#I’ll never write again

[arcane-vagabond]

Me trying to even START this fic tbh

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[helleboretea]

Some Prompts for The Pitt because we need more fics:

Langdon’s mood swings aren’t from addiction- he’s got bipolar disorder and his meds aren’t working/he’s switching meds

A family member of one of the mains is brought in (Mel’s sister, Franks kids, Trinity’s estranged mother, etc) (with something relatively minor, please don’t kill off Mel’s sister or Frank’s kid)

Santos and Garcia had a one night stand shortly before she started at the Pitt

Mel discovers /becomes suspicious about Langdon stealing pills instead of Santos

T4T Robby/ Collins (ftm Robby, mtf Collins), Robby was the one who was once pregnant with Collins kid

Mel comes out as ace/aro

Whitaker’s first time going out with the street team

Yellowjackets au (I crave chaos)

Christmas (or other big holiday day) in the ED

Langdon’s first day back from rehab

Hostage situation

Recovery fluff after a bad shift

Santos saves Langdon’s life

Mohan has a chronic health condition that she’s been hiding

Santos used to be Robby’s foster kid

Mel deals with severe overstimulation

Please add more.

[laurrelise]

prove me wrong: tua s4 was a giant aidan gallagher thirst trap written and created by yours truly steve blackman

[lemonwrap]

Soap who has always been a little too much vs Ghost who has always needed a little too much

[melodead]

once upon a time, a child from nowhere dreamt a strange, enchanted forest of centuries ago. the soft grass, ever the slightest damp with morning dew, tickled little ankles. the watery dawn tipped over the horizon, spilling through the gaps in the foliage. a small hand rose to the air. scraped yet still soft, it closed around nothing. light fell through those fingers into memory.

in this long-forgot forest, the child met a boy spun from moonlight and dawn. twilight’s scion. they are but children, yet the child knows this in that young, blundering heart: this has happened before, histories ago. it will happen again, long after this star-blessed meeting. it is a reunion across worlds and a chance encounter and an inevitability stitched into fate’s eternal loom. it is a waking prophecy.

you wake to a dream again.

the reverie, untouched by the eternity between your childhood and now, wraps around you like an embrace. the pale, gilded dawn spills across your skin—warm and cold, barely even there—and drenches you in its impossibility. your fingers sink into the soil beneath your knees. you peer up into the rosy sky, hoping to find an answer.

(you find a kindness you have never been able to afford in your life, and you are certain: this is a dream, and it is wrong.)

rustling rapidly approaches. you look just in time to see him emerge from between the hazy arbor.

even in sleep, silver is loved by the world. the wind combs through his hair lightly. flora seems to turn to him as he passes by, unwilling to look away from this vision. it is through this that you know this dream loves him. you’re almost envious of how loved he is—but you can’t be, because, if not this false reality, the fondness that rests in your chest is not a lie.

his hand reaches out. silver bends to meet you as you rise from the ground, falling into your orbit as though he were made to do so. he thinks it true sometimes: that somewhere, in some way, he was meant to meet you. an ancient piece of his soul belongs to you, has belonged to you for longer than this lifetime, and as he gazes at you, dawn-kissed and ephemeral and real, he knows his fate is sealed.

brilliant. clever. brave. silver knows what you’ve realized it before you even speak, the truth of this crafted reality. he knows you’ve realized the same of him. the clarity of your eyes tell it all.

“we need to wake up,” you whisper as your fingers cradle his face. he leans into your touch, presses a kiss into your palm, and hopes it won’t fade with waking. he knows, he knows, he knows—

“will you find me, silver?”

he would follow you to the end of the earth if you wished it. “anywhere.”

you—brilliant, brave, clever you—will find your way out of this if he cannot. you always do. but even if the long-forgot forest may disappear from his conscious, these feelings will linger. it is the only thing he can count on for himself.

(he hopes you won’t be alone.)

his hand curls around yours, and you wake.

[xiaq]

Me: Perfect, now that I’ve finished Current Book, I can leisurely complete the Trek fic I’m working on and take a few weeks off writing before starting Current Book’s Sequel. No more fic for a while. Let’s make life a bit easier.

Also Me: Can’t sleep and outlines a novel-length Arcane Jayvik + Caitvi fic.

Me @ my brain:

[crybaby-bkg]

Bakugou asks you to join him during one of his photoshoots for a pro hero campaign. he doesn’t understand the point of it, nor why he has to only be in his underwear, but he doesn’t mind it much when he gets to look over to your shy little face.

you’re propped up in a corner on an old couch, laptop perched in your lap, its glare bright despite the way you never really look at it. you’re supposed to be catching up on some work, but you’ve been distracted by the glorious sight that is the love of your life.

when he looks at you, do you duck down, eyes suddenly focused on your screen again. it only makes him smile a little, step away from the assistant of the photographer who comes up to him, calls out your name.

“Huh?” your head whips up with a quickness neither of you expect, goes to show just how invested you really were with your work. but Bakugou only grins at you now, jerking his chin over to you as he grabs the bottle of oil the assistant was trying to pour over him.

“C’mere and gimme a hand, won’t ya?” he asks you, boyish smile gracing his face as he tilts his head at you. immediately, your face warms as you put together the request that’s suddenly dropped in your lap. everyone in the studio looks at you, with both envious and excited gazes, and it only makes you shrink in on yourself.

“I hate you.” you mutter under your breath when you finally rise up from your place on the couch, which he somehow hears. but Bakugou only laughs at you, grabs you by the waist when you’re close enough to kiss you breathless in front of everybody, before he’s handing off the oil to you.

“Such an attention whore,” you whisper when you’re close, the air between the two of you thick. everyone tries to look away, give you guys a bit of privacy, but it’s hard when such a soft and amused look passes over the usually rough and hardened hero’s face.

“Only for your attention.” he grunts back to you, holding his arms out for you to start dripping the oil down his skin. it’s a sensual gesture, the softness between you two sliding into something more, something that you only ever reserve for the bedroom.

you tip the bottle over his shoulders until it drips down his chest, massaging it all in with your hands in crude, circular motions. you can see the way he bites his lip, ignore the way he looks at you down the bridge of his nose lest you two create a scene not meant for the public eye. you gather more oil, warm it between your palms, kneeling in front of him to help massage it into the defined muscles of his stomach.

you ignore the twitch in front of you, swallowing thickly, glancing up to Bakugou who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you yet. you mouth at him to behave, but he only grins, something feral.

“We only need it above the waistband.” the photographer suddenly calls out, snapping you back to attention. you stand on shaky knees, nodding with your eyes casted low, ashamed, that your freak of a man had you doing something so…so—

“Go wait in my dressing room, yeah?” Bakugou asks you, pulling you in close to peck at the corner of your mouth. “Gonna wrap this shit up.” he promises you, and you can only nod silently, mind going a mile a minute. but before you go, you remember to grab the oil. just in case.

[thewritingofamadwoman]

A little snippet that came to mind, since all I’ve been thinking about for the past week and a half is this menace. Should I continue? Let me know what you think x

“Hey, there he is! Say hi to Translucent everybody!” Homelander said cheerfully, as he wrapped his arm around Translucent’s shoulders, effectively pulling him away from you. The invisible man smiled and waved out to the crowd.

“Hey Homelander,” he responded, smiling as the fans cheered and roared at seeing two of the most famous heroes of The Seven acting like the best friends they all assumed they were.

Homelander kept a smile on his face as he used his other hand to slap Translucent’s chest in what seemed to be a friendly gesture. But you knew otherwise. Homelander’s chuckle faded as leaned in.

“Hey, yeah, if I ever see you fucking look in her direction again I’ll burn a hole into your fucking skull. Indestructible skin, give me a fucking break,” Homelander’s smile widened as Translucent paled, a fake smile still plastered on his lips.

“What? Homelander I-“

“Uh-uh. Nope, you don’t get to fucking speak,” Homelander jostled the invisible man closer to him, still smiling. “This guy, huh?” He called out onto the crowd, his canines glistening as they caught the sunlight. The fans ate the interaction up, cheering louder.

“I won’t repeat myself, you fucking pervert. Look at her like that again and I’ll kill you,” he promised. With one last laugh and shake, Homelander let the invisible man go and waved out to the crowd as everyone roared even louder than before. Translucent turned back to his line of fans waiting to take a picture while Homelander made his way over to you, his smile never faltering. You were bent over, leaning down to take a picture with a little girl who showed up to the event dressed as you. Homelander smiled politely at the girls parents and “humbly” refused their praise as they thanked him for keeping the city safe.

“No, please. You guys are the real heroes. We just wear the suits.” He nodded graciously and you smirk up at him as they leave.

“For someone who just threatened to kill one of our team members, you’re awfully cheerful,” you teased. Homelander playfully rolled his eyes at you, his hands poised behind his back in his signature pose.

“That ungrateful little fuck needs to learn to keep his eyes off of things that aren’t his,” he shrugged, giving a tight smile to another on looker who called out his name and waved.

“Oh is that so? And what exactly was he looking at ‘that wasn’t his’?” You joked sincerely as you smiled out into the crowd again and they chanted your name. Homelander looked down at you again, this time his voice almost as sincere as yours.

“You,” he replied and you laughed, not catching onto his change in tone.

“And pray tell, to whom do I belong to then?” You sassed, and turned to look him in the eye ruefully. Homelander’s gaze was focused solely onto your eyes and your smile faltered slightly at his semi-serious expression.

“Me. Duh.”

[fishyartist]

Ui idea tests, thrown together bc im eepy. Was planning on doing more but I spent all my days energy on the second one oops

[neopuppy]

https://x.com/allforljn/status/1776235888168849550

😩😩

ahhhhhh… that police officer Jeno fic I’ll never write

[snakes-of-the-undercity]

Vi is gifted kid burnout but in the english major way

[leviiackrman]

WIP WEEKEND;

I was tagged by @simonxriley + @crownrots to share a wip I’m working on - and for once I actually have something to share!! Thank you my lovelies🤍

Sooooo I did a thing and bought an Xbox 360 to replay all the DA games…. all because I’m making their full blown timelines and couldn’t remembered the choices I made (even with DA Keep’s help) buuutttt I also wanted to fix the mistakes I made - like… ignoring zev… but anyway this is that and it’s A LOT! Still got more to add but lynas will be done once I’ve finished dao again!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @jacobseed @lasersinthejungle @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraesh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @nokstella @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @mistrias @viktorgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol @auricfog

[shepscapades]

The whole “connecting the whole server with rivers” thing isn’t for nothing :3

Okay I just got like 3 asks about this so apparently I missed something DFBJDFGHKCGHN whose POV is this from? i know false is doing all of the river stuff, is she kinda leading the server plot/trying to do something sinister or is it more of a widespread thing? o.o genuinely curious

[queen-tashie]

They’re both from when I was beginning to write, I think the Pokemon one was first.

[lulu2992]

Taylor: So... are you going to drink that? It’s a bit warm now but it’s still good, I guess. John: Hmm, no, I don’t think so. Why? Taylor: Do you mind if I drink it, then? John: Oh no, go ahead. Taylor: *drinks* John, in his head, probably: (Haha, that’s weird, I don’t even know why I’m smiling)

And so that’s what happened in her bunker shortly after this :)