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

[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

[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!

[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.”

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[beckyninja]

Cleanse

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI

Description: In the baths, you contemplate both your present and future with Titus. Little do you know, unfriendly eyes are watching.

I'll say this once, if you're a fan of Leandros, this story arc may not be for you. 😈

(To read the rest of the fics in this series, check out my Masterlist.)

“You’re sure this is allowed?” 

You saw no one else in the vaulted chamber, yet still felt the need to whisper. Part of you felt like a misbehaving child. The rest of you shivered with barely disguised glee.

“Of course it is!” Vesta rolled her eyes. “I told you, my unc- I mean, Lord Callistus specifically gave me permission.”

“But he didn’t give me permission.”

“Worry wart.” Your friend giggled. “Just look at this place!”

You did. High ceilings adorned with blue and gold mosaics soared above you. Columns wider than the reach of your arms lined the walls. Every polished marble surface gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

But the thing that truly made you catch your breath was the great pool of steaming water stretching from one end of the room to the other. 

On your homeworld, you’d played in mountain streams. Since becoming a serf, you’d learned of lakes and oceans. But this was by far the most still water you’d ever seen in one place. The steam curling from its rippling surface moistened your skin and filled your lungs.

“What if one of the Marines comes in?”

Vesta was already laying out her bucket of supplies: soap, brushes, and washing cloths. She shook her head.

“Those that aren’t sleeping are preparing for our arrival at Demerium. Unc- Lord Callistus told me so. You, yourself, told me your Lord Titus was in strategy meetings with his squad.” She shot you a wry look. “I’m only glad you finally seem to have a free moment. I’ve barely seen you since we left Avarax!” 

You felt heat rush to your face and turned away, pretending to examine the carvings on a nearby pillar.

“De-Demetrian!”

“Yes. Cry my name.”

“Deme- ah!”

“Good girl. You can take more, can you not?”

“I-I….”

“Please, Little Healer. I need you.” 

Demetrian had been insatiable the last few days, pulling (or throwing) you into bed at every opportunity. Only a frustrated vox call from his squadmates finally dragged him from your side. You remembered the mournful look in his eyes as he left you. 

Warm liquid hit you in the back of the head, soaking your thin robe. You gasped and turned to find Vesta holding the dripping bucket. She giggled.

“Are you going to stare at that pillar all night? Or are you- eek!”

You cupped a handful of water and flung it back at your friend. She squealed and darted away. You forced yourself to relax.

“You go first, Vesta. I’ll watch in case any of the cleaning serfs try to come in.”

“Ah, good idea.” She slipped off her clothes and settled into the water with a sigh.

You tensed when she sank under. “Vesta!”

She surged up again, shaking her wet curls out of her eyes. “What are you worrying about now?”

“How deep is it?”

“It’s a bath for Astartes, how deep do you think it is?” With another giggle she pushed away from the wall and paddled farther into the pool.

You cocked your head to one side as you watched. “I didn’t know you could swim.”

“I learned when I was a little girl on Macragge. At my family’s seaside estate.”

“Your family had an estate?” 

“Mmmhmm.” She dove under again, reappearing in another part of the pool.

Nobility?! How in the Emperor’s Name…?

Vesta caught your eye and grinned, paddling back to the side. “You should see the look on your face!” The grin faded. “Fine. Fine. Hand me the soap and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

***

“...and so, after the plague took my parents and siblings, the inheritance came down to me, or an older cousin. I was little, so I don’t remember much. But apparently the arguments were fierce. Finally, my cousin decided to bring in the only other living member of our House to mediate.”

You sat at the edge of the pool, feet in the steaming water, as you watched Vesta rub the soap through her hair. 

“You don’t mean…?”

The medica nodded. “Lord Callistus’ portrait had hung in our grand hall for longer than I can remember. Father used to hold me up so I could see, telling me the story of how his great grandmother’s older brother had become an Ultramarine, bringing honor to our family. But, of course, he’d never met the man. None of us had.”

Vesta paused, eyes going distant. “Uncle tells me I looked like a scared rabbit when he first saw me. All alone and small and helpless. I reminded him of his little sister.” She smiled. “Anyway, my cousin had the stronger claim, so the estate went to him. And I went with Uncle Callistus.”

You looked at your friend with a clinical eye. Unscarred. Well-fed. With a lightness of manner lacking in many of the other serfs you’d encountered.

“He treats you well.”

“More like a daughter, or well, a niece, than a serf.” She nodded. “Oh, he’s a bit gruff and exacting. Not one to allow his medicae to slack off, that’s for sure!” She laughed. “But he’s kind for all that.”

She leaned back, rinsing the soap from her hair. “I’ve told him about you.”

You sat upright. “You have?”

“Mmmhmm. He says a serf with prior medical knowledge is wasted attending to just one Marine.”

A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. “I’m content where I am, Vesta.”

“I know. You’ve told me how wonderful a lord Titus is. Over and over again.” She smirked.

You felt your face heating again, wondering just how effusive you’d been with your praise. 

Did she suspect…? No. No, surely not.

Vesta continued, her face going serious. “But, well, we’re about to go into battle. And I’ve heard what can happen to personal serfs left all alone.”

The cold knot hardened into a ball of ice. You remembered cowering in Demetrian’s locked quarters when you first arrived. You remembered the terror, the despair, of thinking he’d died.

You hadn’t cared what would happen to you.

“Have you,” your voice rasped, “have you heard anything about why we’re going to Demerium?”

Vesta folded her arms on the edge of the pool. A rare frown creased her face.

The words kept coming. “Surely it isn’t so bad. Not worse than Tyranids. And Deme- Lord Titus has conquered the vile insects before.”

Barely.

Your mind flashed to the reason for his conversion to Primaris. The new scars, ragged and red. The haggard look in his eye when he returned from each battle. The way he clung to you these past few days.

Vesta remained silent for a long while. “Usually I can discern something, just from what the Apothecaries are doing. The tools and medicines they prepare. But this time…?” She shook her head. “Not even Uncle has said anything. But it’s going to be bad, my friend, I can tell.”

“The Emperor protects.” You whispered.

“The Emperor protects.” Vesta heaved herself up out of the pool and reached for a towel. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure Lord Titus will be fine!”

You saw straight through her false cheer.

She noticed, and came to stand next to you, wrapping a damp arm about your shoulders. “I just want you to know if, Emperor forbid, the worst should happen, you’ll have a place in the Apothecarion. I swear it!”

Leaning into her, you tried to smile. “You’re a true friend, Vesta.”

For once, she seemed at a loss for words, hugging you tight. Then, a look of alarm came over her freckled features.

“Throne damn it! I lost all sense of time!” She began frantically pulling on her underclothes and robe. “I promised Uncle I’d be back within two hours to finish the requisition reports!”

A real smile crept across your face at your friend’s antics. 

She flung her bathing supplies into their bucket. “He’ll tan my hide if I turn in late paperwork…again. Well, not really. But I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one of his lectures!” She hesitated, looking toward you.

You waved her away. “Go on. I’ll be fine. Like you said, no one should come in at this time of night. And I just wanted to wash my hair, anyway.”

“If you’re sure. Thanks!” She skidded out of the chamber.

Like the sun going behind a cloud, your brief mirth faded. Vesta’s words echoed in your mind. Old fears reared their ugly heads.

You bent and splashed some of the warm water on your face. “I can’t think like this. I can’t.”

The steaming pool called your name, promising a brief moment of comfort. 

You carefully removed your robe and underclothes. At least with Vesta gone, you no longer had to hide your winces. The flesh between your legs still ached. And when you bent over the water and saw your reflection….

“Throne of Terra….”

Bruises dotted your skin. Your neck, your breasts, your thighs. Many in the shape of large hands.

You gingerly touched the teeth marks in your shoulder. “How in the Warp would I have explained this to you, Vesta?”

Demetrian had never been so rough with you before. You should be annoyed, frightened, even.

Instead….

You ran your hands over each mark, remembering his touch, the rasp of calluses against your skin. When you reached your breasts, you remembered the heat of his mouth. Your nipples hardened beneath your fingers.

“Oh Throne….”

Desire pulsed in your core.

You tried to ignore it as you slipped into the pool. But the enveloping touch of the warm water drew a sharp gasp from your lips. After a year of cold showers and hurried sponge baths, it felt divine.

As your body relaxed, your mind wandered.

Blue eyes. Looking at you with a wonder-filled intensity. Like you provided something he could not believe he had and could not live without. He could steal your breath with a glance.

A strong body. Massive and scarred and so much more than any baseline man. Those arms had torn xenos in two with little effort. You were helpless in their embrace. 

And that voice….

“Little Healer.”

Emperor forgive you, you loved it all. You loved him.

A moan burst from your lips as your hand ventured between your legs, sheer need overriding any lingering soreness.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Especially not here!

But you couldn’t control your fingers, or the memories that raced through your mind. His hands. His tongue. The great weight of him above you. The burning stretch of his length within you.

What if he doesn’t return from this battle? What if these memories are all I will ever have?

You worked yourself faster. Pleasure rising…rising…rising….

Until it crested.

“Demetrian!”

***

Eyes watched the serf girl from the far corner of the room, shrouded in shadow. She hadn’t noticed his entrance. Too lost in her shameful indulgence.

The eyes glinted with outrage. 

“Demetrian!”

Lips curled into a snarl. He recognized this girl. He’d seen her sneaking away from what he now realized was a clandestine liaison with the disgraced Capt- Lieutenant. He cursed himself for his mental slip.

Not a Captain! No longer deserving of that rank, if he ever was to begin with.

His fists clenched. A soft splash returned his attention to the girl.

She climbed out of the water and paused on her knees. He saw the tremble in her limbs. He saw the water drip off her flushed skin, off the pointed tips of her bare, full breasts. 

He saw the bruises, the bite marks. Outrage swelled within him once more.

He could destroy the Lieutenant with this. What the Inquisition had failed to do, he could finally accomplish.

Corruption! Heresy!

Yet he didn’t move as the girl stood, drying herself. His eyes remained locked on her unmarred skin. Her rounded curves. 

Over and over again he replayed her impassioned cry. His outrage changed, tainted by a new, bitter emotion.

Why Titus? What right did Titus have to…this? To her?

As the girl dressed, a mad impulse came into his head. He imagined himself charging across the baths and tearing away the girl’s clothes. He imagined pinning her to the wall and looking…touching….  

He felt himself thickening. Panicked by the unfamiliar sensation, he reached down and grasped his member. 

The jolt of pleasure ripped a guttural snarl from his throat.

The girl froze. He saw her head jerk back and forth, yet knew her weak baseline eyes could not pierce the darkened corners.

He watched her gather her things and flee like a frightened prey animal.

Did that make him the predator? 

No! The guilty often flee from those who would save their souls.  

As he continued running his hand along his stiffened shaft, he found he enjoyed that idea. 

So, Titus thought he deserved pleasure. A fallen soul dared to reach for the blessings reserved for the righteous.

Leandros would cleanse him of such filthy perversions. In time, he would cleanse you both.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

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As always, comment if you'd like to be added to the Taglist.

[giggle-guru]

Swingin’ Giggles

Going to be so real - this has been my favourite thing to record and I’m so happy with how it turned out. I think I nailed Lucifer this time!! I’m so excited to present you all some ticklish Alastor! (BUT I FULLY MISPRONOUNCED A WORD and I didn’t fix it so let’s pretend I didn’t okay???)

Summary: Alastor, in preparation for Lucifer's return from a meeting with Heaven, decides to show his more romantic side and treat him to a dance to help him relax. Unfortunately, it leads to Alastor becoming a target for Lucifer’s pent-up energy.

Script is below the cut! It’s got some visual cues for you all too.

[Sound Effect: Door opening, light footsteps]

[Visual Note: Lucifer walks into Alastors room within the hotel, mumbling, as irritation continues to creep into him.]

Lucifer: [weary] Ugh, those angels. So annoying, ‘do better Lucifer’, ‘We want this’, ‘We want that’...all so stupid..self-righteous…

Alastor: [hum] Ah, my dear Lucifer, finally returned from your heavenly affairs, I see. How fares the great celestial bureaucracy?

Lucifer: [annoyed] About as thrilling as one might expect when conversing with self-righteous choirboys. Honestly, Al, it was exhausting to listen to them go on and on about the same old shit, and don’t even get me started on Micheal. That guy has the worst stick up his ass-

Alastor: [grin] Say no more. I can practically see the tension etched into your divine countenance. Allow me to remedy that.

Lucifer: [slightly amused] Oh? And how do you plan on ‘remedying’ my mood, Bambi?

Alastor: [chuckle] With a touch of sophistication, of course! Come now—a dance. Just you and me, no prying eyes, no judgmental halos. Let the music guide you.

[Sound Effect: Snap, radio static, jazz music]

[Visual Effect: Furniture is slightly rearranged to make an empty space near the center of the room. The lights dim slightly, blinds are closed, creating a cozy atmosphere. Lucifer crosses his arms and raises a brow]

Lucifer: [scoffs lightly] You’re serious? You want me to dance?

Alastor: [mock gasp] Lucifer, you wound me! I’m always serious… when it comes to you. Now, come here.

Lucifer: [chuckling despite himself] Very well, you persistent charmer. But don’t yell at me when I step on you, I haven’t danced in ages.

Alastor: [light laugh] Oh, I’m quite confident in my reflexes. Now, follow my lead.

Lucifer: [now giggling] Cocky as always, I see. Alright, I’m in your hands.

[Sound Effects: The sound of two sets of footsteps shifting on the floor, music in the background for a few moments]

[Visual Effect: Alastor takes the lead, beginning to softly move back and forth as he gently presses Lucifer to his chest, who hums slightly as a soft smile creeps its way onto his face.]

Alastor: You see? Isn’t this divine? Spending some precious time with your beloved, dancing your stress away?

Lucifer: [smiling] It is. You’re relentless, but I guess that’s one of your charms.

Alastor: Relentless, charming, devilishly handsome… Oh, do go on, darling. I could listen to you praise me for hours.

Lucifer: [with a hint of sarcasm] Oh, I’m sure you could, you arrogant jackass, but don’t think I’m boosting your ego anymore. It’s big enough as it is.

[Visual Note: Alastor chuckles, his tone playful as he guides Lucifer through a gentle spin]

Alastor: (teasing) Careful, Lucifer. Dancing with me is a privilege few have had the honour of experiencing, I’d watch your tone.

[Visual Note: As Lucifer spins, his foot slips slightly on the polished floor. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady himself, his hand landing firmly on Alastor’s side and he squeezes it. There’s a sudden pause as Alastor’s composed demeanor falters and a strangled noise escapes his lips before he continues dancing as Alastor attempts to play it off and ]

[Sound Effects: Stumbled footing, the radio glitching slightly]

Lucifer: [eyes lighting up, mischievously] Oh? Was that…was that a squeak? Don’t tell me the great and mighty Radio Demon is sensitive to the touch?

Alastor: [flustered, attempting to recover] Ha! Don’t be absurd. I was merely… surprised. That’s all.

Lucifer: [grinning] Mmm. Surprised. Or did I find a sensitive spot by accident?

[Visual note: Before Alastor can protest, Lucifer’s fingers dart to his sides and begin to squeeze up and down gently, and a squeak is forced from his lips again]

[Sound Effects: The radio glitches and shuts off.]

Alastor: [struggling] Alright, that’s quite enough. You’ve made your point, now stop squeezing me.

Lucifer: [grin] But look how riled up I’ve got you just from little ol’ me simply squeezing your sides! You don’t mean to tell me you’re-

Alastor: [snap] Lucifer, don’t.

Lucifer: [teasingly] Don’t what? Don’t say that you're…oh, I don’t know…ticklish?

Alastor: [scoff] Absolutely not! The very idea is…preposterous. Utterly ridiculous.

Lucifer: [teasingly] Is it? So if I, for example, just gently traced my fingers over your sides you wouldn’t have a single reaction? No giggling? No squirming? No flinching? [he now begins to gently trace his fingers up and down his sides, occasionally brushing his stomach]

Alastor: [small giggles escaping] Stop that! I…I’m serious, you…irritating little-!

Lucifer: Aww! I knew it! I knew you were ticklish! [he scribbles his fingers into his sides with no mercy now]

Alastor: [small giggles escaping] Lucifer! This was not what I had in mind when I suggested we dance!

[Visual Note: Alastor attempts to escape Lucifer by taking a few steps back, falling back onto the bed]

[Sound Effect: Footsteps, bed squeaking]

Lucifer: What? Can’t take a little teasing? How ironic, the most dangerous Overlord in Hell, reduced to an adorable giggling mess just by some tickles!

Alastor: Lucifer, I swear I will-!

[Sound Effect: Bed rustling]

[Visual Note: Lucifer pounces, wrestling Alastor before pinning him successfully to the bed]

Lucifer: You’ll what? Wait, let me guess. [he begins tickling his sides ruthlessly causing Alastor to burst into unruly giggling] You’ll stab me? Rip me to shreds? Flay the skin from my bones? We both know you won’t do any of it.

Alastor: [giggling] Shut up, you infernal pest!

Lucifer: [grinning] Oh, but I’m your infernal pest, sweetheart. And holy shit, you are absurdly ticklish. How did I not know this sooner?

Alastor: [giggling] Cease this! I-I demand it!

Lucifer: [chuckling] Demand? I don’t take orders from you love. Now then, where else are you ticklish, Bambi? Let’s try your hips…

Alastor: [giggling more] Don’t!

Lucifer: [teasing, moving to squeeze his hips] Oh my…are we sensitive here too? How adorable…

Alastor: [giggling] Fuck you! Get off!

Lucifer: [giggling with him] Language. And you know I won’t do that until I’ve had my fill. Now quit squirming so much and tell me where you’re most ticklish.

Alastor: [continues giggles] Y-you insufferable tease! I-I’m not telling you anything! You’ll just exploit it even more!

Lucifer: [eye roll, though playful] Oh please. I’m already exploiting all of these cute little ticklish spots on you. Tell me where it is, Bambi… [he digs into his underarms] tell me, tell me, tell me!

Alastor: [squeal] Ah! Lucifer! You already have too much leverage over me, you bastard. I’m not handing you more opportunities on a silver platter!

Lucifer: Awe, don’t be such a spoilsport! If you don’t tell me I’m just going to tickle you everywhere until I find it! [moves to his stomach]

Alastor: [throws his head back, desperately trying to rein in his composure] You absolute cretin-! You absolute nuisence-!

Lucifer: Please keep trying to insult me, I’ll just make it worse. Since you are so stubborn, I’ll just have to do the work myself. [moves to his neck] So how’s your neck? Mmmhmm, I see…we’ve already tried your underarms…ribs…sides…stomach…

Alastor: Stop talking! Stop teasing! I-I can’t! I hate you, you bloody-!

Lucifer: You really should quit with the insults, you should know by now I had years of experience tickling Charlie. But I’ll give you a second to catch you breath and really think about your next answer. [pauses momentarily, scanning his upper body, analyzing him, noticing his twitching ears]

Alastor: N-Never darling. I’ll insult you as much as I-

Lucifer: [eyes lighting up] Here?

[Visual Note: Lucifer begins scratching gently but agonizingly along Alastors ears]

[Sound effect: Squeal and frantic bed movements]

Lucifer: [continuing, gushing] Did you just squeal? All I did was spider your ears! This is too good! You are the cutest little thing, I could do this forever…

Alastor: [composure forgotten] Okay! Okay, Luci, please!

Lucifer: [cooing] Aww, are you begging Al? I got the Radio Demon to beg? I love you so much.

Alastor: [scrambling] Luci! Mon amour, stopstopstop!

Lucifer: Oh my, you can’t even speak! Come here, my cute little thing- [peppers Alastors face with light kisses as he continues playing with his ears]

Alastor: [flushing now, face twitching as giggles pour out from his lips] Lucifer! Stop marking me like some over-affecitonate dog!

Lucifer: [continued cooing] But I just want to show you how much I love you! [continues his kissing]

Alastor: [face beet red, giggling] By attempting to commit manslaughter?

Lucifer: [teasing, continued kisses] Oh please, you love it. And you’re not dying.

Alastor: [dramatic flair with a hint of desperation] Yes I am! I’m going to perish if you keep this up!

Lucifer: [dramatic sigh] Fine, fine. But only because I wanna look at your cute little flustered face! I don’t think I’ve ever seen it go so red before.

[Visual Note: Lucifer rolls himselff of of Alastor, grinning like a madman as he lays on his side and rests his head in his hand.]

Alastor: [panting] Count your days.

Lucifer: [giggling] Yeah, yeah. Bold of you to threaten the King of Hell when I just reduced you to a giggling mess with some tickles and kisses.

Alastor: [rebuilding composure] I may have been slightly vulnerable in the moment, but don’t mistake that for weakness. I have an image to maintain, even in front of you darling.

Lucifer: [eye roll] Of course you do, love. Can’t have the fearsome cannabilistic little deer seen as the easily flustered and adorable mess that he is.

Alastor: Watch yourself, Luci. [grumbling] You are insufferably aggravating at times, you know that don’t you?

Lucifer: [teasing] Oh, come on. You love my teasing. And those cute little ears of yours sure have a love hate relationship with my touch. Look at them twitching and fluttering like they’re begging for some more attention.

Alastor: [warning] Lucifer…

Lucifer: [giggle] Relax, Bambi. I’m done. No more tickling for now.

Alastor: [scoff] I cannot believe you. I spend all this time slaving away to set up the utmost romantic evening for you to help you relieve your stress, and rather then indulge you attack me with your fingers.

Lucifer: [smiling] Well, personally I think the combination of getting to dance with you and see you giggle your heart out made for a fantastic pick me up.

Alastor: [huff] As much as I despise being bested, seeing you enjoy yourself so immensely may have been worth the indignity.

Lucifer: [softened tone] It was really nice seeing you let go, it’s a rare treat.

Alastor: [hum] Next time, I’ll be the one with the upper hand, and I will strike when you least expect it.

Lucifer: [grinning] Won’t work if I watch you like a hawk, Al.

Alastor: [chuckle] I’m afraid you are far too confident, my king. I’m a master of the shadows.

Lucifer: [giggling] Then I guess I should distract you ASAP. Mind if we dance again?

Alastor: [sitting up] Oh, I’ll dance…but you’d best watch your hands, darling.

Lucifer: [amused] No promises.

[Sound effect: radio playing jazz once more]

[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

[venuswarmlight]

I was hoping to request a jealous Mizu x reader, like maybe she sees reader joking around with Tenzin and she gets really jealous. Idk maybe something along those lines ig. Tbh you can do whatever really, I just want some jealous Mizu x reader stuff. Sorry if this sounds too vague😓, Anyway thank you 🩷🖤

I hope I didn’t read this too late! A lot of things happened but what matters now is that I can keep writing. Hope you enjoyed it, i did it femreader bc I assumed you wanted it that way(I ALSO DIDNT FIND A GIF FOR THIS IM SO SORRY itS BEEN MONTHS I DONT USE TUMBLR)

Warnings: nsfw at the end. Not very proofread. Taigen acting like a man in the 1600’s. BAD ENGLISH.

Notes: Reader is an archer. Idk I’ll be adding more

Jealous!Mizu x Fem!Reader.

Having a mercenary girlfriend was the best thing that happened to you, from the first time you two met until now your only work was following her like a puppy through the villages and kicking asses to the ground like the badass you were, and of course the cozy nights were you both trained your fighting skills next to a lake just to end it by making out until her hands were already in your chest, desperate for blowing off some steam. Your life next to Mizu was great, yeah, but thanks to an unfortunate serious of events you weren’t the only ones in a campfire nearby that forest lake. At least for now.

“I’ll see if there’s another rabbit out there.” Mizu got up from the snowy ground, and looked at you. “Scream if Taigen gets too nosy.” She said as she dead-stared at the man sitting next to you.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you.” You smiled at her and went back to polishing your arrows, while Taigen was doing literally anything but looking at you with curiosity.

After a few minutes you finally broke the ice between you and him, your voice as soft as a feather while you spoke “You’re staring, you know that?”

He immediately realized and turned his head to the campfire smoke, loosing himself in the front view. “I’m sorry, I’m just.. Surprised.” He answered later, hesitant.

“Of what?” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you lifted your gaze to look at him, concerned.

“Well, women like you are not usually seen in these conditions.. Much less with a man like him.” His words intrigued you, what did he meant by this? You inhaled deeply as you kept doing your work, finally storing the arrows in their respective case.

“I find myself very comfortable where I am right now, I don’t know what you m-”You were interrupted by Taigen, he turned himself getting in front of you.

“You’re too pretty to be an archer instead of living in an estate with a rich man.”

Oh. So this is what he meant. Your eyes widened and you started laughing, covering your mouth of embarrassment, honestly it was uncomfortable and out of place but you decided to take it as a compliment AND as a dare. Purposely changed the subject to avoid personal questions and scolded him, pushing him playfully. “Hey! My appearance has nothing to do with my abilities.”

Taigen chuckled, not pushing you back but being more confident with his approaching attitude. “I’m just saying the truth, you should-”

“Oh, yeah, that’s enough!” You jumped onto him, making him fall into the snow and taking him by surprise, his head bounced a bit on the ground, disoriented.

“What is wrong with you!?”

“Can’t fight a woman back? You must be shitting your pants right now, what a shame.” You spilled, sarcastically, but that dominance fell when he grabbed your hands placed in his chest and used it as a support to push you to the right, shifting positions, now his body was topping you, his hands immobilizing yours by pressing hard on your upper torso.

“Not bad.. But still not as good as me.” He proudly said, suddenly you kicked his butt with your knee from the back, making him loose his strength in your wrists, you repeated his last movement, ending again in how you started that silly fight, your giggles and laughters filled the forest’s natural sounds, and suddenly you totally forgot that Mizu could come back anytime and find you two in this compromising position.

You and Taigen struggled there for a few minutes, what he thought that would be a stupid kid’s fight turned into a challenge, even if it didn’t look like it, he started recognizing how.. Incredible you were, your smooth but hard blows, the little screams you made when you felt like you were gonna loose, now he understood.

How lucky Mizu was for having a girl like you.

You finished the fight by enlazing your fingers with an iron grip around his neck, and your other hand threatening his face with your fist, but you forgot that Taigen’s hands were still free. He grabbed your waist and managed to make you fall on your back as he stood up from the ground and made you loose your grip on his neck, his legs immobilizing yours and his hands putting your wrists above your head, his uncontrolled breathing crashing against your nose as he laughed. “Defeated.”

Before you could answer, you saw a third person kick Taigen’s body from the side, just in the ribs, making him fall to the ground, almost burning his whole body next to the campfire, you sat up quick and looked at him first, then looked up at your side, a tall figure with a dead bunny grabbed by the ears in front of you, those blue unsettling eyes staring at you with the coldest countenance. You knew right there and then she was mad as hell.

“Training without me?” Mizu got on her knees to the campfire to roast the rabbit, not caring about Taigen’s prolly broken rib (not really). You stood up to clean your clothes and sit next to her, nervous. You weren’t doing anything wrong, but still.

“We were just playing.” You excused yourself, trying to make her look at you, but no. She was ignoring you.

Instead of answering, her gaze turned out to Taigen, who was struggling to recover from that fucking kick that hurt as hell. “You’re getting too comfortable here, aren’t you?” Her tone was noticeably passive-aggressive, her grip on the roasting stick was tightening.

“That wasn’t fucking necessary! Fuck, it hurts..” He yelled, finally sitting a bit far from you two, you could feel the tension building heavier and thicker in the ambiance.

It was so uncomfortable you felt like you had to go. “I’m gonna wash my hands before eating, I won’t be long.” You got up to escape the funeral situation you were just in, but a hand grabbed yours, making you stop, you looked back with concern, Mizu was behind you with that angry gaze, sending shivers down your spine.

“It’s too dark to go alone.” She said, then looked at Taigen “Take care of the dinner, don’t screw it up.” He was about to talk but instantly shut his mouth like he knew if he talked he could end up dead.

You tried to forget her toxic behavior as you two disappeared yourselves into the woods, the moonlight making the path for both, the silence feeding your ‘I’m fucked’ thoughts and increasing more when you felt her grip on your hand tightening, she ended up dragging you to a not so far place, finally letting out your hand. The only thing you could look was her back and her little black bun.

“What was that?” She spat, aggressively turning herself and hoovering over you.

“I told you we were just playing.“You stepped back, but unconventionally bumped with a tree behind you, before you could realize, Mizu had you cornered, your chest rising and falling against hers as she looked down at you.

“It didn’t look like it.” And the jigsaw puzzles connected in your head. She was jealous.

“Are you doing this because you’re-”

”Maybe. Seeing my dove pinned down by a bald monkey it’s not funny.” Her words were sharp, you didn’t even know how to answer.

Your hand gently caressed her cheek, making her gaze softened as she looked at you. “You’re the only one in my heart.” You whispered, dragging her closer to your face, her hands traveling down your curves and grabbing your hips tightly, your heat already increasing its temperature as it mets her knee, rubbing your core tentatively.

“I still want to fuck that pretty smile outta’ you.” Her lips attacked you like an animal, making you whimper and moan against her watery mouth, her knee making you hump on it desperately and your inner thoughts begging for mercy cause’ this night was going to hit you hard and long.

[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]

[augustwinesworld]

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞?

fuck him and the way he looks at me

description: Levi's sharp tongue causes clashes between you two, leading to a heated argument over how to handle a negotiation.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: undertermined(?)

notes: its a bit of a filler, but it really sets the tone for their non-relationship (rivalry?)

word count: 1.8k

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭

The Underground market was a labyrinth of damp stone and desperation—literally.

The air thick with the mingling scents of sweat, rot, and something metallic. Shadows moved along the edges of the stalls, cast by flickering oil lamps, while merchants bartered in sharp, clipped tones, while civilians tried their best to argue for a cheaper price.

It was a place where trust was a fool’s gambit, and every deal felt like a step closer to the grave.

Levi, you, and Furlan wove through the maze of crates and ramshackle counters. Furlan’s stride was easy, his eyes darting with excitement, but your jaw was set, tension thrumming in your chest. Levi, as always, was unreadable, his sharp gaze scanning every corner, every face, for the slightest sign of danger.

Ahead, a wiry merchant leaned lazily against his counter, his darting eyes betraying his shrewd nature. Stacked around him were crates of supplies—an assortment of weapons, rations, and gear, all undoubtedly stolen or salvaged. He straightened as your group approached, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

“Well, well,” the merchant drawled, his voice oily. “What do we have here? New faces looking for trouble, or just here to lighten your load of coin?”

Furlan offered his most disarming smile. “Neither. We’re here for supplies—and I’m sure we can strike a deal that works for both of us.”

The merchant’s grin widened, but his eyes remained calculating. “That so? Well, let’s hear it, then.”

You stepped forward, pulling out a small but valuable item—a polished piece of stolen jewelry you’d kept hidden for occasions just like this. “This should cover it,” you said confidently, setting it on the counter.

The merchant’s eyes lit up with interest, but before you could continue, Levi’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“We’re not giving him that.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “Why not? It’s not like we don’t have more.”

Levi’s stare was icy, his tone flat but sharp. “That’s a terrible idea. You hand that over, and he’ll know we’re desperate. He’ll bleed us dry.”

You bristled, stepping closer to him. “Or,” you snapped, “we walk away with what we actually need instead of wasting time haggling like amateurs.”

The merchant leaned back, clearly enjoying the show as Levi’s gaze darkened. “You think you know how this works?” he said, his voice low and steady. “This isn’t your little game of trading favors with starving kids. This is business.”

You didn’t back down, crossing your arms as your irritation flared. “And what do you know about business? Your solution to every problem is scowling and hoping they back off. Newsflash, Levi: intimidation only gets you so far.”

Furlan, sensing the tension rising, held up his hands. “Hey, maybe now isn’t the time—”

“Stay out of it, Furlan,” you and Levi snapped simultaneously, your voices sharp enough to make him wince.

Levi stepped closer, his presence cold and imposing. “You’re reckless. One wrong move, and we’re dead. All because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh. “Oh, I’m reckless? Says the guy who thought punching a guard last week was a great idea. Remind me, how did that work out?”

Levi’s jaw tightened, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “At least I don’t gamble with things I can’t afford to lose.”

You took a step closer, poking him in the chest. “And what’s your genius plan? Stand here glaring until they give us a discount out of fear?”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like frost. “At least I think before I act. Unlike someone who seems to want to get us killed.”

Furlan groaned, stepping between you with his hands raised. “Okay, guys, enough! We’ve got an audience.”

The merchant chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You two done? ‘Cause if not, I’ve got other customers who know how to make a deal.”

You huffed, stepping aside with a mocking gesture. “Fine. Let’s do it your way, oh mighty expert. I’ll just stand here looking pretty and let the big, strong man handle everything.”

Levi ignored the jab, turning to the merchant with a hard stare. The negotiation was brief and tense, Levi’s terse words and unyielding demeanor leaving the merchant visibly uneasy. In the end, you walked away with what you needed—but not without feeling the sting of defeat.

As you exited the market, the silence was heavy with unresolved tension. Furlan walked between you and Levi, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Well, that went…great!” Furlan said, his voice overly bright. “Definitely didn’t look like we were seconds away from killing each other back there.”

You muttered under your breath, “You can’t keep shutting me down like that.”

Levi shot you a sidelong glance, his voice curt. “Next time, try listening for once.”

You stopped, rounding on him. “Listening? You mean agreeing with you, right? Because apparently, no one else here gets a say.”

Levi turned fully to face you, his tone icy. “You don’t get a say when your ideas put all of us at risk. You want to make decisions? Then stop thinking with your pride.”

Furlan quickly stepped between you again, raising his hands. “Alright, enough. We got what we needed. Let’s not push our luck.”

Sharp grey eyes glare darkened as your words hung in the air, sharp and challenging. The tension between you two felt like a tangible force, pressing against Furlan, who stood awkwardly between you, his hands still raised in a futile attempt to keep the peace.

“You know what? no.” you snapped, stepping closer to Levi despite Furlan’s weak attempts to hold you back. “It’s not about thinking with my fucking pride. It’s about you treating me like I’m incapable or something.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his posture rigid. “I don’t treat you like you’re incapable,” he bit out, his voice low but simmering with frustration. “I treat you like someone who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because you’re so great at handling things without making a scene, right? Tell me, Levi, how many more people are going to end up on the floor before you realize that intimidation isn’t the answer to everything?”

Levi stepped closer, the intensity of his glare forcing Furlan to shuffle back slightly. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “I don’t need your approval, and I sure as hell don’t need you making reckless decisions that could get us killed.”

“And I don’t need you micromanaging me,” you hissed, your voice quieter now but no less fierce. “I’ve gotten us out of more than one mess, in case you’ve forgotten. Maybe if you trusted me to actually do my part instead of shutting me down every chance you get, we wouldn’t be at each other’s throats all the damn time.”

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, fists clenching at your sides as you tried to steady yourself. The frustration simmering under your skin forced its way out as a blush crept up your neck, but you didn’t back down.

“And another thing—this isn’t just about getting what we need today. We need suppliers who don’t hate our guts if we want to keep doing shit down here. Intimidation might work for a quick deal, but it doesn’t build relationships we can rely on.”

The group fell into a tense silence, the weight of your words settling uncomfortably between you. Levi’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides as he forced himself to stay quiet, though the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

Furlan, ever the opportunist for defusing tension, leaned toward you with a smirk.

“You know, you two argue so much, it’s almost like you’re married,” he teased, his voice light but holding just enough edge to draw attention away from the lingering hostility.

You huffed, shooting him a glare. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi scoffed, his sharp gaze flicking toward Furlan for a moment before returning to the path ahead. Despite his irritation, something in your words stuck with him.

He wouldn’t admit it—probably not even under threat—but there was a point buried in your outburst that he couldn’t quite shake. Relationships like the ones you mentioned weren’t just practical—they were critical in a place where survival was a balancing act of trust and necessity.

He'd never admit that, though.

And for all your defiance and fire, there was something about it that stuck with him. It grated on his nerves, yes, but it also kept drawing his focus back to you in a way he didn’t entirely understand—or want to.

You, walking beside Furlan, couldn’t ignore the small part of yourself that saw Levi’s point. If you were being completely honest, there were times when violence was needed.

Sometimes you even caught yourself looking at him waiting for his reaction, but you'd never admit it, not even with a gun to your head.

His rigid control over your every move grated on you just as much as your defiance seemed to irritate him—and he could be oh, so arrogant. It made you feel insane how little he seemed to consider anyone else’s perspective, as though his way was the only way that mattered.

And the fact that he was sometimes right didn’t make it any less infuriating when he dismissed your input outright, you would even dare say it made it a hundred times worse.

It wasn’t just his arrogance that got under your skin; it was the way he made you feel like your choices—your instincts—were insignificant compared to his calculated precision.

Levi had a knack for shutting down your ideas with a single sharp comment, leaving you fuming in the aftermath, replaying every word he’d said and biting your tongue to keep from saying something you’d regret.

And yet, for all the frustration, there was something maddeningly magnetic about him. Maybe it was the intensity in his eyes when he argued, like he could see straight through you.

Or the rare, fleeting moments when his guard slipped just enough to show that his anger wasn’t born of disdain but of something far more complicated.

Still, his control pushed and pulled at you, sparking arguments that left you both seething. It wasn’t just about who was right or wrong; it was about proving that you were capable of holding your own, of matching him move for move, and earning his damn respect—not just in the way he grudgingly gave to an ally, but as an equal like Furlan.

It drove you insane how little he seemed to acknowledge that, how much effort it took just to get him to listen, let alone trust that you could handle yourself.

Even now, as you walked beside Furlan with Levi a few paces ahead, the tension lingered in the air. Every step felt like a continuation of your argument, even in silence. He was infuriating, exhausting, and far too stubborn for his own good. But beneath the irritation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, you understood each other more than either of you would ever admit.

But that was something you weren't quite ready to decipher.

Levi glanced over his shoulder briefly, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp. Whatever this tension was between you, it wasn’t going anywhere—but maybe that wasn’t entirely a bad thing.

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