingertips skim over your collarbone, barely touching, just enough to make your skin burn.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I don’t see you stopping me.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. His fingers flex at your waist, like he’s deciding something, like he’s at war with himself. And then—

He leans in.

His lips hover near yours, close enough that you can feel his breath, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, he lets his metal hand slide up your back, slow and deliberate, pulling you flush against him.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, voice husky.

You don’t answer. Instead, you fist your hands in his shirt and close the space between you, crashing your lips against his.

And just like that, all that tension snaps.

His hands grip you tight, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid to let go. The kiss is hot, messy, desperate—like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have. His metal hand trails down your spine, sending a delicious shiver through you as he presses you against the counter, trapping you between his body and the cool marble.

You gasp against his lips, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours, taking, claiming.

“Fuck,” he groans against your mouth. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your hips, gripping, holding. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You smirk against his lips, breathless, already craving more. “Then show me.”

And he does.

How’s that? Want a continuation or a different kind of tension?

#buckybarnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #marvel #thunderbolts #sebastianstan #Sebastian stan #Bucky barnes x yn

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eeboor · 3 days ago

Note

This might sound a bit weird but I’m just gonna go for it, I noticed that you’d liked/reblogged some of my Vikjayce blogs on my actual account @whispertothewillows and realised I was following you but couldn’t remember why, which is when I realised that you’re the owner of the Jayvik kitty fic!! Which honestly became one of my favourite fics of all time ever. The line “This is his Jayce, and Jayce has no say in whether or not he belongs to Viktor. He won’t get away that easily.” actually changed my brain chemistry tbh. Then I realised that you’re also the author of the Jayce body-swap fic that I’d had on my list to read for ages! I read the description weeks ago and had been putting off reading it until I finished my exams, using it as motivation basically. I didn’t want to read it when I started them because I knew that I’d be sucked in an unable to think of anything else, and I was right!!! I genuinely binged all three chapters in half an hour and then went back and re-read more just last night!

It’s so so good. I honestly think your characterisation of Vikjayce is my favourite I’ve ever read, and they haven’t even interacted yet!!! (Looking forward to the flashbacks next chapter 👀👀) there’s something both so tender and also cruel in seeing what your life could’ve been under different circumstances that I think you portray so well, and I am in love with your writing style. I just thought I’d come on here and l share how much I enjoyed it lmao! Sorry for the rant!

Not weird at all omfg, I’m so glad you took the time to say this!!!! Thank you from the bottom of my heart omg I pour my soul into my fics and it’s so wonderful when lovely people like you reach out specifically to let me know you’ve enjoyed them!!! :) seriously honored you were looking forward to reading my stuff so much during your exams (and I hope they went well!!)

I can’t WAIT to share the flashback chapter. Just for you, another snippet:

As always, the currently (as of 3/27/25) updating fic can be read here

#eebie inbox #jayvik #vikjayce #jayce giopara #eebie fic #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #jayce arcane #jayvik divorce era #arcane viktor #arcane #jayvik fic #vikjayce fanfiction #vikjayce fanfic #jayvik fanfiction

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arzen9 · 3 days ago

Text

Can I Be Good? Chapter 9: Mist and Teeth - Lark

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC 18+ MDNI word count: 6.6k tags/warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Not Canon Compliant, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, Redemption, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Mystery, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Original Female Character, Mentions of Trauma, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Masturbation, Blood, Blood Drinking, Alcohol summary: Centuries of pain, a ritual, (not) hunger, (not) desire, a lost soul, a search, a yearning, bodies, bodies... And a heart that changes everything.

"Something in me wants more. I can't rest." -Sylvia Plath

Thanks for reading, and as always, if you want to chat, my ask box & dm's are always open<3 Thank you @nerdallwritey for reading these over, always helping out, and being an amazing friend, ILY!!!

Can I Be Good? spotify playlist

Read on AO3

When Lark arrives at the Crimson Palace the next morning, everyone is already at the bar, chatting and hanging out. Upon seeing her all of their gazes fall upon Lark, as if she interrupted something important.

“Good morning,” she says, a little intimidated.

Astarion is the one to greet her first, with a toothy grin. “We were just talking, darling, about my confession to you yesterday—”

“You told her about the—” Shadowheart jumps, but Astarion is quick to continue.

“—the fact that I am a vampire, yes.”

Shadowheart eyes him suspiciously, and Lark catches it, but in a second the white-haired woman’s expression is replaced with a hesitant smile.

“Finally!” Karlach laughs. “Can I go back to calling you Fangs now?”

“No,” Astarion says with a pout. Karlach pulls him, rather violently, into a side-hug.

“I’m going to do it anyway.”

Lark laughs. In the tiefling’s embrace, Astarion looks… Small. Innocent.

Once she lets him go, he huffs and runs a hand through his hair to fix his perfect curls. Then, he clears his throat. The sort of appearance he holds is, as Lark has come to learn, of utmost importance to him.

“You are now truly part of our team,” Gale says with a wink. Astarion gives him a side-eyed glance, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Thank you,” Lark says. She means it. Astarion’s gaze falls upon her once again, something indecipherable in his expression. The intensity of it makes her blush and look away, thinking back to her dream from last night.

“Wait! Now that she knows,” Karlach says, almost jumping up and down in her place with excitement, “We have to take her to Mist and Teeth!”

Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose. “Really? Must we?”

“It would be fun,” Shadowheart says, earning a glare from the vampire himself.

“What’s Mist and Teeth?” Lark asks.

“An underground bar for vampires,” Gale says with a mischievous smile.

“A shoddy excuse of a bar for those who think a vampire is the most desirable thing, you mean,” Astarion says with a particular venom in his voice.

Lark eyes him with concern and intrigue in equal measure. “We don’t have to, if it really bothers you.”

His crimson eyes search her, and the momentary softness of his gaze makes her heart ache.

Karlach gives a light punch on Astarion’s shoulder, making him lose that gentle expression Lark was so fond of. “Oh, he’s a big boy, I’m sure he can handle it. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Astarion says, nostrils flaring. “You might want to wear that dreadful perfume of yours,” he turns to Lark. “Not all who go to Mist and Teeth are as civilized as I am.”

----

It might have been a joke. It probably is. Because why would Lark’s scent, or rather the scent of her blood, specifically be more alluring than anyone else’s? In a bar where vampires mix with all the other residents of the city, no less?

Lark still douses her with the same perfume she wore the night Astarion took her to the Blushing Mermaid.

The rest of the workday went by pretty fast, consisting of helping Shadowheart again with the cocktail selections for the masquerade, talking to Karlach about the playlist she’s putting together (she also asked Lark about Wyll’s favorite songs, which she found cute) and going through lists of things that need to be purchased with Astarion.

Now, as Lark stands outside the subway station near the Upper City, waiting for the others, she can’t help but wonder why Astarion looked so taken aback by her concern for him. That softness in his eyes… It’s not something she gets to see often. She’d like to cause it more.

Lark’s phone vibrates, and she looks down at the bright screen, shining in the darkness of the night. It’s a text from Wyll.

Do you think Karlach will like sunflowers? Or should I get her a mixed bouquet?

She takes a deep breath before someone approaches her from behind, almost causing her to drop her phone with a yelp.

“Flowers already? Ravengard’s son is truly a hopeless romantic, hmm?”

“Astarion,” Lark says, relieved, but puts a hand over her heart to calm herself down still. “You scared me.”

“The others went ahead,” he says, ignoring her.

“Why didn’t you go with them? I could have found the place on my own.”

“Trust me, darling,” he says. “You could not.”

As Astarion starts walking towards the street on the left, she watches him— dressed in a black shirt and dark burgundy tailored pants that hug his features like a glove, hands in his pockets, gait slow and confident. Lark suppresses a sigh, and before following him down the dark street, she texts Wyll back.

Mixed bouquet. Something bright and colorful.

----

Astarion was right— Lark could not have found Mist and Teeth on her own.

The bar is concealed behind two alleyways, accessible by walking down a set of stairs that are so narrow, they almost look lethal— with no visible sign or marker to suggest that there is a bar anywhere nearby.

But of course, Lark would rather risk a fall down these very stairs than admit to Astarion’s face that he was right. So she strolls down slowly and deliberately, following Astarion like his shadow.

Once they reach the bottom, Astarion holds open the inconspicuous black door in front of them so that Lark can go ahead, all the while looking her up and down with one eyebrow raised.

“I see you took my advice with the perfume.”

“Wouldn’t want to distract you from all the fun that this place is supposed to offer.”

He looks at her with amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes, something akin to approval on his expression. “You’re full of surprises, darling, aren’t you?”

She sneers at him while she walks inside, undoing the tie to her oversized puffer. After work, she had gone back to her apartment to change, and standing in the chilly entryway now, she curses her boldness in choosing the particular outfit she did— a distant part of her mind knows she picked it out because Astarion might like it. But Lark would never willingly admit to that.

She removes her jacket and folds it as Astarion comes to stand in front of her. He extends his hand to take the jacket from her— not without taking her form in.

After twenty-five minutes of deliberation in front of her mirror, Lark has chosen to wear a dark tangerine bodysuit with a deep neckline that reaches her belly button, paired with skinny black jeans and chocolate brown knee-high boots. She also put on a long silver locket in the shape of a heart to accentuate her décolleté.

Judging by the way Astarion’s eyes wander around her body, she picked well— although she’d be lying if she said his gaze doesn’t make her feel way more exposed than she is.

“Aren’t you going to get cold in that?” he asks. Lark tries to decipher the sharp edge to his voice— would he have preferred more modesty from her?

“Not while I’m indoors,” she says, ignoring his irritation. “Why?”

“We wouldn’t want you to get sick and miss work, would we?”

With that, Astarion turns for a moment to hand both their jackets to the coat check. Beyond the entrance, Lark can see another flight of stairs that, she assumes, lead to the actual bar area.

“Ready?” Astarion asks, and when she shifts her gaze back to him, she realizes he has changed into a different outfit too— the first three buttons of his smooth, black shirt are left unbuttoned, revealing the pale, broad and muscular plane of his chest ever so slightly. She tries to focus on the shirt’s fabric instead. Is it linen? It’s hard to tell in the dark— and Lark thinks it would hardly be appropriate to reach out and touch it.

“I could ask you the same question,” she says, peeling her gaze away from his midsection with difficulty.

“What, darling?”

“Aren’t you going to get cold in that?”

Astarion reaches out to tuck a strand of Lark’s hair behind her hair, possibly slow on purpose so that she can feel the coolness of his skin.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, and Lark hopes he won’t be able to detect the uptick of her heartbeat over the sound of music coming from downstairs.

She sure can hope.

With that, he offers her his arm, and after a second of hesitation, Lark takes it— sliding her hand on his wrist. They descend the stairs together, and even without looking, Lark can immediately feel the turning of eyes on them. It’s even darker downstairs, but the place is not too big, or too crowded— out of a total of ten tables, only four of them are occupied, one of them being where Karlach, Gale and Shadowheart are sitting down. The tiefling waves both of her arms in the air at them with a wide, enthusiastic grin on her face. Lark can’t help but join her smile.

“So? How does it compare to the Crimson Palace?” Astarion asks as they walk together to their table.

“Well, this is a bar, for one.”

“Can’t you see I’m fishing for compliments here?”

Lark laughs, and that makes Astarion laugh, too. “Oh, great Astarion Ancunín, your club is simply the best,” she intonates dramatically.

“That’s better.”

“Do you always fish for compliments?”

“Usually I don’t need to,” he says with a frown, and Lark can’t be sure if he actually enjoys all the compliments he must get— he almost sounds conflicted that he is rarely, if ever, perceived as anything beyond the beautiful façade. Almost.

“You made it,” Shadowheart says as they approach the table. In her light blue sweater dress, she looks like a fairy, especially in the dark atmosphere of the bar.

“I’m so thirsty I could go for twenty pitchers,” Karlach says, rubbing her hands together. “Please, let’s order already!”

Astarion pulls out one of the chairs for Lark to sit, and she catches Shadowheart raising her perfectly arched eyebrows at the gesture. It makes Lark want to fold into herself.

“How do you like Mist and Teeth?” Gale asks her, hands clasped over his lap. Lark turns her attention to him, glad to avoid Shadowheart’s judging gaze.

“Fine so far,” she says.

“Give it a few hours,” Astarion says. Then he walks over to a nearby server to order their drinks.

“How does alcohol affect your condition?” Gale continues. Lark bites her lip, wishing he wouldn’t call it that.

“My magic? I’ve never had an adverse enough reaction that made me suspect a connection.”

“Do you think it could be serving as a numbing agent? If your magic is prone to show itself in moments of distress like we talked about, it would make sense for substances that numb the senses— such as alcohol— to easily become solutions for you.”

“Numb the senses?” Karlach chimes in with a high-pitched voice that suggests disbelief. “I’d say it can absolutely heighten some, if you know what I mean! What are you two talking about anyway?”

“You can think of Lark’s magic akin to your infernal engine when it comes to senses, Karlach,” Gale says, and the tiefling gives him a pensive look.

“Does she even know about that?”

The table goes silent, and Gale looks clearly distraught with his own slip.

“I apologize,” he says. “That was not my secret to share.”

Lark turns to Karlach, who eyes her and Gale with a smile that crinkles her face. It’s adorable.

“I trust Lark. I would have told her about it sometime, even if you didn’t.” When she sees Astarion come back, she adds, “If only Fangs didn’t keep her all to himself most of the time.”

He sits down with such elegance that Lark’s chest tightens at the sight. Looking at his nails, he says, “First of all, that’s a lie. Shadowheart uses her as a guinea pig for her cocktails far more than I take her time for anything else. And second,” he pauses to shift his gaze at the tiefling. “I really don’t like that nickname, darling.”

As the conversation shifts, Lark makes a mental note of asking about Karlach’s infernal engine when she has the chance.

“You love it,” Karlach booms with laughter. “Listen to yourself. Darling this, darling that, and Fangs is crossing the line?”

Shadowheart laughs. “Centuries later, still the same argument.”

Lark wonders— Astarion is a vampire, but the others are decidedly not. How have they been beside him for centuries without any physical traits to suggest ageing?

Gale seems to catch her puzzled expression, but even if he understands exactly what she’s thinking, he doesn’t say anything. He only gives her a somber smile, and before Lark can jump in, a server approaches their table with a tray filled with different drinks. A beer pitcher for Karlach, as usual. Astarion and Shadowheart are sharing a bottle of red wine. Gale has his own glass of white. And, last but not least, a Bloody Mary for Lark.

She looks at Astarion over the table, to where he’s sitting between Karlach and Shadowheart. He smiles and raises his glass of wine to her. She has to look away to control her heartbeat.

“I’ll go wash my hands,” she says. She doesn’t feel as panicked as she did when Astarion danced with her (for approximately forty seconds)— but she would feel better safe than sorry. A few moments away from Astarion to calm her thoughts will do wonders to keep her magic at bay for the rest of the night.

Standing up, she spots the restroom sign at the back of the bar, not far from the stairs they took down. As she walks among the tables in the almost-too-dark place, the people sitting at a booth in the corner catch her eye. There are four people in total— two elven men, one with short strawberry blond hair, the other’s deep brown locks gathered in a ponytail, whisper in each other’s ears suggestively. The other two seem to be far past the point of seductive whispers— a pale man with bright red eyes is holding a greyish skinned drow woman’s wrist to his mouth, and she seems to be in pure bliss, a wide grin plastered on her plush lips, her head tilted back. Then Lark sees the blood on the man’s mouth.

She has never met a vampire before Astarion, and growing up with an entirely different set of concerns than looking out for stray bats in the dark, Lark hadn’t questioned until just now how being bitten by one might feel like.

As if noticing Lark’s unwanted gaze, the drow woman opens her eyes and looks straight at her as the man holds her wrist even closer. They look at each other for a moment that feels like eternity— Lark, unsure how to look away, and the woman with an odd interest.

Finally, Lark peels off her gaze from the group and continues her journey to the restroom. It’s a single stall, and it’s occupied, so she leans her back on the opposite wall, and waits.

When the others said Mist and Teeth was a vampire bar, Lark hadn’t exactly known what to expect. What she just saw definitely fits the description, and yet, she feels surprised regardless. She remembers Astarion telling her about the people of the city feeling rather lukewarm towards his kind— it definitely makes sense why this place would be so hard to find. And she thinks back to his words— a bar for those who think a vampire is the most desirable thing.

Is it the bite itself? Is the act inherently sexual because it resembles the act of penetration, or is it just the people who make it so? Lark has never been one to associate bleeding with anything other than bleeding. Blood is pain, and she has seen a lot of it over the years— some self-inflicted, some not. If there is one thing for sure, she has never worn a euphoric smile on her face like that drow woman, when she bled with a boxcutter in hand, trembling on the tiled floor of her old bathroom. Her mother’s bathroom, rather.

But Lark can’t help but imagine Astarion’s lips over her wrist. Or her neck. Is it the act itself, or the person doing it?

“So, you’re his new toy?”

The raspy, low voice startles Lark. When she turns her head sharply, the same drow with greyish skin and light blonde hair is standing in front of her. Her dark red eye makeup is glossy, almost greasy looking. The smile on her full lips doesn’t offer any sort of friendship.

“Excuse me?”

“He usually goes for the more striking ones.”

“Do you mean Astarion?” Lark asks, a flush coloring her already warm cheeks. “I think you’re mistaken. I work for him.”

The drow’s smile turns into a deep scowl, if only for a moment. It’s almost like hearing his name disturbs her. But, just as quickly— the sinister curve of her lips return.

“It’s not your physical appearance he chose you for. I can tell,” she says, looking Lark up and down. “Your blood—”

“Little love, is something the matter?”

Both women turn at the same time to see Astarion standing a few steps away, surveying them with a darkness in his eyes— or, surveying Lark exclusively. His eyes, darkened so much that his crimson irises are lost in a sea of black, are focused on her, ignoring the drow completely.

Lark is frozen in place not because of the other woman’s proximity, or her odd comments about her appearance or her blood— but because of Astarion’s behavior. The pet name. Little love. The way he’s looking at her right now. His hand outstretched at her, as if to—

Realizing Lark is too stunned to notice his little play, Astarion closes the distance between them to wrap an arm around her waist, the touch sending pure electric through the skin under his fingertips.

Clearly, his sham is working— the drow looks absolutely flabbergasted, her brows raised so high they’re almost lost into her hairline.

“You need to stop this stalking act of yours, darling,” Astarion says to her, lips drawn in a snarl to show the sharp tip of a fang. His usual vernacular sounds filled with hate aimed towards the drow. “It’s rather pathetic.”

Before turning on her heels to leave, the woman says, “I know why you’re so interested in her. My friend could smell it.”

Astarion’s hand on Lark’s back stiffens a little. A vile smile forms on the drow’s face when she catches it, but it doesn’t deter Astarion.

“Well of course. Who could fail to smell the tastiest morsel to ever grace this hideous place?”

Lark tries to swallow the lump in her throat and force a smile, to join in the game he’s playing. She is sure it looks more like she just got sprayed in the face by a skunk.

“But a word of caution for you and your excuse of a friend. She is mine, and I don’t share.”

If he wasn’t standing so close, or basically had a death grip on her waist, Lark would have turned to look at Astarion so quick her neck would break. But all she can do right now is look straight at the drow, who stands a little bit taller than Lark. She tries to calm her breathing, her heartbeat, her magic—

“Well. This has been wonderful,” the drow finally says, feigning disinterest. “You know where to find me when you bore of her.”

With that, she finally leaves, and Lark almost goes to pinch herself to see if she’s really awake or not. What in the hells was that?

“It’ll be fun, let’s go to Mist and Teeth, they said,” Astarion grumbles.

“Did you just use me to make an ex-girlfriend jealous or something?”

That makes Astarion gawk at Lark in such a ridiculous way, it almost causes her to lose all seriousness and laugh.

“Her? Really? Darling, that is the most hurtful thing you’ve said to me so far.”

“Who is she, then?”

“That,” he almost spits out. “Was a self-appointed blood chemist. Araj.”

“And how do you know her?”

“Not by choice, trust me when I say that,” he sighs. “She was at the opening night of the Crimson Palace. Somehow, she knew I was a vampire. And she has not stopped pestering me to bite her ever since.”

Lark looks at him, for a moment, searching his face. A vampire, the most desirable thing.

Then she realizes that his arm is still wrapped around her waist.

“You can let me go now,” she says. Not that it doesn’t feel good, his skin pressed to hers. It feels far better than it has any right to, in fact. But Lark is worried about two things— one, the excitement she feels with Astarion threatens her already questionable control over her magic. And two— she’s still not entirely sure about the prospect of developing feelings for this man without knowing what lies behind the mask. The scariest part, though, is that the more time she spends with him, the less it seems to matter— all of Astarion is intriguing to her, not just the glamorous veil.

Astarion mustn’t have been aware he was still holding her, either, as he lurches back a little, surprised. Not a second later, though, he again wears his usual smirk.

“Aren’t you glad I came just in time to save you?”

“Oh great savior,” Lark says flatly. “However can I ever return your favor?”

“You are a poet,” he says with feigned disgust, but his lips curl with amusement regardless.

“Why don’t you want to bite her?” she asks.

He looks at her with something like anger clouding his eyes. “Her blood, as opposed to yours, smells absolutely vile. I would also like to add that just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I want to bite everything that passes by.”

He’s right. “I’m sorry,” Lark says.

“You and your apologies. Why are you saying sorry this time?”

“I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Astarion’s eyes, now back to their bright, red beauty, searches her face. Her sincerity always seems to make him stop in his tracks; as if it hasn’t been offered to him by a stranger in a very long time.

Every time he gives her his undivided attention like this, she can feel the crackling of sparks underneath her skin. She keeps chalking it up to panic, that all-familiar sense of anxiety that usually accompanies it— but now, standing so close to him, inhaling his scent— she wonders if it’s something else. The thoughts of potential feelings creep in again, uninvited.

Lark decides to distract herself by changing the subject. “What did she mean about my blood?”

Astarion looks away. “I’m not sure,” he says pensively, and Lark can’t decide if he’s being truthful or not. “Perhaps it is only because your blood smells exquisite.”

Lark quirks an eyebrow.

“The lowlife she’s got sucking on her bile doesn’t seem like a particularly powerful vampire, so I doubt he would be able to tell your magical potential by smelling your blood. Take my word for it when I say I don’t know what the drow meant.”

It’s almost funny, how he seems to be able to tell exactly what she’s thinking. Maybe she just has zero control over her expressions. She questions for a moment if it matters to him at all whether Lark trusts him or not.

“And if she was aware of my magic? What does that mean?”

Astarion sighs. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t like that answer,” she says, honestly. He looks more thoughtful than ever, and it’s worrying.

“Let’s just go back and enjoy our drinks, shall we? There’s no point discussing what we don’t know.”

She nods, and then barely tries to conceal the mischievous smile forming on her lips.

“She’s mine, and I don’t share, huh? Did you copy that from the book at my place?”

Astarion mirrors her with an even wider grin. “That’s what you like, then, darling? Possessiveness?”

“It makes for a good romance novel, at times.”

“And what about real life?”

Lark’s smile falls on instinct. “Real life is rarely as pretty.”

“We can agree on that.”

They regard each other, eyes locked in a crimson embrace. The air is filled with understanding— it scares Lark how much she enjoys it.

As they return to their table, Astarion makes sure to somehow keep her close, both of them aware of Araj’s unrelenting gaze on them. Karlach and Gale seem to be lost in a discussion Lark understands very little about— something involving lanceboard and the necessity of smokepowder or something. Shadowheart is quietly sipping her wine.

“She’s here again?” she asks after a while.

Astarion nods. Lark assumes she’s talking about Araj.

“Don’t worry about her,” she says to Lark, and her voice is more serious than reassuring. “She looks intimidating, but a spider would cause more actual harm.”

Lark takes a big gulp of her cocktail, drops of condensation running down her hand as she holds the glass. “She seemed more interested in Astarion, anyways.”

“She needs to get in line,” he says, looking at them over the rim of his wine glass. But Lark can tell he’s deflecting. It is crystal clear that he does not enjoy all of the attention he gets— especially from Araj, at least.

Shadowheart rolls her eyes at him. “If you decide to quit right now, I wouldn’t blame you, Lark.”

They share a laugh. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

“Oh please,” Astarion says, no venom in his voice. “As if Karlach would let you.”

With that, the tiefling and Gale join in their conversation.

“That’s right, soldier! You’re stuck with us.”

As they all laugh and clink their glasses in cheers, Lark starts feeling more and more at ease, almost forgetting the disturbing presence of Araj a few feet away from them, definitely not noticing anymore her constant glare over the table belonging to the owner of the Crimson Palace.

----

It’s late by the time they leave Mist and Teeth, and Astarion insists on accompanying Lark back to her apartment, even though Araj and her party left at least an hour before they did.

“We still have a party to organize, darling,” he says and Lark finally relents. “And we can’t do that if you fail to make it home safely, hm?”

On their way back, the train is empty save for the two of them, but Astarion chooses to stay standing, holding onto the metal railing right in front of Lark as she sits. She looks up at him with curious eyes, unable to look anywhere else. She’s not drunk, barely even tipsy— but she lets herself pretend a little, even if to just watch him more intently than usual.

“I can tell you’re staring, darling,” Astarion says without meeting her eyes.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” she says, which causes him to finally look down at her.

“You’re not drunk. I can smell you, remember?”

“I just wonder,” she continues a little shyly. “Have you thought of biting me?”

He blinks, surprised. Several moments pass, silent but for the hum and friction of the train.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Lark says to fill in the silence.

“Of course I have,” he finally offers his reply, tearing his crimson gaze away from her childlike wonder. “Your blood is… Unique.”

“How so?”

“Why do you have so many questions for everything?”

“Not everything. Just when it comes to you.”

The train comes to a stop, and the doors slowly slide open. Lark gets up to leave. She doesn’t expect him to follow, but he does.

They walk together toward Lark’s apartment, her a few steps ahead. In another life, she imagines, it would have been scary being stalked by a vampire in the middle of the night like this. But with Astarion, she rarely feels fear nowadays— despite having felt almost nothing but fear all her life. With him, life feels full of possibilities— and risks, perhaps— but ones worth taking.

Once they reach the front of her building, she turns around to see him standing a few steps back, hands in his pockets, poised and perfect as ever.

She decides to take a chance.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

His smile is knowing, but the softness in his eyes betrays him.

“Lead the way, darling.”

----

Lark turns on the light in the living room and invites Astarion inside. He follows her slowly, quietly— if she hadn’t just invited him to come in, she would have failed to notice him.

It is a sight she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to, seeing Astarion in her apartment.

They shed their jackets off and Lark places them on the couch while Astarion stands around, a playful eye already fixed on the bookshelf he was so interested in last time.

Whatever. Let him get ideas if he wants to. There are far worse offenses out there then being obsessed with romance novels, Lark thinks.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“What’s on offer?” Astarion asks with a hint of mischief in his voice.

Lark makes her way toward her kitchen cabinets, surveying the contents. She has a few bottles of wine, a half-finished bottle of Mermaid Whiskey. She takes out the whiskey, shaking it at him, suddenly surprised that he’s now standing in the middle of her small kitchen area connected to the living room by a half wall.

“I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

Lark takes out two glasses and places two cubes of ice in each, then pours the drinks. Astarion watches her with barely concealed intensity. She can feel the all-too familiar crackling, right beneath the surface, and takes a deep breath.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks. There is no speck of sarcasm in his voice— just a genuine question.

“Uncomfortable? No,” she says. Just what he exactly makes her feel, she doesn’t even know herself.

Or maybe that’s easier to say than confessing what she knows.

Lark hands him his glass, and he raises it to her before turning and walking toward the bookshelves again.

Astarion gives her a side-eye glance, aware of her watchful eyes. “No house tour?”

She snickers. “Mine is not as nearly as impressive as yours.”

“It’s yours,” he says. “That’s a start.”

A deep thump rumbles in her chest. She needs to take a deep breath to bury it.

“You always know to say all the right things, don’t you?” She sees him stiffen a little, realizing her tone might have been more accusatory than she intended. “I did that a lot too, that’s why.”

“Did what?”

“Said all the right things. Tried to. To get what I wanted.”

“And what was it that you wanted?”

“To be loved,” she says with a laugh. Her voice comes out a weak, sad little whimper. The little fawn finds her voice. Astarion doesn’t comment on it.

“Did you get it?”

“No,” she says and takes a sip from her glass. The whiskey is warm as it slides down her throat. He turns to look at her, and her chest gives another rumble. Thump. A crackle. A hum. She needs to look away, but she doesn’t want to. “Look,” she continues. “I didn’t invite you in to… Have sex, or anything. I’m… I don’t want to be another one of your toys.”

She thinks back to Araj’s eyes— the way she looked at her, observed her— as if she is something to be used and tossed. It makes her shiver.

“What do you want to be?” Astarion asks.

Lark comes to stand next to him in front of the shelves, trying to look at them through a stranger’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she says honestly.

They both reach out to grab a framed photo from the middle of the shelf, and their fingers collide. The air crackles.

“Your dad?”

Lark nods, letting Astarion hold and examine the photo. It’s her favorite one, taken on the beach. She’s barely a day over eight, her dark blonde locks a mess around her face while her dad is posing with a wild grin.

“Where is he now?”

“Traveling. He hasn’t stopped at one place for more than a week ever since he—” she pauses, making Astarion look at her. “Since he left.”

Astarion puts the photo back, but his finger lingers on Lark’s face for only a moment. It’s a softer gesture than what she would ever have expected from him.

“Do you resent him for leaving?”

She shrugs. “Not really. He couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t blame him.”

“And your mom?”

Lark remembers the night they went to the Blushing Mermaid— how she told him she hated her. “She’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lark snaps. “I’m not.”

“It must be nice to have one decent parent, at least,” he offers to lighten up her mood. It works, and she smiles, then takes another sip of her drink.

“Yes. It keeps me mostly sane.” She watches Astarion’s somber gaze still fixed on the photo. “What is it that you want, Astarion? To me it seems like you have everything.”

His jaw clenches.

She takes a chance. Or, a risk.

“Does a vampire have time for love?”

“All a vampire has is time, darling.”

He says it in a pained voice— so imperceptible that it catches Lark off guard. She wants to reach out and touch him— not to pull him into anything, but to offer him solace, to soothe him—

It’s too late to stop herself when all inkling of magic in her roars to life, screaming for him. And it freezes her with fear when she realizes she’s already reached a hand out to touch his arm, the skin revealed by his rolled-up sleeve.

Something pure and bright flows outwards, from her fingers, as she caresses them over his pale, smooth skin. It doesn’t burn him, electrify him, or hurt him in any manner.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not unkindly.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I just… I wanted to make things easier. For you.”

The way he looks at her, his eyes glassy, tells her that she might have just done the opposite.

When he extends his hand, Lark is sure he’s going to yank hers off him, sneer, get mad. But instead, he gently rubs the top of her fingers.

It’s warm, and gentle. It’s everything she has ever asked for, and never received.

She has a feeling it’s the same for him.

“Would you like to bite me?”

Astarion’s breath hitches, his hand suddenly stiff on top of Lark’s. It’s clear that he’s taken aback by her offer, but she can see the gears turning in his head. He’s considering it. Weighing his options.

After what feels like forever, he takes back his hand and says, “Maybe another time, darling.”

Lark curses inwardly, chewing on his lower lip. There— she’s ruined it all, turned him into an object of curiosity, when she was the one who didn’t want to be a toy, something to be used, she went ahead and made him into—

“It’s not because I don’t want to,” he continues, noticing her panic. Hesitantly, he raises one hand and cups her cheek, his thumb drawing soft circles on her increasingly feverish skin. But he doesn’t offer further explanation.

“It’s okay,” she says. Maybe it’s her appearance— Lark thinks back to how Araj had looked at her again, analyzing her, deeming her unworthy. Maybe even her blood isn’t enough to entice him now that he knows she’s a pathetic, hopeless romantic, a prude, someone not worth the effort, burdened and wild—

“You’re making it quite difficult for me to stand behind my decision with that heart of yours,” Astarion says barely above a whisper. Only then Lark realizes how fast her pulse is racing.

“I can’t help it,” she says, desperate, but honest.

“Do try not to reduce me to ashes with one of your spells.”

He moves away, and the loss of his touch almost makes her cry out. Instead, she chokes down a plea and drinks her whiskey. Astarion does the same.

“I think I should go,” he says a second later, eyes locked onto the photo of Lark and her dad. “It’s a work night, after all.”

“Do you even sleep? Being a vampire and all.”

“I trance, being an elf and all,” he corrects.

Lark looks to the side, at her couch. “You can stay, if you want to, you know.”

He almost seems like he’s going to relent, the way he searches every inch of her face with his gorgeous, darkened eyes. “Hold on to that offer. I might take you up on it next time.”

“There may not be a next time,” she says, flatly, and watches his face contort. Then she breaks out a smile.

“Your threats don’t scare me, darling.”

“But I’m so scary!”

They laugh together. It’s easy. Natural. She likes seeing him laugh.

Astarion downs the rest of his drink and Lark watches his throat. Those sharp lines of his. She wants to bury herself in him.

“Before you go,” she says, leaving him to run in her bedroom quickly. On top of the sheets, toppled over to its side sits her target.

She holds the plushie between her arms as she walks out of her room and walks back to where Astarion is. He eyes her with a mix of suspicion and amusement.

“This is Horseradish,” she says, holding the plush horse in the air by one of its legs. “It likes sandwiches.”

Astarion’s lips curl in a not-smile. “I’m sure it does.”

When she holds it out for him to take, he doesn’t know what to do.

“What am I supposed to do with this exactly, darling?”

“When my dad left, he gave me this, to comfort me and shit,” Lark says, eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “We don’t know each other very well, but there’s… Something lonely about you. Something like me.”

A momentary flicker flashes on his beautiful face. Is it anger? It disappears too fast for Lark to be able to say for certain.

“Take it,” she says, shaking Horseradish again. “Maybe it’ll help.”

Astarion grabs the toy by its head, regarding it with a raised brow. He turns it around, then clears his throat.

“I… Well. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning, then?”

Lark nods. They walk to the door together.

She doesn’t want him to leave, not really. As he stands in the doorway, plushie in hand, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to, either.

“Good night, darling,” he says as he shakes Horseradish.

“Good night,” she replies, and waits for him to disappear down the stairs before closing the door.

Leaning against the cold surface, Lark sighs.

At the prospect of having feelings for Astarion Ancunín.

----

A little later, once she’s in bed, Lark looks at her phone blankly. The bright screen illuminates her concerned face, expression drawn taut. She wishes she could talk to Wyll, or Lae’zel, but it’s much too late to disturb either of them, and besides— she doesn’t even know where to begin.

Instead, she clicks on the text chain with Astarion and types her message before putting her phone down and going to sleep, without her favorite plushie for the first time in almost two decades.

Be careful on your way back. I’ve heard there are vampires lurking around.

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