#Tableau assignment help | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingfics-passingtime · 5 months ago

Note

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

Exactly Like That

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

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

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

#loki x reader #no y/n #ticklish!reader #loki x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel tickle fluff #loki tickle fic #answered #thanks anon!#halloween fic #fall fic

159 notes · View notes

ireadwithmyears · 6 months ago

Text

the art of experience: part 1

we all start somewhere

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Commander Cody/fem reader

Next part | Series Masterlist

Word count: 3.5 K words

Tags/warnings: 18+: minors dni, smut, threesome, lite dom/sub dynamics, experience/figuring things out/slight awkwardness in the beginning, oral (F and M receiving), inappropriate use of the force, no plot

summary: Your main objective when you were hired and subsequently assigned to The Negotiator was to be a beacon of support for the troops, providing them with kindness and a boost of morale. Somehow, you highly doubt that your superiors would have intended this to be a part of your job description. You just prefer to think of it as going above the line of duty for your all too deserving men.

You enter into a new and thrilling dynamic with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Marshall Commander Cody. Thus begins an exciting series of escapades

Authors note:: Months ago, this started off as me in my head going man, I love Codywan so much but I also kind of just want to be in between the two of them, then was tentatively pitched to a couple friends on here, @vodika-vibes and I shared quite a few thirsty thoughts on Saturdays, if I recall correctly. Anyways, I finally had the guts to turn my food for thought into a series, and if you want more information on that, specifically, check out the notes for this on my AO3. But regardless, I hope I’m not the only one who has dreams of being in the middle of a Codywan sandwich, because there is a distinct lack of content to feed this desire out there. But if you also happen to share it, then I really hope you enjoy this.

“Sorry, hold on, I’m sorry I um...”

You had convinced yourself that there was absolutely nothing a person like you could do to help out in the war effort against the Separatists. You weren’t a medic. You weren’t a fighter. Hell, you couldn’t even serve as a passable mechanic to help repair banged-up ships. You’d probably, in all likelihood, end up electrocuting yourself or blowing up a ship while you were still aboard it.

So when your great aunt, most likely with the intention of getting you to do something, anything that got you out of the house, suggested that you join up with one of the Republic's newest war relief force efforts—the Doughnut Cart Girls, groups of women armed with sweets and baked goods being sent aboard ships with troops to provide them with morale boosts and cheer—you thought, “Yeah, if nothing else, I can do that

Your poor, dear, sweet great aunt would be absolutely mortified to know that her suggestion had led to you being in quite possibly the most scandalous position of your life in the private quarters of one High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi—in between not one but two high-ranking officers of the GAR.

For your part, however, you couldn’t be more thrilled.

Lying flat on your stomach, completely naked on the edge of the bed, you’re propped up on your elbows, hips raised by several pillows that arch your back just so. Obi-Wan is right behind you, his eagerness and impatience displayed by the tight grip he has on your thigh, and the way you can practically feel his eyes burning into you, staring down at the place where he knows if he were to lower his head slightly, he could be tasting you right now.

You both make a lovely tableau, but the only person with any actual ability to unpause this frozen moment—and who seems to be enjoying the anticipation that he draws out from both of you so easily by deliberately withholding that permission—is standing directly in front of you.

It’s one very calm, almost to the point of stoicism if you didn’t know any better, Marshall Commander Cody, whose only dead giveaway is the slight twitch of amusement that persists to pull up his lips as his eyes fall to you, hearing the uncertain question in your voice as you shift around on your elbows. You suddenly wish you hadn’t spoken and tainted the sanctity of this stillness. It would make you laugh really, if he wasn’t looking at you with such an intense focus, as if you’re caught in the centre of his orbit and you’re all he would like to look at. The three of you had gone over so much in negotiations and yet this, such a simple thing, had been overlooked.

“Yes?” he prompts, linking his hands behind his back in an effortless show of authority, looming over you and making your stomach twist just a little more as you glance down at the floor. “What is it, lovely?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you blurt out, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “My plan was to, well, wing it, but I…” You helplessly wave a hand, unable to look directly at his length protruding expectantly just beyond your reach. If you leaned forward, your lips would brush against him.

The thought makes your cheeks burn. “Force,” you scold yourself sternly. “Get it together. This isn’t middle school.”

This had never been a thing your previous partners had been brave enough to ask you for, and you, if you were honest, didn’t care enough to push, considering how useless they all had been when trying, or maybe the proper term was not trying, to get you off. You had decided that when, if ever, the time came, you would give it your best shot and let experience and four years worth of college improv classes be the best teachers. Now though, confronted with the reality of not one, but two men intently watching your every move, the weight of encroaching failure threatens to crush you, making you feel more than certain that this isn’t just something you can improvise and make look like a convincing effort.

You let your elbows drop, and you're met with the momentary solace of your heated cheek pressing against cool bed covers, hiding your embarrassment from their intense gazes.

“I just don’t want to disappoint,” you conclude, your voice coming out slightly muffled and more than a little bit sheepish against the sheets.

If you weren’t so intent upon imagining a hole opening up in the ground that you could vanish into, you would have had to bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your laughter. This could be funny. This could be hilarious, considering how thoroughly and thoughtfully details had been discussed and arranged before they even entertained the idea of getting you undressed. It had been going so well, everything falling into place like pieces of a puzzle, and yet, here you are, ruining the moment with your lack of knowledge and embarrassing amount of inexperience.

“Dear one...” Obi-Wan’s voice is warm and smooth as honey as his lips brush against your shoulder and his hand snakes beneath you gently to guide up your chin. “Is this something that you want to do?”

Bless him. Bless both of them, really. You know that they would never, ever try to push you to do something—even as trivial or widely accepted as this—if you weren’t comfortable with it, and it’s that knowledge that allows you to quickly nod your head.

“I do,” you reassure quickly, adding a small, nervous laugh. “I just don’t know how,” you say with a shrug.

“That’s okay.” His assurance is whisper soft, almost seeming to be carried by a physical brush against your skin that settles and soothes you despite your anxiety. He leans forward to kiss your cheek. “We all have to start somewhere.”

He looks up, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he meets Cody’s gaze, and continues to speak. “And I happen to consider myself an expert in getting Cody off. So, I propose that I am perfectly suited to teaching you the art of it.”

This causes Cody to roll his eyes in fond exasperation, but they soften around the corners when he hears your small laugh, your shoulders beginning to drop away from where they’ve been hunched up towards your ears as the discomfort and embarrassment in your posture seems to ebb.

“May I, sir?” Obi-Wan asks, looking up at Cody with those big blues that make it hard to deny him on even the best of days, and he sighs, nodding in acquiescence.

“I’d start with your lips,” Obi-Wan suggests, his voice a soft rumble as his own lips dance along the exposed skin of your neck, always gentle and warm with only the barest hint of teeth—a stipulation of Cody’s when negotiations had begun.

The man hid his possessive streak behind a neutral, composed mask. But when he had stated with firm decisiveness that he was to be the only one permitted to leave marks along your visible skin, well, you had had to press your thighs together quite tightly to stop yourself from reacting too extremely.

“Just explore, and I promise that, short of biting him, there’s nothing you could do that won’t lead you to finding something he’ll enjoy as long as you can pick up his cues.”

You don’t see the smirk that overtakes his features as he leans forward, but you do witness the results. Later, you’ll learn that that smirk means mischief, maybe even trouble and a guarantee that it’s intended to put Cody on edge, which it always does. But right now, you watch, intrigued and maybe even a little bit scandalized as he unabashedly reaches forward, giving Cody’s balls a generous squeeze before retreating and listening to the commander's accompanying gasp.

“Lucky for you,” he continues, unfazed except for the telltale tilt of his lips that indicates he’s quite pleased with himself, “Cody’s cues are quite easy to read if one takes the time to listen.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody murmurs, a low warning edge that seems to be very familiar to the other man creeping into his voice.

The Jedi has the decency to duck his head. “Sorry, sir,” he demurs, though to your ears he doesn’t sound apologetic at all as his lips return to your shoulder.

From the small scoff Cody makes in the back of his throat, he’s disinclined to believe him either.

You don’t give him long to waver on that though. Emboldened by the lips that brush along your skin and Obi-Wan’s encouragement, you lean forward, readjusting yourself on your elbows.

You close your eyes and allow your lips to tentatively explore, kissing up the length of him as if it were any other part of his body, slow and delicate. A controlled, shivering breath from above you indicates that your efforts are being appreciated, and you reach out a hand, trailing it along the edge of the bed until it reaches the broad muscle of his thigh, fingers skimming along it lightly until they come to rest, latching on and feeling it flex and tense beneath them.

“Oh.” A quiet groan greets your ears as your tongue lightly swirls over his balls, a hand, soft and gentle, caressing over your hair. It doesn’t push; it doesn’t insistently tangle to nudge you forward. Cody just strokes, feeling the soft strands beneath the pads of his fingers as he watches, intrigue and pleasure dancing within his brown depths.

“Open your eyes,” Obi-Wan whispers, his voice suddenly very close to your ear which sends a shiver through you as your tongue glides up towards Cody’s glistening tip. “Look at what you’re doing to him already.”

You curiously flutter your eyes open, only to watch his carefully masked expression of control fracture when you take him between your lips, giving the head a small, teasing suck before pulling back. His eyes widen fractionally, and his lips part in a silent “oh.”

“Open your mouth,” Obi-Wan instructs, his hands drawing a trail of heat that tingles down your sides as they traverse their way towards your hips. “Nice and wide. Take him slowly.”

You do, leaning forward and capturing Cody between your lips once more, carefully easing your mouth over him, the deep sigh falling from his lips letting you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathes, and it’s a little embarrassing how that one word so softly spoken and the warm timbre of his voice cause you to blush. “Can you tighten these up a little?” His lips again brush against your cheek, and you have to wonder if Cody is still able to feel a muted sensation because his own breath stumbles. You hollow out your cheeks, enveloping Cody in your warm, wet heat. He groans long and low, and Obi-Wan smiles, his lips against your neck.

You don’t need him to tell you what to do now. Slowly, you begin to move your head, lavishing every inch your mouth can reach with attention as you suck, feeling how heavy he sits against your tongue.

It’s Obi-Wan who stifles a low noise now, the sound appreciative, and you swear you can feel his hips minutely buck, the whisper of a firm erection pressing against your ass.

“Isn’t she a sight, Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, his chin resting against your shoulder as he watches, enjoying the view. His lips tease against the shell of your ear as he leans in to whisper, “You’re all stuffed full of him, dearest, and you’re doing beautifully.”

“She is,” Cody hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering as he is torn between wanting to enjoy how warm, tight, and wet you feel around him and wanting to watch your efforts as you work.

The praise sends a heavy wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering beneath their combined attention. You respond by letting out a soft hum around Cody, pulling back to flutter your tongue around his cockhead before taking him fully back into your mouth. Each sensation pulls something new—a soft, surprised curse, a tightening of his hand clenching into a fist at his side, and breath with control that you can tell is becoming harder and harder to maintain accompanied by a whispered, “good girl,” causing your eyes to widen in response.

“She’s figuring it out on her own, love,” he murmurs, and you’re so distracted by the feeling of running your tongue along his underside and feeling how his other hand instinctively tightens in your hair to stop his hips from twitching forward that it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you. “You have your own task, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says with far too much enthusiasm. You can practically hear the smile in his voice accompanied by the soft shifting of him moving down the bed.

Your lips tighten around Cody as you feel Obi-Wan, the slight tickle of his beard, and his lips, followed by his tongue, running along your lower spine, causing your eyes to widen. It’s a testament to Cody’s impeccable sense of control that he remains still, allowing you to adjust to Obi-Wan’s teasing explorations before giving your hair a light, prompting tug.

“You aren’t allowed to come until I explicitly give you permission to,” he says, his voice low and holding the slight threat, the promise of consequences to come if you were to disobey. “Is that understood?”

It takes you a moment—eyes widening with distraction as Obi-Wan’s tongue teases the sensitive juncture of your inner thigh—but slowly, you raise your hand, lightly tapping against the edge of the mattress, the pre-discussed signal for consent if you were in a position where you were unable to speak.

“Good girl,” Cody says in a pleased rumble, his fingers dipping to trace along your lips still wrapped around his cock, eyes closing as he feels himself enclosed in your mouth. “Gods,” he breathes, giving his hips a testing nudge forward. “Such a pretty mouth.”

He tilts his head, looking off behind you. “So quiet like this,” he observes, punctuating his words with another short thrust. “Let’s see if Obi-Wan can change that, hm?”

He doesn’t give you time to wonder at the meaning of his words before a warm, wet tongue is easing between your lower lips, swirling delicately over your entrance before gliding towards your clit. The flat of the muscle slowly presses against it, causing your hips to buck and a surprised whimper to fall from the lips still wrapped around Cody’s cock. The reverberation of sound causes him to let out his own low groan, his hand in your hair now beginning to guide you forward.

Cody lets out a low chuckle, even as his fingers grasp firmly on your hair, causing a tingling, yet strangely not unpleasant sensation at the back of your head as he begins to fuck your mouth in ernest. You can tell he’s holding back, only pushing past what is comfortable but never going too far, letting your expressions dictate the force of his thrusts, for which you are grateful.

“Do that again, Obi-Wan,” Cody orders, tugging at your hair until only the head of his cock still sits between your lips and you’re looking up at him with wide eyes. He watches you languidly swirl your tongue around the tip as he continues. “I want to see the look on your face when he plays with your clit.”

Obi-Wan obliges—eagerly, if his hands latching onto and spreading your thighs further apart are any indication. His tongue flutters over the small bud, causing your mouth to fall open in a whine, your eyes going wide as his lips begin to suckle and he lets out a soft hum that makes your hips twitch.

Several things happen in quick succession.

Cody, taking advantage of your parted lips and opened mouth slowly guides you back down, giving you enough time to inhale through your nose in preparation. Obi-Wan, his hands digging into your thighs, sweeps his tongue over your clit one last time, relishing in the soft moan he pulls from you before gliding to your entrance, letting out his own pleased sound as he circles around your slit, gathering your arousal on his tongue before his eyes flutter and he presses it inside.

“Mmmm.” You’re unable to stop the moan that is pulled from your lips as you’re drawn closer towards Cody’s pelvis, your nose lightly pressing against the mound of soft hair you discover there. Obi-Wan’s tongue continues to explore, lightly curling within its confines until he’s brushing up against a spot that is completely maddening, causing you to arch your back and buck your hips against his face despite the grip he has on your thighs. Cody, watching the way your cheeks flush as he looks down at you, begins to retreat, only to watch with a pleasured intensity as in a slow, deep thrust he pushes back into your mouth again, the noise of satisfaction rumbling through him sending sparks straight between your legs.

And then, just when you think there’s nothing more they could do—when you are only able to focus on Cody’s hand in your hair, your jaw slack as he lets himself use your mouth for his pleasure, with Obi-Wan’s tongue pressing into you in slow, deep, and rhythmic strokes that have you actually mewling—there’s more.

Something happens that you can’t describe as a specific sensation as much as it is a feeling. It’s warm, pulsing in waves directed squarely at your clit that up until this moment has been dormant with neglect, now throbbing with a warm, molten heat that builds and builds and builds and—oh, fuck! Is he using the Force?

He gives a low sound that perhaps could be a chuckle as you feel his lips curl upwards against you in a smile as he continues to show you the skills of his tongue. It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts even as the only things that fall from your lips are muffled, cut off whimpers. In response, as if to say, “Yes, darling, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” what feels like a ball of slow, building energy rolls across the nub, fluttering and growing until your clit is surrounded by his pulsing, heated desire.

You can’t help it. You can’t help the way Cody’s cock slips from your mouth and your head throws back and you’re whining, actually whining—not in the soft, needy way but in the high-pitched, desperate, in the throes of something you couldn’t stop even if you dug your heels into the ground and tried with all your might kind of way. It’s embarrassing the way he has so effortlessly, easily, and thoroughly made you come undone, not that you could remotely bring yourself to care as it hits you.

Down come your elbows, your head unable to remain balanced, falling with a soft sound against the mattress as your orgasm seems to wash through you like a wave, traveling through the tips of your tightly curled toes to your tensing and flexing thigh muscles beneath Obi-Wan’s fingers all the way up your back, arching and squirming, resulting in sounds that fall from your lips that you would not have predicted you were capable of making.

And then it fades, slow and gentle and leaving a flush, a tingling heat against your skin as you, almost by some invisible force, are guided to anchor yourself within your breath. Someone, without words, gently coaxing it to settle and slow as you look up, dimly aware of the sweat that’s gathered at the base of your scalp.

And then you realize that you’re looking up directly into the face of Cody, who, despite his cheeks being flushed from the talents of your mouth, appears perfectly calm, composed, and controlled with his hands laced behind his back and oh, the scar that curls around his eye only highlights the glimmer of his disappointment as he contemplatively looks down at you, his gaze heavy and considering. Before he even raises a displeased eyebrow, before he even speaks, you’re hit with the weight of having done something that you were explicitly told not to do.

“Hm,” he muses, reaching down and running his fingers through your hair in a surprisingly gentle stroke that ends in an even more surprisingly sharp tug as he commands your gaze skyward, causing a soft “mm” of pleasure-pain to fall from your parted lips. When he next speaks, his voice is too measured, too conversational, sending alarm bells streaking through your mind, one after the other like passing sirens on the street, making your heart pick up in speed with the euphoric, enticingly dangerous blend of wanting to bow your head in apologetic submission or cower away and flee from the ire of his disapproval.

“And here I was thinking you were sweet and obedient.”

And with those words, you come to the understanding that you are so irrevocably fucked, and despite the anxiety that twinges in your stomach that always accompanies a misstep, having to bite down on your instinctive guilt of disappointing others, you find, for perhaps the first time, that you couldn’t be more delighted.

#Cody x obi wan x reader #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #codywan x reader #codywan #Star Wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #star wars smut #The clone wars #tcw #sw tcw #sw tcw fanfic #Ireadwithmyears masterlist #Cody x obi wan Kenobi x reader #Ireadwithmyears fics

39 notes · View notes

the-drake-owl-heir · 2 months ago

Text

[Tim exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a cold, disdainful smile as he observed Talon’s latest failure. Once again, it had faltered in completing its assignment. The target was Mr. Scott Brandon, a self-righteous politician who dared to poke his nose into the Court of Owls’ affairs, claiming he would "clean Gotham’s underbelly." Pathetic. He truly thought he could disrespect the Court. How foolish, Tim hated self-righteous fools. The Court had been explicit in their orders: Brandon’s death was to be a spectacle—a gruesome, messy statement to anyone foolish enough to challenge their authority. Tim had entrusted the task to his Talon, but the broken thing had its… quirks. Not that Tim minded. He relished these kills far more than the Talon ever could.]

[Tim had orchestrated the hunt meticulously. He’d sent the Talon to stalk Brandon, to shadow him through the dim, rain-soaked streets of Gotham, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when that moment came, Tim had watched with dark amusement as the Talon pounced, its blade glinting in the faint light. Brandon’s wide-eyed terror, his desperate struggles, his futile cries for help—it was all so delicious. Tim had made sure there were no witnesses, no prying eyes or ears to interfere. The stage was set, and he was the director.]

[As Brandon scrambled to escape, Tim allowed himself a small, cruel indulgence. He let the man run, let him believe, even for a moment, that he might survive. The chase was brief, of course—Brandon was no match for the predator stalking him—but the anticipation, the fear, the inevitable collapse of hope… it made the kill so much sweeter. Tim hummed a soft, tuneless melody as he closed in, savoring every broken plea, every scream that tore from Brandon’s throat. The sound of bones snapping, flesh tearing—it was a symphony to his ears. His Talon, however, seemed less appreciative. It stood to the side, trembling, its hands clamped over its ears as if it could block out the horror. Tim noted its weakness with a flicker of irritation. He’d have to address that later. For now, he was too engrossed in his work to care.]

[The blood was a nuisance, though. It splattered across his tailored suit and polished loafers, a messy reminder of the task at hand. Tim clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. Cleaning up would be tedious, but it was a small price to pay for the pleasure he derived from this. He was about to deliver the final blow when an unexpected sound gave him pause. His Talon was sobbing—quiet, broken whimpers that grated on Tim’s nerves. He turned his head, his expression both curious and cold as he regarded the creature. Brandon, barely clinging to life, twitched weakly in his grasp. The man’s struggles were fading, his breaths shallow and ragged. Tim could tolerate screams, pleas, even tears—but sobbing? It was repulsive. Undignified. A stain on the otherwise perfect tableau of violence.]

[With a sigh, Tim ended Brandon’s suffering with a swift, merciless motion. The message had been delivered, albeit with an slight interruption. He straightened, brushing a speck of blood from his sleeve, and cast a final,glance at his Talon. Its weakness would not go unaddressed. For now, though, Tim allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The Court’s will had been done, and he had enjoyed every moment of it.]

Come Talon, we're done here.

#tim drake #dc rp #tim drake rp #owl tim drake #dc rp blog #dcu rp

12 notes · View notes

ficandkaboodle · 2 months ago

Text

Okay so the other day I was sorta kinda infodumping New Orleanian Mardi Gras to my poor victim, @circle--of--confusion, particularly how parades work. And early on, I realized that besides the potential debauchery (a lot of which I’d argue is honestly kind of exaggerated), Ghost would probably love Carnival Season for a multitude of reasons.

Particularly, if they get to be royalty for certain parades. So here I present

Ghost Does Mardi Gras

Which is honestly just me assigning parades to the Papas, Sister, and Psaltarian and also what extra gimmicks I think they’d enjoy being a part of. For funsies. Starting with…

The Breakdown, Because No, It’s Not About Flashing Tits:

First off, here’s the most basic breakdown I can give to help better understand the gist:

Yes, I know Mardi Gras is catholic in its roots. However, it’s become hugely secular since, and anyone can not only participate, but even play a big role. Therefore I think everyone involved could potentially have a blast.

Mardi Gras isn’t a one-and-done thing: It starts Twelfth Night (January 6th) and goes on until THE Mardi Gras day (or Shrove/Pancake Tuesday). How long the season is depends on when Easter is.

Therefore, most parade dates aren’t exactly set, though there ARE some general rules for some parades (ex: Bacchus always rolls the Sunday before Mardi Gras).

Parades are hosted/presented by organizations referred to as krewes. Hence why you may hear a parade referred to as “the Krewe of (Insert Name)”. Krewes typically have a registration fee and what that is can depend on the group. Many have a sort of theme that goes along with their name that is visible on mainstay floats. Otherwise, the theme a Krewe decorates for will change every year for their parade date.

There are different kinds of parades besides the ones your probably thinking about, including walking parades such as Chewbacchus and Krewe du Vieux. Krewe de Joan D’Arc, the very first parade of Carnival, is a walking krewe. They tend to have fewer jumbo floats and may not always have throws, but they’re still extremely fun to watch because most of the participants are able to walk around and perhaps interact.

You can catch more than just beads at a parade. Besides certain beads you can only catch at this parade or that, some krewes have a reputation for what they throw that you can only catch at their parades. These include: Coconuts at Zulu (perhaps the most well-known); shoes at Muses; Alla does genie lamps; etc. You can also catch socks, cheap toys, snacks, cups, novelty panties, glass bead necklaces, and so on. If you’re a small, cute kid, the best shit will likely go to you. I’m not bitter.

Tiddy-flashing mostly just occurs on Bourbon Street and it’s always tourists anyway. Generally speaking, most parades are family events so even if there’s drinking, flashing isn’t approved of. So get that idea out of your head right now, why’re you showing your goods for a cheap set of beads you can buy overpriced in the French Quarters, huh?

Parades aren’t just in New Orleans proper; there’s also parades in the cities right around us. None of the Papas or anybody is going to be assigned to any of those unfortunately because I’m not familiar enough with them to slap em with Krewe of Poseidon or anything, but I just think it’s important all the same to know NO isn’t the one and only hub. (Hell, we’re not even the OG.)

In addition to local marching bands, local dance schools, a few local music groups, and so on, parade entertainment can also be fun little groups such as the Beyoncé-themed Beyjorettes, the Rolling Elvi (Elvis impersonators on scooters), and more. We will get into more.

Most relevant to the reason I wanted to do this: For the most part, krewes have royalty. They will generally have a king, a queen, and maybe some pages or a prince and princess. They can either be selected by legacy, by lottery, or whatever other means the krewe chooses. They are coronated at events called tableaus, and tend to wear extravagant clothing they might also wear on their respective floats. And when I say extravagant, I mean:

To give a gist. They can get far more elaborate than these.

There’s probably other stuff I’m forgetting but I’ll gladly answer whatever questions I can otherwise. (Or, you know, you can Google it. But go to the krewe’s website if it’s about a particular group, I don’t trust Google AI.)

Okay, so now that that’s established, let’s go!

(And if you ever say “the Mardi Gras” like “let’s go to the Mardi Gras”, I will break a bottle and make a shiv 💜💛💚)

#the band ghost #Mardi Gras stuffs #I’m probably just gonna do the main Papas in one post and the other three bozos in another

8 notes · View notes

khajiit-journal · 3 months ago

Text

Loredas, Morning Star 18, 2025

🗓️ | Saturday, January 18, 2025 🌦️ | cold & clear 🌙 | waning gibbous 🎊 | no holiday

— ☆ —

Dreams went nyoom byebye upon waking...

— ☆ —

Today was nice! I got a new dragon, my biggest one yet, an actual proper statue, that is now serving as a dragon-grotesque to protect the entire household. I hope he can help with the new spirit situation, which I did give him the rundown after I bought him. He sits on my front porch under the roof, as he was said to need to not be in direct sunlight (will fade his colors by sun bleaching) but he's otherwise weather resistant.

Yesterday I also bought a deck off someone on Tumblr, AI art unfortunately which is why said deck was being rehomed, but I'm a deck rehomer at heart, and I'll give them a loving home despite the unfortunateness of their art. Now I just have to wait for the seller to ship them and for them to arrive! I am patient, though.

One of my QPPs commissioned me today, my first ever commission! I'm so happy and thankful, he bought the Grand Tableau which means it's gonna take a hot minute and I'll finish it tomorrow for sure. He's not on Tumblr so I can't post it here, which runs the risk of mentioning it coming off as "You're lying... to make your shop seem busy..." but maybe that's just me worrying ceaselessly lol? But I'm wanting to talk about how I got my first proper commission! Thank you to my QPP everyone say "Thank you Khajiit's QPP"!

It's kinda funny that I experimented with making a Pinterest board/section spell jar for a money bowl, and then same day he paid me for a commission. It worked quick and that's just kinda funny to me! I always find it funny when things fucking nyoom. I deeply appreciate you digital money bowl! Good job digital money bowl! Thank you for my gods and saints and heroes that helped with said digital money bowl! I'll keep up the money bowl and we'll see if it brings in anything else.

I also made Unown runes, as well as Daedric and Dovahzul runes. None are currently available for readings, because the Unown runes I need to learn, and the latter two don't even have assigned meanings yet. I made them a bit impulsively but happily, y'know?

Today was a really good day, I'm happy. I'm gonna work on that Grand Tableau until I go to bed, I'm so excited to do it.

#date: 01.18.25 #includes: spell chatter #includes: cartomancy and etc

2 notes · View notes

bhumi1066 · 4 days ago

Text

Data Science Course Duration and Fees in India (2025): A Comprehensive Guide by Code with TLS

In 2025, data science remains one of the most dynamic and sought-after career fields. As organizations continue to prioritize data-driven strategies, the demand for proficient data professionals is soaring across industries. For students and working professionals alike, understanding the Data Science Course Duration and Fees in India is crucial to making informed educational choices.

In this guide brought to you by Code with TLS, we explore the different types of data science courses, their timeframes, associated costs, and what you should consider before enrolling.

A Deep Dive into Data Science Course Duration and Fees in India

When selecting a data science course, two critical factors—course duration and course fees—must be considered carefully. Here’s a detailed overview:

1. Data Science Course Duration in India

The timeline for completing a data science course varies based on the program’s intensity and depth. Here’s how the options break down:

Short-Term Courses (1–3 months): Perfect for professionals aiming to quickly enhance their skills. These programs typically cover essentials such as Python programming, basic statistics, and an introduction to machine learning.

Mid-Term Courses (4–6 months): These programs offer a more extensive curriculum, including Python, R programming, SQL databases, data visualization tools, and core machine learning concepts. Code with TLS offers a structured 4-month course specifically tailored for both beginners and intermediate learners.

Long-Term Programs (8–12 months and beyond): These are usually postgraduate diplomas or full-time master’s degrees, incorporating advanced modules in artificial intelligence (AI), deep learning, internships, and capstone projects.

At Code with TLS, our 4-month online data science course includes over 40 detailed video sessions, live mentorship, and practical assignments to ensure industry readiness.

2. Data Science Course Fees in India

Course fees can vary significantly depending on the type of program, learning mode (online or offline), and whether it includes certifications or placement assistance. Here's a general idea:

Online Courses: ₹40,000 – ₹2,00,000

Offline Bootcamps: ₹1,00,000 – ₹3,00,000

Postgraduate Diplomas: ₹98,000 – ₹2,75,000

Code with TLS offers budget-friendly online programs, ensuring transparency with no hidden costs and flexible payment options.

3. Eligibility Requirements and Fee Structure

While most courses expect candidates to hold a bachelor's degree, a strong foundation in mathematics, basic programming, or statistics can enhance your learning experience. Code with TLS provides easy EMI plans to make course enrollment accessible for students and working professionals alike.

Why Data Science is a Top Career Choice

Data science plays a vital role in helping organizations make sense of complex datasets to drive strategic decisions. Industries such as healthcare, finance, retail, and IT heavily rely on data science expertise. Given the increasing dependency on data, the career prospects in this domain are not just lucrative but also future-proof.

What Makes Code with TLS Unique?

At Code with TLS, we prioritize delivering an efficient and effective learning experience. Our 4-month fast-track course equips you with critical technical skills, practical project exposure, and expert mentorship, preparing you for real-world challenges.

Key Features of Code with TLS Data Science Course:

Duration: 4 months (with flexible pacing options)

Modules Covered: Python, R, SQL, Tableau, Machine Learning

Learning Format: 40+ curated video lectures, hands-on assignments, and live sessions

Certification: Industry-recognized certificate on course completion

Course Level: Advanced-level training designed for both novices and professionals

Course Structure:

Month 1: Fundamentals of Python and an Introduction to Data Science

Month 2: Exploratory Data Analysis and Data Visualization

Month 3: Basics of Machine Learning and Model Building

Month 4: Final Capstone Project and Deployment Strategies

Data Science Course Fees Comparison in India

A wide range of course options exists across India, each priced according to its depth and delivery mode:

University Degrees (Full-time): ₹3,00,000 – ₹7,00,000

Online Master’s Programs: ₹1,20,000 – ₹2,60,000

Offline Master’s Programs: ₹2,00,000 – ₹4,00,000

Short-Term Certifications and Bootcamps: ₹40,000 – ₹1,50,000

Among these, Code with TLS stands out for offering an affordable, job-oriented training experience without compromising on quality.

Check our detailed guide for the Best Data Science Courses in Delhi!

Career Paths After a Data Science Course

Completing a data science course opens doors to several high-growth career options:

Data Scientist

Data Analyst

Machine Learning Engineer

Business Intelligence Analyst

Data Engineer

Entry-level salaries typically start around ₹5–7 LPA, and experienced professionals often earn ₹15 LPA or more, depending on expertise and location.

Conclusion

Selecting the right Data Science Course Duration and Fees is key to shaping your future career in this exciting domain. Whether you prefer a short certification program or a detailed diploma course, the Indian education landscape offers a wide range of options to suit your needs and budget.

Code with TLS offers a practical, affordable, and comprehensive data science training program designed to get you job-ready faster. With our expert mentors, project-based curriculum, and industry-recognized certifications, you're all set to embark on a successful data science career.

Enroll today with Code with TLS and begin your journey towards becoming a data science professional!

#Data Science Course Duration and Fees

0 notes