#its not great polish but now i can say i have it

[diamonddaze01]

Hi, Tara! could you do prompt 57 “will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!” w/ Jeonghan?

i absolutely love your writing and I can't wait to see more of yours jeonghan's fics (since i'm surrended by him

on the record

pairing: jeonghan x reader | wc: 1.3k prompt: "will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you!" au: f1 au | warnings: none a/n: hello anon! thank you for the kind words! // if any of y'all can guess my f1 team i'll kiss u

The paddock was alive with electric energy, a symphony of celebration that roared louder than the engines had earlier in the night. Ferrari red bled into every corner of the circuit, vibrant under the floodlights that cut through the haze of champagne mist. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt rubber and victory, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the trophy that gleamed like a beacon in the jubilant crowd.

At the center of it all stood Yoon Jeonghan, illuminated by the relentless flashes of cameras. His race suit clung to his frame, damp with champagne and sweat, the prancing horse emblem on his chest catching the light like a polished gem. The gold World Drivers' Championship cap perched on his head tilted slightly, its brim glistening from the spray of celebration. His blonde hair, damp and tousled, framed a face that looked just as smug as it did radiant—victory personified.

This was the culmination of years of grit and audacity, the final word against those who’d called him “reckless,” “overrated,” and “all charm, no skill.” Yoon Jeonghan —Ferrari’s golden boy, the prince of the paddock—had silenced them all. His first World Drivers’ Championship was his, claimed in the most dramatic fashion, as if written to match the flair he carried with him like a second skin.

The Ferrari garage was a storm of elation, its occupants lost in a frenzy of cheers and embraces. Mechanics pounded one another on the back, their red uniforms soaked with champagne, while engineers grinned ear to ear as though they'd rewritten history. The sharp pop of another champagne bottle sent a fine spray across the crowd, sparkling like liquid gold under the lights.

But amidst the chaos, Jeonghan’s sharp gaze roamed. Even as shouts of congratulations rang out and microphones were thrust toward him, something inside him remained unsettled. This wasn’t enough. Not yet. His sharp eyes scanned the paddock for one specific face – he knew you were here. You always were.

Then, he spotted you.

You stood at the periphery of the chaos, notepad in hand, observing with the same clinical detachment you had all season. You, the reporter who had made a career out of scrutinizing him. Your articles were infamous—meticulously written takedowns of his driving style, his attitude, his every perceived misstep. Jeonghan had read every single one, memorized the jabs and barbs, and filed them away as fuel.

Now, you were watching him, though you stayed just out of the fray, notebook clutched to your chest as if it could shield you from the weight of his gaze. The pen you tapped against its surface betrayed a rhythm too steady to be casual, a subtle tick of nerves that you otherwise wore well.

“Ah,” Jeonghan murmured to himself, a grin tugging at his lips. “There you are.”

Weaving through the crowd, he made a beeline toward you. You noticed him too late, your expression faltering for the briefest second before settling into its usual detached professionalism.

“Congratulations,” you said when he stopped in front of you, your voice steady, measured. “Ferrari must be thrilled to finally have a champion again. How does it feel to carry that weight on your shoulders?”

Jeonghan chuckled, brushing a hand through his champagne-soaked hair. “Feels great. Almost as great as proving you wrong every single weekend.”

Your pen paused mid-note, your eyebrow arching. “I see winning hasn’t done anything for your humility.”

“Why would it? Humility didn’t get me here, sweetheart.” He leaned against the barricade beside you, his medal glinting under the lights, the smirk on his lips deepening.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead focusing on the notes in front of you. “Sure, but let’s not forget that Red Bull still has the Constructors' Championship. So, really, Ferrari’s only halfway there.”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I’m just pointing out the facts,” you said, a nonchalant shrug accompanying your words. “One trophy doesn’t make you untouchable, no matter how smug you look in red.”

His laugh shifted, softer this time, almost fond. He opened his mouth to respond, but his tone wasn’t its usual sharpness. “I wanted to say—”

“What? That winning feels better than your PR team promised?” you interrupted, scribbling a quick note. “Or that the upgrades finally worked for you in—”

“Will you just shut up for a moment so I can say something nice to you?” Jeonghan interrupted, his voice cutting through the background noise like a knife.

Your pen stilled, your grip tightening on the notepad. The sharpness in his voice startled you, not because it was harsh, but because it was so different from his usual cocky bravado. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, straightening up, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “For once, put the pen down, stop overanalyzing, and let me talk.”

The notepad felt suddenly heavy in your hands. Something in his expression—serious but still unbearably smug—compelled you to comply. You lowered it, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. “Well?” you asked, sharper than you intended. “Say whatever it is you need to say and get back to basking in your glory.”

He sighed dramatically, as if you were the one making this difficult, but the glint in his eye softened. “You know, I spent most of this season imagining what I’d say to you when I finally won.”

“‘Congratulations’ would’ve been fine.”

“Too simple,” he said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t cover it.”

Your patience thinned. “So what? Are you here to gloat or—”

“I wanted to thank you,” he said finally, the teasing edge falling from his voice.

The words hung in the air, and for once, you were at a loss for a sharp retort. “Thank me? For what?”

“For being my biggest critic,” he said, nodding toward the Ferrari garage, where the celebrations were still in full swing. “Every time I read one of your articles calling me reckless or undeserving, it pissed me off just enough to push harder. Every jab, every doubt—you made me better.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to feel insulted or impressed. The sincerity in his voice was disarming, his usual bravado giving way to something real.

“I wasn’t trying to help you,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I was just doing my job.”

“And you’re great at it,” Jeonghan admitted, leaning in slightly. “Even if you’re a massive pain in my ass.”

Your face warmed, and you looked away, focusing on a distant point in the paddock. “Well, congratulations, Jeonghan. Don’t expect me to go easy on you next season.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his grin sliding back into place. “But don’t think you’re off the hook. You owe me one.”

“One what?”

“A nice article,” he said, his voice dropping as he leaned closer. “Something to make up for all the times you called me a liability in red.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the heat of his gaze, the proximity, the champagne lingering on his skin, left you momentarily speechless.

“Think you can manage that?” he teased, tilting his head.

You forced yourself to smirk, though your heart was racing. “We’ll see. Don’t hold your breath.”

He chuckled, stepping back, but his parting words were as infuriating as ever. “Make it good, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want to disappoint Ferrari’s champion.”

Before you could come up with a response, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with your notepad, your heartbeat louder than the celebrations around you, and a single, infuriating thought: Yoon Jeonghan had won again.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[thepresidentstolemyfuckingsafe]

Y'all can catch these peep-brand nail polish bedazzled hands

[bitchfitch]

I've started playing Potion Permit, and so far it's one of my favorite games I've messed around with, but the most big brained move the devs made was giving you a dog on day 1, and then making that dog able to track NPCs and lead you directly to them no matter where they are in the town.

[vogelmeister]

anyways i am feeling kinda brave today so im gonna share a potentially unpopular taylor swift hot take. when i was talking to my friend yesterday about ttpd i realised that i kinda have a similar problem with the anthology as i do with evermore.

like don't get me wrong, both have absolute gems (willow, tolerate it, long story short, gold rush and NBNC from evermore are great and i love the albatross, so high school, the prophecy black dog, manuscript etc) but i think both collections (bc anthology is not an album) suffer because they came out connected to a much superior more cohesive work, and both almost feel like rejects from the body of work that proceeded it.

[todayisafridaynight]

me and my sister went to the mall today and we ran into hot topic so fucking fast it was unbelievable. me and my sister are literal opposites when it comes to fashion. she picked pink, pastel shit like she was trying to be all uwu kawaii meanwhile im just standing here with my arms full of emo and goth shit, i legit felt like daigo and masato with all this emo drip i had walked out with. (p.s. they should put yakuza stuff in hot topic if they havent already because i have yet to have any yakuza related things in my room </3 also hot topic is like the only store i will shop at)

im so sorry to say these words to you but reading this reminded me of my immortal

[boneblushed]

Ignorance by infatuation

synopsis A detective behaves lewdly with you. Aaron Hotchner gets uncharacteristically jealous.

wc 1.7k

a/n omg my first Hotch fic ever hehe 🤭 feedback and love always appreciated, still trying to find my Crim Minds voice!

It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, the air sultry and verdant, rain soaked leaves underfoot. 

Aaron Hotchner frowns. Petrichor and dew mean evidence awash. He pauses to squint up at the sky, muddy grey with isolated streaks of yellow dawn.

You’re acutely aware of Spencer’s eyes on you as you walk past Hotch, and give yourself a mild headache by focussing too hard on the commotion ahead. The rest of the team don’t seem to notice the tension between you and SSA Hotchner. Or perhaps they do, and the pair of you are just too stubborn to admit it.

It’s been lurking under the surface for a while now, this perplexing pull between you. Lingering glances, raised eyebrows, irises spooled with tendrils of static. A hand pressed against your back every time he scoots behind you, like an excuse. He doesn’t do that with Emily. None of the other agents. A frown that tends to yield when your gaze catches his.

Or hardens when someone acts a little lewder than is appropriate.

Like the other day, for example, when he’d overheard you on the phone with some deadbeat cop in the Dallas area. (He’s probably being unfair. He probably isn’t even a deadbeat. It’s just that anyone that flirts with the idea of your favour is going to be unworthy in comparison, even Agent Hotchner.)

The phone had rung in the middle of your exchange, and you’d answered it immediately, mouthing apologies in its place. Aaron Hotchner remembers the shine of gloss on your lips, the ways your fingers clasped the phone to your ear, gentle but firm. Remnants of peach coloured polish on your nails.

“Yes, this is she,” you’d answered, mouthing another apology to him. “How can I help you?”

You’d come into his office a few minutes prior to discuss something media strategy; Hotch didn’t have a mind for it, he much preferred giving you all the reins. He recognised how strange this was for a control freak as prolific as him. You were different though, he’d attest. It was a sentiment as dangerous, as non-platonic, as the feelings making home in his ribcage.

“Right,” you’d said, pulling your spiral-bound notebook out of your pocket. You’d wedged your phone between your ear and shoulder, slipping your pen out of your breast pocket and clicking it against it. Hotch felt unseasonably hot at such attention to your chest. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, trying to catch your gaze.

“Ah, I see, yes that does sound like our area of expertise,” you’d continued, and then a pause, an awkward, unwieldy laugh. Still beautiful. “No, yes, our is correct — I am in fact part of the team.” Another pause; this time, you’d rolled your eyes when your laugh spooled out of your pretty mouth. He didn’t recognise it. “I don’t know about that. Should we get back to the case at hand? Great.”

Hotchner’s eyebrows had lowered then, furrowing into an expression of concern, flailing interest. Not jealousy. He was pretty certain he knew all your laughs, the cadence of them, the syrupy timbre. This one was new. You sounded uncomfortable, as though something said over the phone had abraded you somehow. As his eyebrows had, his heart had sunk into his stomach. He remembers the strain of his forearm muscles against his clenched knuckles.

“Sure. Yes. As soon as I have all the details I’ll be able to distribute them. Great, yes, we’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Thank you. Goodbye.”

And that had been that. Hotch hadn’t had the stomach to ask after the details, especially not when you’d seemed so eager to put it behind you.

After ending the call, you’d shaken your head and proclaimed, “Don’t ask,” launching back into your spiel about media strategy like it hadn’t happened. Hotch wasn’t in the business of disagreeing with you; pressing things. Saying no. It wasn’t lost on him that he used the word liberally with everyone else he knew.

Back at the scene, Hotch stays a few steps behind the team. He knows that Spencer’s assessing eyes will see right through his faux contemplation; Hotchner knows, from the many frowns Spencer’s eidetic memory has learned, that the expression on his face will be recognised as distraction.

He needs to focus. He needs you near. He needs to keep his eye on the ball. He needs deadbeat detective far away from here.

As you and the BAU team near the crime scene, a rugged looking cop pulls away from his colleagues. He has eyes like treacle tart and a grin that borders on a smirk. A toothpick hangs from his mouth like something out of a Western.

“Detective Landon?” You say, extending a hand in acknowledgement. “Hello, we spoke on the phone yesterday morning.”

Detective Landon spits the toothpick out of his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he does so. But it isn’t the depth of his gaze that drops yours. You can feel someone else’s eyes searing holes through your skull.

“Well I’ll be,” he drawls, taking your hand and pressing it to his mouth. “Your voice doesn’t do you justice, darling.”

You resist the urge to make a face. It’s awful, unfortunate, but you’re far too used to this. Behind you, Derek raises his eyebrows, sharing an amused look with Emily beside him. Rossi looks exasperated. Spencer’s expression remains unchanged, though he does steal a glance at Hotchner. You smile, the way you always do, refusing to be thrown off by his candour.

“That’s a shame,” you reply breezily, turning to introduce your team. “Detective, this is SSA Morgan, SSA Prentiss, Dr Spencer Reid, and —”

“I’m the unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner,” Hotch interrupts, a menacing gravel to his timbre. He doesn’t shake the hand Detective Landon extends to him. The detective draws it back with a gauche bark of laughter, turning his attention to the rest of the BAU.

“My my,” he says, his drawl returning as his eyes meet Emily’s. “What do I gotta do to get in on this team of yours?”

“A formal education would be helpful,” Spencer supplies, squinting at him through his glasses.

Detective Landon turns to him then, raising his eyebrows. “Doctor Reid, was it?”

“It is, but no need to aim that high, buddy,” Morgan says then, stepping forward and patting him on the shoulder. Landon winces. “Now. You going to talk us through what you guys got so far or what?”

“Damn, y’all are a feisty bunch, huh?” He replies, pulling another toothpick out of his breast-pocket. He sends you a wink that makes Hotch’s insides turn, adding, “Don’t mind it on you, sweetheart, but maybe the rest of the BAU ‘oughta play nice.”

Aaron Hotchner would normally agree with his sentiment. He’s been a long time advocate of working alongside the local police in investigations; he recognises that collaboration is far more productive than condescension.

Unfortunately for him, this isn’t quite a normal situation.

Things to do with you and other men rarely are. An ugly green emotion eases his heart right into his throat.

“Or maybe,” Hotchner says crisply, his steely gaze pinning Landon to the spot, “I should have a chat with your Captain and take you off this case.”

Landon balks. “Sir —”

“You’re dismissed,” Hotchner interrupts, not wanting to hear it. He’s unaware of the amused look Emily and Morgan share behind him.

“You…” Landon trails off exasperatedly, shaking his head, “…you can’t dismiss me. This is my case.”

“Actually, it’s the BAU’s case now.” He turns to you expectantly. You think you catch his gaze soften as it falls over your face in paces. Trick of the light, you suppose. “Right?”

“Sure,” you say weakly.

“Right then. Rossi?” Hotch says then, turning to David Rossi autocratically. “Why don’t you and the team go ahead and assess the scene while I head to base and sort out a reassignment.”

“Not you, Reid,” he adds, keeping Spencer in place. “You can come to the station with me, get our replacement up to speed. Sound good?”

Morgan’s trying hard to hide his knowing grin, one side of his mouth upturned with mirth. Emily isn’t bothering to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on, her pretty features lit up with amusement. Detective Landon looks mortified. Your cheeks feel on fire.

“Alright,” Rossi says after pause, glancing between you and Hotchner. He’s been in the FBI for long enough now that he’s learnt to pick his battles.

He turns around and begins walking toward the crime scene, the three of you trailing behind him with less purposeful strides.

“Huh,” Derek says, faux-thoughtful. You’re wedged between him and Emily, much to your chagrin. “Wonder what that was about. Any ideas, SSA Prentiss?”

“Well, SSA Morgan,” Emily replies, her smile audible. “I’m afraid that our dear old unit chief has a bit of a soft spot.”

“A soft spot?” Derek echoes, letting out a dramatic gasp. “That’s dangerous in our line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Emily responds sagely.

“Oh shut up, you two,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t just about me. He made a pass on Emily too.”

Emily snorts, shaking her head exasperatedly. “Hey Rossi, you got a name for this phenomenon?”

“Oh yeah,” Rossi replies without hesitation, his gaze trained ahead of him. “Ignorance by infatuation.”

Out of earshot, Spencer and Hotchner are having a similarly painful conversation.

“Strange,” Spencer decides, breaking the silence with his candour.

Aaron knows what he’s insinuating. He resists the urge to turn around and steal another glance at your pretty silhouette. “He was behaving inappropriately. There’s nothing strange about it, Spencer. I was protecting my team.”

“The whole team?”

“Yes.”

“Including me?”

“Yes.”

“But I liked him.”

Hotchner sends him an incredulous look. “And what exactly was there to like?”

“He was entertaining, I think,” Spencer replies casually, shrugging. “In a cop way, you know? Plus, I love listening to Y/N reject men. It’s fascinating.”

Hotchner swallows. “Fascinating?”

“She always does it in this way where they don’t even realise what exactly’s happening,” Spencer explains matter-of-factly. He turns to Aaron Hotchner then. “Don’t worry, though, she’d never do that to you.”

Hotchner’s traitorous heart leaps, his mouth pulling into a paradoxical frown. “Spencer,” he warns.

“Just saying,” Spencer replies, raising his arms in surrender.

“Well,” Hotch says grumpily, “don’t.”

“Alright. Noted.”

[xo-cod]

141 + reader

hc's when you five share the barracks together/just in general <3 (ooc, rushed my bad lmao, can be read platonically/romantically, reader is v close to them!!) kinda long oops 😩 might do a part 2 idk

nsfw version 🩷

there's a whole lot of testosterone and musk in the air when you're sharing living spaces with 4 men ‼️

all four men compete with each other to get your attention, even if it's unknowingly

whole lotta pouting when you're spending time with more man than the other, you're a great companion ;) and the army is lonely. they all need equal love and attention

speaking of, if you're smelling like one of them the other will immediately bundle you in his arms to put his scent on you instead and to cancel out the other (alpha behaviour 😵‍💫)

whole lotta flirting from each of them. they're all very intelligent soldiers, they know exactly what to say to get you going 😙

all of them adore the height difference with you. you get teased about it relentlessly (out of love obvi)

i don't think they're particularly messy men but ghost and gaz are the most cleanest, they like having their things in order and knowing where everything is

price is next because he's slumped with being captain so you'll see a lot of his paperwork around with coffee mugs from pulling all nighters

soap is more organised mess. it might look messy to you but he knows exactly where everything is

you, soap and gaz definitely have rap battles late at night. it starts of quiet but you'll usually hear price shouting at you three from his bedroom to stfu. ghost threatens to pull a grenade if you don't be quiet

assuming you're naturally a good cook, they'd all be so appreciative :") especially on bad days, your cooking reminds each of them of home (or lack of)

face masks! gaz would 100% be down to do them with you, soap would follow next because if gaz is doing it then he too???

ghost would roll his eyes, continuing polishing his guns with a rag "you ain't putting that muck on my face"

price would just look at you, shaking his head "got too much to do, sweetness"

but you're quite the convincer and all four men are on the floor of your bedroom, gossiping about the last mission with their preferred colour of face mask across their faces

assuming you're the only woman, they get very protective when you're hurt. soldiers get hurt from time to time but its different when it's you

"you alright, bonnie?" soap's gentle voice comes through your room as he hands you a warm mug of your fave drink

gaz had you wrapped in a big fluffy blanket, gently stroking your back

"who was it?" ghost's voice is firm, wanting to know who dared injured the youngest member of their team

"already got a handle on 'em" price follows, looking at the computer. whatever enemy dared to raise their hands on wished they'd be six feet under after all four men are done with them

you're the one each man needs when they're having a particularly bad day which are usually far in few between but sometimes it happens

gaz and soap are the types to seek you out, their faces settled in a troubled frown before they place their arms around you. no questions just yet, they just want to feel skin to skin for now. keeping them grounded before they can explain what happened. they're not looking for a fixer, just someone who'll listen

ghost and price are the type to isolate themselves for a while until it's night and then you'll find them gently knocking on your bedroom door and slipping inside, between your covers. their grip is strong, burying their faces deep into your neck whilst trying to wrap his arms as much as he can. these two won't talk much either, just looking to be held and stroked to calm down

ghost and soap are the type to show affection through lingering touches while gaz and price show affections through their words.

but speaking of hugs, each of them have their own special way they like to embrace

ghost thinks he's being slick but you realise just how touchstarved he really is, he gives hugs with his arms around your shoulders bringing you in to his chest. mostly because he's tall and broad but he likes how he can manhandle you from this position and smelling your scent <3

soap's the type to tackle you in a playful hug, maybe a spin to get a laugh out of you before he gently strokes your skin for a few seconds, a gentle kiss to your temple <3

price likes to hug from behind, resting his chin on your head while he looks at what you're doing. depending on you, his big arms are either wrapped on your waist or your shoulders <3

gaz gives side hugs because he likes linking his arm around your hips and he likes how you fit snugly into his body. and this way he can lean his head against yours and can bring you in closer with his other arm <3

all four can immediately smell you before you come in because they adore whatever perfume/spray you have

each of them would absolutely melt into pieces if you joined them/kept them company in what they were doing

and if they catch you in a towel after having a shower, best believe they're quickly walking back around to where they came from to help alleviate the growing... tent in their pants

lowkey kinda pervy 🫣 (never in a harmful way)

each of them have their strong points and would 100% train you in becoming stronger

even if you're a well established soldier, they all worry for your safety

price would teach you sniper techniques, ghost teaches you combat, gaz teaches you how to sharpen your aim and soap teaches you about explosives and how to construct/dismantle each of them

they take the training very seriously with you

a ton of cursing when their fave team loses lmaoo

if you're avid tea drinker, join the gaz/ghost/price club. if you're not, join the hater club with soap <3

ghost/gaz/soap will playfully fight with you, careful not to use their full strength and not to harm you. but it's so cute to them when you're struggling a little under them.

but when price scolds them in doing so, "i'm just helping in case there's an attack!"

if you're arguing against one of them, another will come to your defence. unless you're arguing all four then it's the silent treatment from you 🤭

all four of them melt when you call them by their real name instead of their callsign :")

ghost usually comes to you when his balaclava is broken and he'll keep you company as your fingers work their magic to the fabric, gently leaning against you as you speak to him

price will let you shape up his beard after you begging to do so and he grows to enjoy those tender moments

soap definitely calls for your help to shape up his mohawk, he trusts your hand to eye coordination above anyone elses

ghost will playfully ruffle your hair whenever you both pass each other

price gives you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder

gaz gives you a soft stroke on your arm or back whenever he's passing by

soap will gently tap his head against yours, not too hard to cause pain but just enough to know that he's there

but above all, the barracks you five share is definitely a safe space for each of them the second they come through the door <333

[incorrectbatfam]

Jason is a hopeless romantic 100%

it just doesnt show

But everyone goes to him whn its time to plan dates

Dick: Hey, can I ask you something?

Jason, reading: No.

Dick: You see, Wally and I have our weekly date night coming up, but we've been to pretty much every place there is. You got any ideas for how to shake things up?

Jason: *scribbles coordinates and tosses him the Bat-plane keys*

[later]

Wally: Wow, I've never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Dick: I'm glad you like it.

Dick: *texts Jason a thumbs up*

Jason: *read at 8:55 PM*

———————

Tim: Jason, glad you're here! I totally forgot it's me and Bernard's six-month anniversary. Help me out, man.

Jason, clipping his toenails: Fine. You better write this down 'cause I'm only saying it once.

Tim: *nods*

Jason: Go to Home Depot. You're gonna need some rope, a tarp, hammer and nails, a hatchet, matches, and fuel. After that...

Tim: *furiously takes notes*

[later]

Bernard: A camping trip was a great idea. It's nice to get away from it all. And I can't believe you set this all up yourself.

Tim, chuckling nervously: What's a boyfriend for if not to build a tent and chop down a tree?

———————

Duke: So the school dance is coming up.

Jason, working: Theme?

Duke: Under the sea.

Jason: Ugh, how cliché. Anyway, Armand's Tailoring has a blue suit that'll match whatever your girlfriend's wearing. Tell him I sent you. After that, call Patricia's Bistro and make a reservation with the code word "surreptitious." Alfred can take you in the limo if you give him a 24-hour heads-up to clean it. Once you're there, remind the DJ he owes me a favor to get your song requests bumped up. And remember, a slow dance is basically moving your feet in a square but otherwise go with the flow.

Duke: Sweet, thanks!

———————

Cass: Steph is sad.

Jason, cooking: *sighs*

Jason: *takes out a tub of ice cream*

Jason: *scoops a hole in the middle*

Jason: *fills it with candy*

Jason: Here.

Cass: Thanks!

———————

*phone rings*

Jason, waking up from a nap: What?

Kory: Sorry if I woke you. Barbara's coming over for breakfast in half an hour but I burned it with my powers. It was supposed to be eggs benedict.

Jason: Order takeout and put it on fancy plates.

Kory: You're a lifesaver—

Jason: *already hung up and went back to sleep*

———————

Kate: It's Renee's birthday tomorrow. I have a gift, but I'm not sure if it's good enough.

Jason, polishing his gun: If it's from you, it will be.

———————

Bruce: *walks in*

Bruce: Hey, son. Selina's not talking to me after our argument. How do I tell her how much she means to me?

Jason, reciting Shakespeare: I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you."

Bruce: You're right. I'm just gonna tell it to her straight. Thank you.

Bruce: *leaves*

Jason: *takes off his headphones and turns around*

Jason: Did someone say something?

———————

Damian: Todd, what is love supposed to feel like?

Jason: Why do you want to know?

Damian: None of your concern. Now tell me.

Jason: *shoots a training dummy*

Jason: It's when they're lodged in your head like a bullet. Except without the excruciating pain and messy red stuff.

Damian, nodding: Tell me more.

———————

Roy: *takes down a villain*

Jason, sitting on a roof: *wolf whistles*

Roy: The hell?

Jason: I know hot when I see it.

Roy: What are you doing here?

Jason: I brought Arrowdogs.

Roy: You hate Arrowdogs.

Jason: But you don't.

Roy: Aw, how sweet—EYES UP HERE, TODD!

[disneyprincemuke]

who the hell is rocky? * fem!driver

who the hell does sebastian keep calling 'rocky'?

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, logan sargeant x fem!driver, oscar piastri x fem!driver

notes: here ok now she has a nICKNAME OK IT'S ROCKY IT'S ROCKY OK BECAUSE SHE LIKES ROCKY ROAD ICE CREAM NOW

(series masterlist)

she presses her lips together, turning the knob and peeking in. “seb,” she whispers into the room. “are you in here?”

sebastian raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “yeah, why?”

“great, so i wouldn’t feel as bad sneaking in here.” she pushes the door open and quickly shuts the door behind her. she beams at him, shoving her hands into her jacket. “hi!”

he looks up at her, head still hung low from the papers he was looking at. “what do you want?”

“oh, we’re playing hide and seek with jack and laura,” she grins, walking over to the empty seat at the his table. she sits down and tucks her legs under her body. “and oscar, logan, mick… liam… i’m not in the mood to be found so soon.”

“so you’re hiding here? in my office?” sebastian raises an eyebrow, looking back down at his papers. “isn’t that cheating?”

“they didn’t specify where i couldn’t hide.” she puts her palms down against his table with a small grin. she extends her neck a little bit. “what are you doing?”

he flips the papers towards his body, shielding its contents away from her. “i’m looking at data. you’re not a cheater — go play hide and seek properly.”

she shrugs nonchalantly. “i’m the oldest child. of course, i bend the rules to make sure i win.”

“really? oscar and logan let you do that growing up while they were around?”

“no, they put a stop to that when i turned 14,” she presses her lips together and rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “but they can’t erase that trait when i spent my whole life polishing it.”

sebastian blinks. “seriously?”

“yeah,” she nods excitedly. “how do you think i got this scar above my brow?”

“from falling down.”

“no, ciara and i fought cause i changed the rules at the last second so that i’d win and then she attacked me.” she lets a moment pass when sebastian finally lifts his head to stare at her. “we were playing uno — it’s a very intense game.”

he furrows his eyebrows. “get out of my office, rocky!”

sebastian approaches the two hunched over in the corner. “have you guys seen rocky?”

logan lifts his head. “rocky? who the hell is that?”

“hey, what are you guys doing?” they turn around, seeing the younger driver with an ice cream pint in her hand with mick trailing behind her.

“i told you to stop eating ice cream, god damn it!” sebastian screams, hands darting forward to grab the pint from her.

“hey, it’s the lactose intolerant one!” she shrieks, running to hide behind mick. the pint pokes out of the side towards logan. “want some?”

logan nods, taking the pint from her. “yeah, sure.”

“wait,” oscar speaks up, waving his arms in the air. “seriously, who is rocky?”

“this dumb ass,” sebastian scoffs, gesturing at the girl now eating her ice cream again. “all she ever eats is rocky road! hence, rocky! breakfast is rocky road, lunch is rocky road—”

“dinner is rocky road,” she mocks, stabbing her spoon into her pint. “it’s okay that i’m eating this because mick got me the no milk version!”

“that doesn’t even make sense! chocolate has milk in it! so does ice cream! do you know what ice cream is made out of?”

mick sighs. “she wouldn’t stop bugging me for ice cream, okay?”

logan laughs, throwing his head back. he clasps his hands together, “tomorrow we’ll teach you how to say ‘no’ to rocky. it took us a long time to figure it out too.”

“really? that’s just what everyone is gonna call me now?” she tilts her head, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “we spend our whole lives without giving me a nickname and seb just comes along and calls me ‘rocky’ and everyone is just gonna ride along with that?”

“yeah, you can say that,” oscar nods with a smile. “it’s fitting, anyway. you would die for rocky road ice cream… right?”

“fair argument.”

“max,” oscar whispers. “have you seen rocky?”

max raises an eyebrow, pausing his conversation with charles. he tilts his head. “yeah, she’s in my garage.”

oscar throws his head back, blinking blankly at the older driver. “what would rocky be doing in your garage?”

“what do you mean? she’s part of my team,” max trails off in confusion, lips pursed in confusion. he glances at charles next to him, who simply shrugs and looks at oscar as well.

“no, she’s not. what business would she have being in your garage?” oscar raises an eyebrow. “unless you guys are scouting her for the future?”

“what? we’ve had rocky on the team for months.”

“she wouldn’t do that. she doesn’t like red bull.”

“red bull literally created her.”

“no they didn’t.”

charles furrows his eyebrows, looking between both of them. “see, i don’t think you guys are talking about the same thing.”

max points at oscar. “what are you talking about?”

“who are you talking about?”

“my race car? her name is rocky.”

oscar’s frustration slowly washes away as realisation dawns over him. he’d completely forgotten that max named his car. he laughs slightly. “right! sorry, mate. i was talking about (y/n),” he explains. “rocky.”

max raises an eyebrow. “who passed the bill to call her that?”

“seb.”

“oh, seb is good with nicknames!” charles beams, patting oscar’s shoulder. he presses his lips together. “why rocky though? that doesn’t really…”

“she eats a lot of rocky road ice cream,” oscar smiles. “therefore, the nickname.”

max frowns. “she’s got the same name as my car… that’s not… that will be confusing.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @leilanixx @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @sadg3 @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts @darleneslane @inejismywife @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @love4lando

[gogobootz1]

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

[luveline]

hi jade! :) i wanted to potentially request anything with poly!marauders x reader? maybe winter themed since its december now?

you write remus, james, & sirius x reader so well that i started reading fanfic for them because of you! i love your style, keep it up lovely! <3 sending you all my love

thank you, ily!! ♡ fem!reader

James’ car idles outside of your work. 

You rush down the frosted steps despite the danger, and open the passenger door with a, “Hello,” that can't be dimmed. You could not be happier to see him in his dark-haired, light-eyed glory. Your hands shake at the sight of him alone. 

“Hello,” he says keenly. 

You climb across the handbrake to kiss him. He takes your face into two big hands, expectant, waiting for you and twice as eager. “Oh, shit, I missed you,” you say, smashed into his lips and leaning further still, “Did you have a good time? Did–” 

James rubs your cheek with his thumb, silently asking for you to slow down, and kisses you again. His lips are soft as anything, his hands a little less so, rough of his palms sliding up your cheeks to just behind your ears. He's quick and rather aggressive about it considering you're only a couple of yards from your place of work, but you don't care. 

Clearly, he missed you too. 

James breaks the kiss to hug you to him, nosing at the side of your head as he says, “I missed you too. And I had a great time. Next year, you'll come with me.” 

Your heart skips at the thought. Going home with James to visit his parents would be a dream, if only so you don't have to miss him for three weeks at a time. 

He gives you a last quick kiss and drives you home. With his suitcase still in the car and his rucksack in the footwell, you realise he's picked you up before going home, and you rub it in Sirius’ face as soon as you can. 

“He picked me,” you say, climbing out of the car, cheeks flush with the heat of having James’ hand on your thighs the entire way home. 

Sirius doesn't seem too bothered. Remus worms around him, doesn't even wait for James to get out of the car, ducking in for an awkwardly skewed but achingly affectionate hug. It's not like Remus to show his emotions in any way that could be held against him, but it's clear he trusts the three of you to never do such a thing. You wouldn't. 

“You okay?” James asks him quietly. You nearly miss it, apprehended and forced into a headlock by Sirius Black and his bad attitude. 

“No more holidays,” Remus says. 

“You look handsome anyways,” James says, “what's that about? Thriving in my absence or something?” 

Remus flushes at the suggestion —you can see it, having breathlessly escaped Sirius' cruel grasp to stand watching their reunion. He mumbles a denial and burrows deeper into James’ arms. 

Sirius is much less emotional than you or Remus, but he's in a good mood. You can tell, tucked under his happy touch. (You weren't rubbing it in that James picked you up first to be cruel, the opposite —you and Sirius love to argue. And the cool, mildly intimidating stare down thing he does gives you chills, so that's a bonus.) 

“Alright!” James says, hand on Remus’ shoulder, rucksack on his arm as he shuts and locks the driver's side door. “Let's see how you idiots have done with the decorations.” 

“Not nice,” you say. 

“But accurate,” Sirius says. 

The truth is that without James’ direction, the Christmas decorations have barely been put up. You had the common sense to erect the Christmas tree and it’s adorned with carefully draped tinsel and polished baubles, but the rest of the home is lacklustre, to say the least. You've no stockings for the electric fire, no banners, no foiled hangings or silver trappings. 

“Jesus,” James says, dropping his rucksack on the sofa. “This is sad. Where's the wooden bits? My white wooden Christmas tree? Absolutely minimal effort. I'm appalled.” 

You and Remus look at one another and shrug. “We searched. Pulled out the airing cupboard and everything, it took ages, and we still didn't find them.” 

“That's because it's up in the attic,” James says, chuckling to himself. “Idiots. Where's the stepladder?” 

And this is where Sirius’ love rears its head, his arms wrapped around James’ legs as he climbs the ladder positioned dangerously on the landing by the open stairwell. “You can't be real,” James says, swaying dangerously as he pokes around up there with a torch. “You're worried about me? You were on the roof of the shed a month ago—” 

“To get a fucking football for next door–” 

“Oh, fuck this,” James says with a sigh. Before any of you can stop him, he's leveraging himself into the attic using his upper body strength. 

You cross your arms over your chest with a smile. “That was fit.” 

“Right?” Remus murmurs. 

“Where's the fucking– Ah-hah! Alright, sweethearts, one of you come and grab this from me.” 

Sirius looks up at the creaking attic above, frowning, his eyes narrowed. “I don't trust the floor.” 

“Siri, just come and get them.” 

You build a procession line and slowly unearth the three boxes of Christmas decorations, and a box of festive linens. Sirius helps James safely down onto stable footing, while you and Remus ferry the decorations downstairs. James is the Christmas nut of the lot of you, but Remus likes what James likes, especially now he's been missing him, and so they set about decorating your home while you and Sirius argue over who's making what for dinner. James’ favourite, since he's been away so long, you argue. Pizza, Sirius decides. “Look at the state of him. You know he goes home and Euphemia spoils him half to death.” 

“Fully to death,” James says, dotting a kiss into your cheek as he passes with a sheet of snowflake window stickers. “But I was revived.” 

Sirius kisses your other cheek, and Remus shouts for you to come and see the lights, lovely!

It's nice to have everyone home. 

[felassan]

Taash's art piece is just so beautiful! With how windy it looks (her hair blowing around), the blue-green background, and the wave-like pattern in the background, it gives the impression of the rushing sea. (and with the rushing sea, it has a sense of adventure!). The ocean background makes sense - she is affiliated with the Lords of Fortune, a group with a cephalopod logo and who are based out of Rivain, a nation almost completely surrounded by the sea. Their vibe/aesthetic has been described as incorporating a pirate-y element, they have ships, and they were said to hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain. We've also seen in-game shots now of a Rivaini shore that we will visit, complete with bright blue-green sea. the eye-like pattern in the sea in the top right and some of the 'triangles' in the sea remind me of dragons and sea-serpents.

With Taash's design, the 'protruding' parts of her armor, like around her shoulders (two, three) look like they could be dragon-scales. Trophies from dragon hunts? :) In Thedas, armor can be made from dragonscale. I wonder, is the jade-looking horn (the same color as the sea) a covering for that horn, or a straight-up replacement horn? We can see here that it has polished planes and cut edges in the manner of a cut gem. Gold coins fall around her, fitting for someone affiliated with a piratey, treasure-hunting faction. The red threads, rope-like in appearance, remind me of that aspect of some Qunari armor/clothing. In this piece they sort of flow around her in places, but we can see here for example that they're an element of her clothing. I wonder if she's Qunari, Tal-Vashoth or Vashoth. Being associated with a group originating in Rivain, maybe she's from Kont-aar or its surrounds, a coastal city in northern Rivain that is the only peaceful Qunari settlement on the mainland continent? Her gold jewelry and items are beautiful. Jewelry seems to be a notable part of clothing in Rivain, and among the Lords of Fortune, those that survive for more than a few years wear their treasures, charms and other items. It seems like Taash is a successful Lord of Fortune(/adjacent), someone who has found/won many treasures and accomplished great feats. The gold dragon at her collarbone is a cool touch.

Maybe it was Taash who wrote this Codex, and the title is alliterative, "Taash Talks"? The writer comes across like a dragon enthusiast and it references being near the shore/sea. Iron Bull once said "So, when you face a dragon, does it get your heart pumping? Do you breathe a little faster, feel the blood racing?" (in the DA:TV trailer, Varric says that they will need someone "with fire in their blood" to face dragons). And from this blurb, something has been unsettling the dragons in Rivain, in a way that dovetails in the Lord of Fortunes being concerned with it:

Upon eastern shores and sunkissed sands, the Lords of Fortune no longer hold dominion over the coasts of Rivain – not when dragons are growing bolder and laying wastes to their ships.

[source]

[maeby-cursed]

➴ OH, STUPID CUPID ! ♡

✧ a/n: happy valentine's, dear angels ! ♡

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

Why would he, after all? It’s merely a capitalist ploy to keep the consumerism engines turning. You can disguise greed in glittery pink polish and white chocolate bonbons but at its core, it won't change its nature.

And so, he spends St. Valentine’s like he would any other day; gets up at dawn, works until his hands are peeled and his back aches and gets home to eat whatever he has left over. 

It’s a good routine, the most stable one he’s found for himself in years. 

He can't recall a time where the fourteenth of February meant anything at all. 

(Except for that one year that it had.)

But he won't think of withered flowers or laughing kisses or other sweets that have since rotten in his memory. A woman, a child, an apartment downtown.

That is all long gone now. The apartment downtown had gotten expensive, and the child had grown older. The woman had gone long ago and there were no more flowers or kisses or laughter.

It’s all capitalism, it’s all vapid and stupid and childish.

So, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. That is until you come along, knocking on his workshop’s door.

You’re obviously lost, mumbling an inquiry about how much you could get for selling a motorbike you keep referring to as "an old piece of garbage".

He can't help but snicker at your wording, a little chuckle that grows into a full chest laugh when he sees what you’ve dragged to his shop. It’s painfully obvious that this thing isn’t yours.

You keep holding the handlebars with careful hands, sparing few disgusted glances to the vehicle, as if its mere existence wounded you.

He asks how long you’ve had it, and where you got it, and how much you’d like to get. 

You answer back curtly: two years, your ex, nothing as long as you get rid of it.

You seem annoyed just by having to be there and for some unexplainable reason this amuses him to no end. Maybe being surrounded by car engines in a small workshop with no windows is starting to affect him.

“I’ll take it.”

You raise your gaze from the dusty headlight, shocked by his offer.

“You will?”

“Sure thing. You don’t want it, I could use some new parts, I’ll just scrap it.”

You let out a sigh, relieved, and all the tension dissipates from your shoulders.

“Oh, that… well, that would be great! Thank you.”

Your smile makes him stop in his tracks. Pretty and warm and familiar – something dangerous. His head travels back.

After a second that lasts forever, he acknowledges what you've said, grunting as his only response and getting back to the store with you in tow.

“Could I leave it with you now or…?"

“Bring it back next week, I don’t really have a place to put it right now, y’know?”

You look around the place. It’s full of buckets of paint and car parts, no decor but stacks upon stacks of metallic shelves full of objects you can’t recognize. You chuckle awkwardly, seemingly in a better mood after the compromise you've arranged.

“Right, uhm… Actually, I'm not here next week, could I come back tomorrow?”

Toji turns back to stare at you, and for the first time, really sees you. You look young, probably in your mid-twenties, of bright eyes and shiny hair, and that pretty smile that keeps fluttering over your lips. 

He hasn’t done this in a long time… But maybe…

“I close at 10pm today, why don’t you come back then?” he says, closing his fists to stop them from sweating.

Your wondering eyes freeze on him then, and your lips part slightly. He just can't stop staring.  

“But it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any plans?” you ask, shyly.

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“Oh,” you whisper. You're still grinning up at him, but your expression has lost its warmth, instead replaced by a polite awkwardness and doubtful gaze, and now he's kicking himself in his head.

“Sorry, did that bother you?” he asks, hiding his guilt with a smirk.

“No, not at all!" You laugh, playing with your hands. "I… just, I don’t mind it, I guess.

"I know it's not even a real holiday and that it's merely a product of capitalism, and that it’s all about sales and consumerism and all of that, but… I find it nice, you know? Having a day to be with the people you love…" You look around his shop once, before giving him a shy stare. "It’s sappy, I know.” You end with a shrug, your ears flushed.

Toji doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just breathes and takes it in. 

Oh, he’s grown bitter, hasn’t he? Old and sour. 

His son is out there right now buying flowers with his friends, his coworker is on a date at a fancy place, his one and only friend is buying chocolates for his wife… And he’s here at 5pm, with his hands dirty and his neck sweaty and the prettiest woman he’s seen in a long time in front of him, with no plans for tonight and a lovely smile hidden by a familiar sort of nervousness.

What is wrong with him? Is he truly that fucking stubborn? Can't he deal with a bit of pink?

He’ll admit that he's never minded the chocolates and the roses – even if they aren’t his favorite – and that he always laughs at the cherubs and the cheesy postcards. Of course, he won't talk about how he still hums old 50s songs while he works or how he indulges in a bit of dessert when February rolls around, though.

But he knows. He's always known.

So, maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe it’s more about being accompanied for once since he was twenty three and alone. Maybe it’s more about taking a shot at getting something good back.

Maybe it's not all capitalism, not all vapid and stupid and childish.

“Yeah… I guess it’s not all that bad.”

“I do like it… sometimes,” you finish, as if completing his train of thought. This hasn't happened to him in a long time. "I’ll be back tonight then…?”

He recovers quickly, smirking briefly before turning to clean his hands with a rag.

“Sure, at 10pm," he says, over his shoulder.

You laugh, cheerful once more, and begin walking to the door.

“It’s a date!”

And, God, he really hopes it can be, if only because it’s Valentine’s Day.

© 2024, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

[vampiretendencies]

concept!! jj noticing you getting jealous over random girls talking to him and he reassures you and acts all lovey dovey 💭

noticeably, jj maybank is a sight for sore eyes. half the girls on kildare throw themselves at him, though he’s made it advantageously clear that he’s unavailable.

hell, the new intern at the local barber thought she had a chance merely because he left her a forsaken tip. since then she’s been giving him free haircuts in hopes that jj would at least acknowledge her existence.

naturally, jj doesn’t bat an eye at the poor girl. because his vision is set on his one and only.

his only message to those that made it their mission to wear at the seams of your relationship was, ‘look, i’ve finally fell in love and forgotten who you were.’

with that, you knew you truly didn’t have anything to worry about because the man is practically a lost dog on a leash, under your compulsion. that’s why you are nearly itching, trying to resist the temptation of jealously at its brink. it was supposed to be date night, with the location being the wreck for dinner, and as he’s at the bar trying to convince them he’s old enough for a glass of beer two girls swarm him like clockwork. it’s irritating the way one of their gently polished hands dust over his shoulder and the other is talking to him a little bit to close for your liking. chatting him up like he has no where to be.

it’s sickening that they’d take great lengths to earn nothing but an irresistible smile in the end. nothing more, nothing less.

“no luck on the beer baby, can you believe them— i mean i definitely look twenty one—“

“why were they talking to you?”

his pure features turn flat from that sudden interruption. even has his large hand letting go of your small one from across the table to adjust his hat as if he didn’t hear you correctly. you don’t mean for your face to turn downward, with an expression like you’d just smelled expired food— stomach churning and frown evident.

“them?!” he points their way, scoffing mixed with a chuckle in disbelief. the jealousy and envy are written on your forehead.

“yes them, who else?” you cross your arms, jj doesn’t appreciate the dismissal so he leaves from his side of the booth and squeezes into yours. a close as can be so you can’t avoid eye contact, whilst he’s trying to make things right.

“she’s heard that i work on cars here and there and asked if i could fix hers, her friend just happened to be there. nothing else, baby you know that.”

“has she also heard that you have girlfriend?

“mhm, she’s heard that m’fuckin crazy about my girl too.”

your irrationality is beneath you upon a grin trying to creep it’s way past, you really didn’t want to but it’s beckoned unfeasible around jj— he’s contagious.

“now go ahead bite my head off some more baby, i love it.”

he’d known true jealousy would be unavoidable, it took a lot for you to get here though— it’s always so painstakingly obvious how devout he is to you.

you shoved his chest a bit; playfully. whilst he pulled you into his lap with ease. peppering many kisses as he can between words. in public and all, whoever wants to stop and watch the show let them. up until your neck he feels the need to worsen the jealous trail by saying ‘get jealous more often, you looked so fucking hot pretty girl.’

[cherryredlove]

☆ you spin me right round ☆

Modern! Record shop owner! au Aemond Targaryen x Bar owner! reader SMUT

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You're the blooming business owner that owns the chic new bar in town, The Alchemist's Guild. All that's left to do is befriend your sourpuss neighbour, the cool owner of the music shop Targaryen Tracks. Maybe a crisis will do the trick?

Word Count: 1.9k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, rough oral smex, pearl necklace, sex in semi-public place

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Owning a bar was always a dream of yours, and now that dream has finally come true. The place you purchased is a hidden gem on the artsy quarter of the city of King's Landing, nestled between eclectic shops and quirky businesses, with just enough foot traffic to guarantee interest. You’ve christened it The Alchemist’s Guild, and you hoped it'll become the hottest bar in the area soon.

Every bottle and glass has been carefully selected, and you’ve spent countless hours transforming the run-down space into a chic, cosy haven for anyone seeking to unwind. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden surfaces and plush seating. The shelves behind the bar are stocked with an impressive array of gins and wines, and the scent of fresh herbs and citrus fills the air.

The only hurdle now? Making friends with the neighbours, particularly the one who runs the music shop next door, Targaryen Tracks.

You’ve seen him a few times, Aemond Targaryen, always dressed impeccably in black, with silver hair and an ever-present scowl etched onto his face. His shop is a world of its own, filled with vintage records and obscure music that you occasionally hear through the walls.

Today, after a couple of good days of business, you decide it’s time to introduce yourself properly. Maybe you can even convince him to partner up for some musical collaborations, adding a unique touch to your bar’s atmosphere. With a deep breath, you step into Targaryen Tracks, the door chiming softly as you enter.

Aemond looks up from behind the counter, his single blue eye meeting yours with a curious, almost guarded expression. He nods in acknowledgement, though his lips barely form a smile.

"Hi, I’m Y/N," you say, offering a friendly smile. "I just opened the bar next door, The Alchemist’s Guild. Thought I’d come by and say hello."

"Aemond," he replies curtly, giving you a once-over before returning his gaze to the record he’s examining.

The shop is a paradise for any music lover, with rows upon rows of records neatly organized by genre and era. The atmosphere is nostalgic, and you can’t help but feel a pang of admiration for the meticulous care he’s put into curating his collection. You too take great pride in organisation and decoration.

You take a moment to look around, pretending to browse. The silence stretches between you, and you rack your brain for something to say, anything to break the ice.

"You’ve got quite the collection here," you venture, picking up a random record and pretending to study it. "I’ve been thinking about hosting some vinyl nights at the bar. You know, set up a record player, get some more out there stuff playing."

Aemond’s eye flickers with mild interest as he raises an eyebrow. "That so?"

You nod eagerly, hoping to engage him further. "Yeah! I think it’d be great to have something a bit more unique than just playlists. It’s a vibe, you know?"

He studies you for a moment, considering your words. "I suppose it could work," he admits, a hint of intrigue in his tone. "What kind of records are you looking to play?"

"Honestly, I’m open to anything that sets the right mood," you reply with enthusiasm. "Jazz, blues, rock, maybe even some classical if it fits."

Aemond nods, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I might have a few recommendations."

A spark of hope flickers inside you. Perhaps this sourpuss neighbor of yours isn’t as aloof as he seems. Maybe there's a chance for some collaboration after all.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Business at The Alchemist’s Guild is booming. You’ve managed to create a buzz around town, and the place is packed almost every night. The combination of exquisite drinks and the cosy atmosphere has made your bar a go-to spot for many locals and visitors alike. It's become a favourite with the artsy scene in the quarter, putting you firmly on the map.

But tonight, as you’re hosting bustling Saturday evening, disaster strikes. The trusty sound system crackles and dies with a sad whimper. Panic sets in as you realize that without music, the bar loses a significant part of its charm.

As the clamor of conversation fills the air, you frantically fiddle with the cables and speakers, hoping for a miracle. But nothing works.

Just when you're about to lose hope, an idea strikes.

"Hold down the fort for me, Dyana!" You call out to the bartender you employed.

You dash out of the bar and head straight to Targaryen Tracks, where Aemond is about to close up for the night.

Aemond looks up at you as you barge into the shop, mildly surprised to see you so flustered.

"Aemond, I need a huge favour," you blurt out, trying to catch your breath. "My sound system just broke down, and I have a packed bar with no music. Can you help me out?"

He pauses. "What do you need?"

"Your records," you say quickly, hope rising in your chest. "And your record player and speakers. Just for tonight. I’ll give you free drinks for a week in return."

He narrows his eye, contemplating the offer. After a moment, he nods. "Fine. But you handle the equipment with care."

Relief floods through you. "Thank you, thank you so much! I promise I'll be careful. You can even handle changing the records if that's better. "

Together, you gather a selection of records, and Aemond helps you carry them over to the bar. With his expertise, you set up the record player, and soon, the rich, warm tones of vinyl fill the space, transforming the atmosphere instantly.

The patrons love it, and you can feel the tension leaving your shoulders as the night goes on smoothly. True to your word, you offer Aemond a drink on the house as a gesture of gratitude. He graciously accepts your Greyjoy Gin and tonic with a small smile.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

As the night draws to a close, the last of your customers finally trickle out, leaving the bar empty save for you and Aemond. The soft glow of the Edison bulbs casts a cosy light over the room, and the record player softly spins its last tune.

"Thank you again," you say, leaning against the bar, feeling the exhaustion of the night catching up to you. "You really saved me tonight."

Aemond shrugs, a faint smirk on his lips. "It was interesting. Your patrons seem to appreciate good music."

You laugh softly, nodding in agreement. "I owe you. Seriously, free drinks for a week."

He takes a sip of his drink, regarding you with an appraising gaze. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing. Vinyl nights, as you said. I can curate the music."

"That would be amazing," you reply, feeling your heart race a little. "I think it’d be a hit."

As you tidy up the bar, Aemond helps, and the two of you chat more easily than before. You discover that beneath his stoic exterior, he has a genuine passion for music and a dry sense of humour that you find surprisingly charming.

With the bar finally clean and ready for the next day, you both take a moment to relax, leaning against the counter again.

As the last record winds down to silence, an unexpected tension fills the air. The kind that lingers between two people until someone is brave enough to try.

It’s Aemond who makes the first move. His eye locks onto yours, and you see a flicker of something you hadn't quite noticed before. You feel your body light up.

Before you know it, he’s closing the distance between you, his presence commanding and electric. He pauses, giving you a moment to stop him if you wish, but you find yourself drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

And then his lips are on yours, firm and insistent, sending a jolt down your spine. You kiss him back, matching his fervour with your own.

Aemond’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, grasping at his hair. His mouth is hot and heady, and you moan into his as his hips grind against yours.

You barely notice as you’re backed against the bar, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of the kiss. Aemond’s hands are exploring now, tracing a path down your sides, and you let out a soft sigh of approval, urging him on.

The kiss deepens, his touch is confident, and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your tender pussy. Your body reacts, arching into him to relieve your aching sex.

Aemond unzips your trousers, moaning at how wet you are, before gliding his fingers into your soaked heat. You cling to him, mewling, and bit down hard onto his neck. Aemond’s long fingers move inside you, fingering you with a beckoning motion. His eye rolls back as you grasp his cock in your hand, massaging through his trousers.

Aemond hoists you up onto the bar's counter, kissing you roughly before kneeling, facing your soaked pussy. Your hands grip his hair, urging him onto your heat. His tongue flicks out to lick your juices, and the moan you let out spurs him to bury his face.

His long nose is shoved against your clit, rubbing you in the mot perfect way as his tongue laps you expertly. Your thighs squeeze his head tightly. One of his hands grips your soft thigh hard, the other resumes its ministrations inside your tight pussy, making you choke and feel the hot lick of pleasure push you higher and higher. You grind against his face, Aemond sucking your clit with suchbvigour that you cry out, cumming hard on him. You cream against his tongue, and he laps it all up with a deep moan.

Once your head has stopped swimming at the pleasure of your high, you wobble down and fall to your knees. His thick cock sits right in front of your face, and he slowly parts your lips with the red cockhead. It's huge, you run out of mouth room pretty quickly as his hands grip your hair. You moan, the vibration making his hips stutter, and begin to suck him hard.

"Your lips look so beautiful wrapped arouud me baby," he rasps out. "I'll cum if you carry on."

Enthused, you bob your head faster, hollowing out your cheeks and rubbing your tongue right against the slit of his tip. When you fondle his balls with your hands and swallow hard, Aemond releases a strangled cry of pleasure, face-fucking you hard and fast. He lets out an unintelligible moan as he cums. Some of it leaks down your throat, but he pulls out to cum all over your face and neck. You gasp at the hot white ropes of cum that decorate your collar bone.

Panting, he helps you up, swiping his cum off with a finger and parting your lips for you to swallow it. He kisses you gently, salty and sweet.

"Want to come back to mine?" He asks, eye glinting. You nod eagerly, kissing him sweetly. His hands hold you firmly, and you thank the Gods for your sound system breaking.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: save me modern aemond targaryen save me! love writing that so gimme ur feedback and send any requests! if u like this sort of stuff check out my masterlist!

[raisin-writes]

Asking to paint their nails- Donquixote family:

sfw, no warnings, just for sillies :) read as platonic but can also be read as romantic (minus sugar- i dont care that shes 22- and dellinger, dont be a weirdo).

Doflamingo:

He prefers to call in a nail tech and have a little mani-pedi spa day with you instead.

It's nothing personal, he appreciates the thought, but if hes gonna get his nails done, he wants it to be professional.

Wants you to match with him more often than not and gets a little mad when you refuse to, but wont hold it against you for very long.

A classic french tip girlie but may mix it up with a nice pink or a light glitter overlay from time to time.

Trebol:

He'll allow it, but god does he make it an insufferable experience.

He loves messing with you by intentionally making his hand twitch/flinch/shake.

"Bweheheheh! oops, guess you gotta start over now!"

He'll finally stop when you threaten inform him that you only have so much nail polish remover left and he'll end up with messy, ugly, clumpy nails that you wont be able to fix.

He's fine with whatever you give him, just dont make it look stupid.

Diamante:

Absolutely!

He's tickled that you would want to spend time with him like that.

Requests things like flashy white or gold stars, sparkly reds, or a nice baby blue to match his eyes.

A little bit of a stickler about your technique, but he wont be too hard on you if you mess up.

It's just nail polish after all.

Surprisingly will want to paint yours in return to match his.

His technique is ironically not that great.

Pica:

...... Reluctantly agrees.

He's silent as he watches you work, but his gaze is very intimidating and scrutinous.

Kind of a mouth breather, dont comment on it or he'll get mad at you.

If you ask him very nicely, he'll let you experiment on his toe nails, painting them however you want.

He's satisfied with a simple matte dark purple, but his favorite is a metallic gold- not the regular nail polish, but the holographic powder, he likes the shiny chrome finish.

Vergo:

Some days he'll say yes, sometimes its just not a good time.

He's a busy guy, he doesnt have all the time in the world to sit down and let you fiddle with his nails.

Sometimes he just doesnt want his nails painted and thats that.

On the off chance he agrees, he prefers a simple solid black or a plain white.

Giolla:

Yes, but she's such a karen about it.

So passive-aggressive and indecisive.

Makes you never want to paint her nails again.

Likes loud, contrasting colors and sometimes fun stencil patterns.

She usually compliments your work after its over, but will sometimes make a back-handed comment if she isn't completely satisfied with the results.

Lao G:

Surprisingly agrees to it.

However, shaky hands make for many mistakes.

Dont bother putting a top coat on.

regardless of the outcome, he'll give you a thumbs up and a "GREAT WITH A CAPITAL G!"

Gladius:

Bully him into it a little and he'll cave.

He's used to this, having been the test subject for a younger Baby 5 when she first got into nails.

At least you seem to know what you're doing, comparatively.

Prefers plain black but can be swayed into dark colored marbling with gold flecks.

Machvise:

Another test subject for young Baby 5's nail journey, and Dellinger's.

He thinks it's funny to walk around with bright, obnoxious nails, but really could care less what you give him.

He actually kinda liked the time you gave him pizza slice nails.

Draws the line at press-on nails.

Sugar:

Allows it, but will very bluntly tell you you're doing it wrong.

The best compliment you will get from her is, "its not the worst."

She likes when you put cute stickers and stencils on a pretty pastel blue color.

Señor Pink:

Needs to be lead to believe it was his idea, otherwise the answer is no.

Watches intently, doesnt speak much.

Sucks his pacifier suddenly from time to time and the sound in the otherwise silent room makes you flinch.

He doesnt have any preferences, but appreciates when you make the color match his bonnet.

Might make you do his toe nails too so they match.

Viola:

Of course!

Her favorite is a dark mauve with white hand-painted flowers on the thumbs and/or ring fingers.

Dont worry if you cant paint the flowers correctly, she still appreciates it all the same.

She'll ask to paint yours in return.

Dellinger:

Slay 💅✨

You can use his nail polish.

Teases you if you mess up but genuinely starts to get annoyed if you make too many mistakes.

Likes cat-eye and holographic effects; don't worry, hes got the magnets and powders for it.

If he's feeling generous, he'll return the favor, but he might give you what he thinks would look good instead of what you want.

Buffalo:

Nuh-uh, no way.

......... Unless?

Easy to bribe into getting his nails painted.

Lets you paint them however you want, as long as you fullfill your end of the deal.

Baby 5:

Yes!!!

She loves getting her nails painted.

She'll even paint yours, however you want them!

She likes lace tips, but can easily be swayed if you think something else would look better on her.

(Please be kind to her; if you really must, meet her in the middle so she still gets what she wants.)

Bonus:

Bellamy:

Beg him over the course of a week and he'll eventually cave, but only his toe nails where nobody will see them.

Prefers plain black or navy blue colors.

Is very fidgety and uncomfortable the entire time.

(ironically, he doesnt like people touching his feet (he's ticklish))

Groans and complains, asking every 5 minutes if you're done yet.

Such a big baby.

Corazon:

Yes!!!

He's giddy at the thought, he would love for you to paint his nails.

Really, he just likes the quality time he gets to spend with you.

His favorite is a dark plum color with soft pink heart stencils.

He'll offer to paint yours in return, but knowing him, he'll just end up spilling a bottle or two.

Or three.