#she just does whatever she wants to and basically the only one who can ever keep her in line is chocola

[aries-temporis]

more of my dumb magical girl concept lol

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[ccazimi]

cw: truform sukuna x reader, heian au, fluff

wc: 1.2k

a/n: wrote this to procrastinate on the neuroscience lab that i have to complete...

Sukuna simply does not understand.

He's given you the largest chambers, second only to his own, the best of anything to provide you with whatever comforts you could ever want.

However, you choose to sleep with him at night. This is still fine, considering his futon is so incredibly large that it could fit him while giving you more than enough space to sleep.

And still, even with this ocean of bedding beside him, he finds himself pushed to the fucking edge of the futon till he's nearly on the floor.

Why?

Because you insist on sleeping by him, sticking yourself next to him as close as possible.

Not in a normal way either, no, just body contact is simply not good enough.

You'll wrap your upper arm and leg over him so that you can cling to him as tightly as possible like a koala hanging onto a tree branch. Sometimes you'll even shift up in your sleep till you're basically wrapped around his head, pretty much holding him in a headlock to keep his skull secure against your chest.

Sukuna runs hot, he always has. So naturally he starts to get even more overheated with the warmth of your body pressed right next to him, rendering him unable to sleep comfortably.

He shifts away out of your hold while he's half asleep, still right beside you, but leaving just a little bit of room so he can cool off.

And somehow, even though you're literally sleeping, you instinctively shift right into that little gap to glue yourself to him again.

This cycle continues, him getting hot, moving away, you moving closer. Like this, you effectively herd him like cattle till he feels the uncomfortable edge of his futon and finally wakes up fully to realize that he's about a centimeter away from sleeping on the fucking floor.

Sukuna looks at you and then at the remaining expanse of the futon right next to you.

Unbelievable.

He tries to push you back into the Great Plains of bedding beside you but you grumble when he disturbs your beauty sleep, eyes still shut.

"Move, brat. I've got no fuckin' room."

Sukuna cannot believe that a human woman who is like a third of his size, has him sleeping at the corner of his own bed like he's the family dog.

You don't move.

He sighs and forcefully picks you up, placing you in the center of all that empty room.

This wakes you up, and of course the very first emotion you feel at having been disturbed is irritation.

"What are you doing?!" you whisper, scowling at him like this is all his fault.

Sukuna blinks at you incredulously, this creature that he could finish off before she could even make a noise, with an attitude that levels his own.

"Me? You keep pushing me to the side like we don't have this entire fucking bed. I will not sleep like a peasant in my own chambers."

"What does that even mean? You're just being classist."

One of Sukuna's eyes twitches.

"That's not the point. Just...sleep on your side of the bed, okay?!" he growls before turning away to go back to sleep.

You mutter some expletives under your own breath as well before also falling asleep.

It can't have been more than forty-five minutes when he finally fully wakes again to find himself once more at the edge of the futon.

Strangely though, he doesn't feel you stuck onto him like usual.

He turns to find you sleeping horizontally in that wide open space after having cornered him to the edge of the bed.

All in your sleep.

Sukuna has had just about enough of these antics, further agitated from the lack of rest. He moves over to flick your forehead with one hand, almost feeling bad about it, if it weren't for the current circumstances.

"Wha-" Your eyes shoot open before you glare at him. "Do you have some kind of problem?"

Well, that does it.

If you were anyone else he would've murdered you on the spot, but you're not, so your punishment is limited to him angrily telling you that if you do it again he's going to make you sleep in your own room.

In response you drop your mouth open, staring at him in complete offense like he's personally cursed your entire bloodline. "You do not mean that."

"Try me."

That's enough to have you huffing, getting up off the bed and storming towards the door.

Sukuna frowns. "Where the hell are you going? I said if you do it again, I'm not telling you to leave."

His words fall upon deaf ears, because honestly, he should know by now how stubborn you are.

You leave his room, and go sleep in your own bed.

Sure it's not nearly as nice, but it works just because you're fueled by pure spite, and soon you're fast asleep.

Sukuna, on the other hand, finds himself not able to sleep at all. He tosses and turns until sunlight peaks over the horizon and those damn birds start making a racket outside.

And though he's a bit miserable the whole day, he figures it's fine as you'll come sneaking into his room to sleep with him again tonight, like you always do.

Except you don't.

He waits, night falls, and still you don't arrive.

Finally with a sigh he gets up to go to your chambers, telling himself this is for practical purposes, and practical purposes only because apparently his body can't fall asleep without you right by him.

You're laying in your bed when he enters your room, seemingly asleep.

"Stop pretending to be asleep,” he states flatly.

You, with your closed lids, wonder how he knew that. Either way, you don't respond, continuing to feign sleep.

Sukuna remains unimpressed. "I know you're awake, woman."

He's slept with you enough nights to know that there's no way you would sleep so normally, laying perfectly straight in your bed, on your back, blankets tucked neatly around you.

Sukuna groans and simply walks over to your futon, bends over, and slings you over his shoulder like a burlap sack.

And just like he knew you would, you immediately start squirming as he hauls you back to his room, throwing insults at him that he's never even heard before, not even from you.

Still, there's not much you can do, and eventually he gets to his chambers, dropping you on his futon.

You land flat on your butt, before crossing your arms to glare up at him.

"I don't want to sleep with you,” you hiss.

"Don't care."

You grumble some more before resigning to sleep at the opposite edge of the bed from him, back turned his way. You feel the futon dip under his weight as he gets in and settles down.

A moment of silence and then-

"Come here,” he orders.

You don't move, and when you don't, he does, shifting over till he's pretty much spooning you.

"Asshole,” you mumble, though you let your body melt into his touch. "Move, I have no room."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

But really it doesn't matter, because he'll wake up on the opposite side of the bed anyway in the morning, with you wrapped around him like usual.

[icecream4starscream]

Spoiler Warning for Transformers One. Please go see the film, it's great.

Something occurred to me when rewatching Elita-1's firing scene:

Right off the bat, she's presented as an absolute unit in the mines. We see her being a very by-the-book character. She's incredibly competent, strong, serious, focused, and an effective leader.

Maybe a little too effective.

We learn that Sentinel goes out of his way to personally take care of any "anomalies" in his system and does so in a way where the blame always gets shifted away from him.

It's why he personally went to see Pax and D-16 after the Iacon 5000 race. He makes himself out to be the open-minded, compassionate leader he's been parading as.

When Darkwing throws Orion and D-16 into sub-level 50, neither bot suspects Sentinel for their demotion. In fact, they beg Darkwing to talk to Sentinel so he can sort out the "misunderstanding".

It's later confirmed that Sentinel never had any intention of talking with Orion or D-16 after their first meeting. When Orion reunites with his fellow miners later in the film, they mention that Sentinel put out a statement saying that they both died from "racing injuries".

Sentinel might've not even openly ordered Darkwing to dispose of them. Darkwing might've been manipulated into thinking everyone was mocking him for losing the race (thanks to lowly miners) making him want to get rid of them.

Subconsciously manipulating someone like Darkwing would've been easy for Sentinel.

Sentinel clearly does not tolerate anyone rising above the station he imposes on them.

So what does this have to do with Elita-1 being fired?

We see her rigidly following the rules, meeting all quotas, running a tight and efficient crew. She's doing her job as a miner, a role unknowingly forced upon her by Sentinel, perfectly.

Shouldn't Sentinel be happy about that?

Well sure...

If Elita wasn't actively trying to get promoted.

We don't get a lot of information about how promotion works in TFOne's mining system, but we do know that in other iterations of pre-war Cybertron, one of the only ways miners could rise out of the mines was by participating in ridiculously difficult gladiatorial fights in Kaon's pits.

In other iterations, this was how D-16/Megatron was able to escape his station and how he grew to be so strong.

So basically, whatever version you look at, the miners are told "if you work really, reeeeally hard, and do your job perfectly, and don't die in the process (which, odds are, you will) you might, MIGHT get a chance to get out of the caste you were born into."

It's BS.

It's an impossible feat. No one is actually supposed to be able to achieve that goal, but it's the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of the work mules so they don't notice the ever-tightening rope around their necks.

But every so often there's someone extraordinary, like Elita, who actually manages to meet this impossible standard and with whom it becomes increasingly difficult to deny this coveted promotion.

So what can Sentinel do about bots like Elita-1?

Simple.

Wait for a screw-up.

It must happen eventually.

A member of Elita's team, Orion Pax, in clear violation of evacuation protocol, goes back into the mines to save Jazz from getting crushed to death.

Despite managing to escape, the closing mine causes a tunnel support to be flung into nearby machinery (which doesn't look critical and could probably be easily fixed).

Then, right the heck outta nowhere, Darkwing drops in, SECONDS AFTER THE INCIDENT JUST HAPPENED, and immediately fires Elita.

No "What happened?" or "Who's responsible?" or "The supervisor wants to see you", he just pops into the scene and demotes Elita, arguably one of the best workers in the mine, to a bottom-tier waste management position.

As if he'd been on standby, actively waiting for a reason to fire her.

"But Elita herself wasn't the one who screwed up!"

Doesn't matter.

"But she told them to follow protocol!"

Doesn't matter.

"But Orion admitted he was the one at fault!"

Doesn't matter.

"But a bot was saved! Jazz would've died!"

Does. Not. MATTER.

Her firing is presented as the typical "one character says thing won't happen then thing immediately happens" joke, but given how so much thought went into so much of TFOne's background details, I can't help but wonder if this was a hint to how broken the system was and how it was always rigged in a way that ensures the miners will never get out.

Not to mention, once Orion, D-16, and Jazz safely escape, she chews Orion out by saying, "If I get fired for this..." meaning this abrupt, out-of-nowhere, baseless firing is absolutely typical.

That's what makes Elita's "I'm better than you" speech to Orion that much more meaningful, because in many ways, she is better than him.

She's a better worker, better fighter, better at completing the task at hand, better at making sure things run smoothly. She is, ironically enough, an efficient and perfectly-running machine.

But had Orion not dragged Elita to the surface, she probably would've spent her whole life obediently following the rules, never questioning why things were the way they were. She was so focused on rising up within the system that she could never look beyond it.

Elita might be the cog by which other cogs turn.

But Orion is the spark that shows them a better way.

That's why he was given the Matrix.

[charmedsquirell]

How I got into the void

Hey guys,

My name is Sylvie. i want to share that two years ago, I started to look into the void state because I was in bad place in my life. I wanted to be useful for my family and give them everything in an instant. I downloaded tumblr and started to follow all the blogs I could find. I found a lot of information. Most of it contradicted one another and that confused me a lot. The people that helped me the most were b4ddprincess, lucky kiwii, adambja and wizlizbelle. When Wizliz left, i also deleted my tumblr since she was the only one who i used to rant to and i was really suicidal.

i found her again and started to ranting to her about my life which was irritating and I'm sure like most bloggers do not want to be trauma dumped on but i just did not have anyone on my side. But I wanted to make this post bc i know her blog doesn't exist anymore but there were people who wanted to know more about this stuff. I basically asked for tarot readings from her so i could see why it was not working for me and i would like ask every single day. one day she told me that my only problem is resistance. I will try my best to explain it like she did.

so basically the ego feeds on resistance because it knows you do not believe in the positive things you tell it fully and some people have their ego under control, some people do not. I used to do like 4 hour non stop affirming every day and it did not work for me. so she said stop affirming, stop asking tarot, and give in to the voice. I was like is she guiding me to do the wrong thing but then she said it helped her a lot. So i was not believing in this but i did it (she sent a script of what to say) and the voice came

"you will never date Alek and he will never love you" and i said "yeah i know. and?"

"you will never lose weight and be fat forever" and i said " yeah i won't. and?"

"you will never enter the void state" and i said "yeah i know i won't, and?" and then the voice like just stopped. there was nothing. literally nothing and my mind had never ever been clear. so i teold her like this happened and she says "you basically tamed your ego and put it to sleep by giving it what it wanted to hear but because you've been affirming and trying all these methods in your past, your subconscious will not buy into negtivity. Your subconscious is the part of your brain that cannot function on its own and blindly believes you. It cannot even see what u see."

i was literally so shocked because i would always affirm "no! he will love me and i'll enter the void" like trying to convince the go but wiz said that you can tame the ego and make it work for you instead of trying to convince it. when you agree with it, it becomes silent. like oh she gave me what i wanted to hear, now what? so now when i would think "the void is hard" automatically i would hear "no it's not". like not even me saying it but just a same voice that would be negative before.

look, i do not really care for like what is and what is not or whatever drama that happened. and it was bad to see her go but the truth is that we do not need to hear from others. Of course if she had not told me, i would not know but sometimes putting in the work does more damage than good sometimes and i used to see many like me here.

So then finally i tried this at night, when lying down i let the negativity came in and i did not resist it. when my mind became completely silent (it took maybe one to two minutes) i said "i am in the void" and i felt no resistance. then i did not expect anything but just to affirm over and over. finally i was there. it was the void and i knew because i did not even feel my whole body just like a floating thing like ball of light. I affirmed that my dad would get his job back and my bf would love me. i affirmed for losing weight. all that came true so fast but i spent time in the void. when i woke up, i had it. my dad was happy he brought sweets to celebrate. everything else came true as well. so now i come back to tumblr to say goodbye again that maybe we have to work with us and not against.

just to be safe, this is just my experience and i'm not gonna like respond or anything bc i do not want to be a blogger especially after seeing the drama. you may not feel this way but this worked for me. maybe it will work for you and maybe not.

[luv-lock]

How would each variant of mark be like with their respective alien!reader? The thought that maybe some of the variants would be worse than alien!reader is interesting to think about

Oh, this is a fun one. Each Mark variant has a completely different relationship with their respective Y/N, and honestly, some of them are way worse than her. It’s interesting to see how they interact because the power balance, affection, and overall dynamic shift so much depending on which Mark we’re talking about.

Normal Mark – The Best Version

This is the healthiest version of them. She’s basically an overprotective housewife. She doesn’t want to rule, she doesn’t want to commit genocide, she doesn’t want to be a god—she just wants to protect her husband and kids. That’s it. She follows Mark everywhere, not because she’s clingy, but because she refuses to let anything happen to him, especially when he’s on Viltrum.

She leaves the kids with Debbie, not just for safety but because she trusts her to raise them well and to protect her in return. She sees Debbie as family and wants her to be safe just as much as Mark.

Their relationship is strong. When Mark is exhausted or injured, she’s the one patching him up, holding him, making sure he survives. She’s probably the only one who can relax him when he’s overwhelmed. It’s normal, stable, and honestly the best-case scenario.

Sinister Mark – The Most Messed-Up Pair

This one is insane. She was imprisoned for millions of years before Mark found her, and by then, she was basically feral. Mark knew exactly what she was from the moment he saw her, and instead of trying to fix her, he accepted it. Because he’s just as bad.

They use each other. It’s toxic, but it works. They’re both unstable, both completely off the rails, and somehow, it makes them perfect for each other. The weirdest part? It’s cute in its own horrifying way. They just get each other. Their love language? Cannibalism. They kill together, they eat together, and yeah, she’s always pregnant.

Also, unlike normal Mark, who just holds her or sits her on his lap, Sinister Mark always carries her on his shoulder. That’s basically her throne. She barely ever touches the ground. And when she does? It’s usually because she’s about to massacre someone.

They’re insane, but they’re insane together.

Viltrumite Mark – The Fragile Love

This one is more tragic. His version of her isn’t weak, but she’s sick. She’s constantly tired, barely has the energy to move, but she gives birth to strong children. She’s valuable to him, not just as the mother of his kids, but as his. And because she’s so fragile, he keeps her locked away, completely protected from the outside world.

Mark is terrifying to everyone else, but with her? He’s gentle. He handles her like she’s glass, always speaking softly, always making sure she’s comfortable. She spends most of her time asleep, and when she is awake, he’s there, holding her.

She’s not afraid of him, but she knows there’s no leaving. Not that she’d even try—she’s too exhausted for that. He makes sure she’s safe, comfortable, and untouched by the horrors outside, but at the cost of her freedom. It’s soft in a way, but also completely controlled by him.

Mohawk Mark – The Most Selfish Pair

This one is a total mess. She’s the most childish, most self-centered version of them all. She doesn’t care about their kids, she doesn’t care about Mark’s ambitions—she just wants to enjoy herself. She’s greedy, she wants to be worshiped, and she wants power.

Mark is the one actually doing the work—leading, fighting, handling things—but she doesn’t care. As long as she gets what she wants, he can do whatever. Their relationship is mostly built on sex. She’s hedonistic and just wants to live in excess, indulging in everything she can.

They’re not exactly partners in the traditional sense. She’s more like a goddess, and Mark is the one making sure she stays satisfied. It’s not deep, it’s not meaningful, but it’s exactly what she wants.

Each version is so different, but they all fit in their own ways. Some are soft, some are twisted, some are just completely unhinged, but they all have their own weird logic that makes their relationship work.

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.

[mygnolia]

to weave my love ⭒ n. riki [TEASER]

⭒ SYNOPSIS -› Riki is good at many things- dancing, making fun of his friends, playing it cool (debatable.), Hell- he’s even good at saving people from falling buildings without getting whiplash. But the things he’s bad at? Well, it’s asking you out to prom, and trying to balance the shared assignment he has with you…while being Spider-man.

⭒ PAIR -› spiderman!nishimura riki x fem-pres!reader

⭒ GENRE -› fluff, banter, comfort ⭒ TROPES -› classmates to lovers, idiots to lovers ⭒ WC -› 6-10k (est.)

⭒ RELEASE DATE -› IT'S HEREEEEEEEE YAYYYY

⭒ REN SAYS... spiderman niki is a need hes so cute i love riki sm 😕🫵 also poll voted for this and tbh i just wanna write downbad riki LOLZ | LIBRARY

“God, I don’t think you can look at her any more down bad than you already do right now.” Jake picks at his food, and despite his concentration directed towards the olives on his pizza, he’s able to dodge the flying loaded nacho that goes his way, even if he wasn’t the one with superpowers.

“Can you shut up?” Riki grumbles, laying his head on his arms as he watches you smile and point to something. “I just got pummeled into a semi truck last night. Let me have this before I die in a week.”

“Very grim,” his friend notes, ruffling the younger’s hair. “I think this is exactly what all of those mental health assemblies that we get are for.” And Riki basically tunes him out, too tired to fight and too used to the teasing remarks to come up with anything useful in response.

Riki sits up a bit, letting his head rest on his propped elbow as he looks at the school food and touches another nacho gingerly. “Y’know, I read the book for English so she wouldn’t think I’m an idiot.”

His friend snickers, successfully pulling out yet another sliced olive from the cheese, much to the disgust of Riki. “She probably already thinks you’re an idiot.”

The superhero debates throwing another cheesy nacho in Jake's face, before deciding to eat it instead. “Don’t say that asshole! You make it seem like I have no chance with her.”

Jake shoots him an exasperated look that makes Riki break eye contact. “That’s because you don’t.”

“I’ll prove to her that I’m worth her time.” Riki says somewhat wistfully, still stealing glances from a few tables away. “Maybe I’ll ask her out to prom, show up to her balcony in my suit. Do that cheesy upside kiss shit people say Spiderman does.” When his friend raises an eyebrow at him, Riki shrugs. “I will! Well-maybe not the Spiderman thing, but prom definitely.”

Jake continues to look at him unconvinced as he takes a bite out of a slice of pizza with mangled cheese. “You barely talk to her in class and you think you can ask her out to prom as Nishimura Riki?” And the younger grins, his eyes still stuck on how your eyes crinkle and how your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Yup.” And his fate is sealed, just like that.

“Are you going to prom, Riki?” Is the first thing you ask when he sits down, grabbing his book and laptop with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I’m thinking about it.” Yeah- whatever confidence he had 37 minutes ago really isn’t serving him well in this moment, because frankly, Riki feels lame as ever trying to be nonchalant around you. “You?”

“I’d have to set up, so I would be there, yes. But whether or not I have a date is another story.” You smile to lighten the mood, but Riki watches you and nods, focusing back on signing into his laptop and getting his notes.

“Well, you’re not the only single one here.” And he wants to reprimand himself for saying something without thinking. “If someone asked, would you say yes?”

You think about it, really- because you don’t really have anyone in mind when it comes to prom if Riki’s not planning on going. “It’d have to someone I know- someone I talk to somewhat regularly. I’d be nice to be with someone who doesn’t make it awkward.”

Nishimura Riki might die from overthinking if he keeps wondering whether or not he fits that description to a tee.

RIKI'S TO-DO LIST BEFORE PROM ☐ talk to ____ regularly ☐ don't make it awkward ☐ be..cute?

THERE IS NO OFFICIAL TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC, join my perm taglist to be notified when this fic comes out!

if you’d like to proofread this, i’d love for someone to join my chaotic half done doc and offer some feedback/advice!

permanent fic taglist (send ask to be added) : @dimplewonie @minleeeknow @heeheesang @mintpjzroll @llvrhee @firstclassjaylee @in-somnias-world @rairaiblog

[eggfriedricedwasian]

Give me psychopathic killer Tim Drake in which Gotham and several other super hero infested cities all gain a new serial killer they have dubbed as "Smiler".

Why? Simple, when the killer leaves the crime scene, the body is totally and entirely mutilated, skin grafts made and missing, organs and bones missing here and there and it's no specifically chosen ones either, the rest of the organs and bones are strung up in the place of murder. But the reason for the name Smiler is because the head is decapitated and left in perfect condition other than a smile cut along the face in a Joker-Jeff-The-Killer-esque way that leaves even the unscared scared.

Why would Tim do this? For fun. He's very morally gray, kids are where he cuts the line, but everyone else for no reason at all? It's fun to him. So maybe he was hit a few times in the head too many with electrocution(This can be from regular crime fighting or Joker Jr or League of Assassins you decide), he finds it fun to do all of this methodically and leave people in shambles trying to figure it out.

But how is he able to do this? He, without anyone's knowledge and for fun, got a Ph.D and Doctorates in med school to be a licensed surgeon and what not. He still regularly performs surgery, he works as a surgeon 4 days of the week and no one knows because they think he's working at WE but really it's basically all Tam, he's just there to be the face and to provide good info. He's already reformed the board so he can do whatever.

Would the hero community ever find out? Up to you. Here's how I would picture them finding out;

Some girl gets cornered the bats, then starts rambling for whatever reason about them when they're trying to help her.

"If I want understanding I'd go to Batman.

If I want empathy I'd go to Nightwing.

If I wanted a presence I'd go to Robin.

If I wanted emotional stability I'd go to Red Hood.

If I wanted support I'd go to Spoiler.

If I wanted the truth I'd go to Black Bat.

But if I wanted someone murdered, I'd go to Red Robin."

And the pieces don't make sense, because who is this woman and how does she know or why does she think Red Robin, Batman's literal in-every sense-but-blood mini-me, is a murderer? He follows Batman's moral code like a god.

But then they start looking further into his life. As CEO, they find he's not working there often, only 3 days a week, specifically for meetings. They dig deeper and find that somewhere between now and his quest for Bruce he lost his spleen and got a Ph.D and Doctorates. When confronted he said it'd be good especially for on the field when there's no one to step in and help. Experience and trust in the field is a good thing, like Harley Quinn.

Knowing that, Bruce being paranoid starts learning a bit more about surgery, and then something brings up the Smiler killings. Bruce looks at the things about the Smiler's way of killing and compares it to a surgeon. The way of opening the body, removing skin, removing the organs, no inexperienced person without a surgical background would be able to do this. They would have destroyed the organs. Or at least damaged them in someway.

Bruce starts watching Tim closely, because the time he got the license in surgery is around the time the Smiler started killing.

It was inly confirmed when one slip up gave him away. A threat.

"I will surgically remove your organs and make it seem like an organ donation."

He said that to a Justice League member after getting into a dispute with them.

That started the questions. The first one was a trick question, it was supposed to only scare Tim into confessing. But Tim wasn't scared, he knew they didn't know and he knew this was a scare tactic, he knows interrogation. Yet he still confessed. He was happy to. Smiling like a psycho and everything.

"It started as a joke. Joke? Well, practice. A small time thug, a human sex trafficker. Red Hood was gonna kill him anyways, so I thought, "why not do it myself?", you know? I had the license, the experience, I needed more of the latter though. So I just started opening him up. Removing things little by little. It was fun. The decapitation and the smile was my little thing though. The missing organs, donated to science and to people who need them. So can you really say I'm doing something completely wrong?"

The detail Tim went into caused a few to lose their stomachs.

Tim, the psycho, was enjoying this.

(This could definitely play a part in Tim becomes Damian's Joker to his Batman. I saw a post about it somewhere.)

[sparrowlucero]

thoughts on thasmin?

I find it (and a lot of the era) both pretty fascinating and kind of miserable and also not very good. I think enough has been said about how it goes basically unacknowledged until the last 3 episodes and how it feels queerbaity and how the main episode grappling with it is pretty bad, so let me throw something else into the ring: I think it thematically works, it's just that the themes are fucking nuts. In my opinion, the Chibnall era and especially its finale is, at the end of the day, trying to reconcile something it finds emotionally unsatisfying about the classic show - mainly that characters will leave the show suddenly and never really be mentioned again - by characterizing the Doctor as a person who habitually shuts people out before ultimately dropping contact with them and leaving them to emotionally deal with that. Dan, on day one of returning home, is immediately left with the impression that the Doctor is angry with him. After that, you see 80s characters Tegan and Ace on year 30, who have spent a sizeable amount of their lives under a similar impression. The Doctor, the show is saying, is someone who can never cease abandoning people and leaving them with this strife. Time will always run out, a production fact reimagined as a deepset anxiety for the characters. Everyone she knows will be doomed to the same fate of lost contact no matter what, and Yaz is next on the chopping block:

even though the doctor is the one rejecting her (and will ultimately leave her) by what's seemingly her own volition, she expresses that she doesn't actually want that at all. It's just, to her mind, unavoidable:

So you know theoretically I like this, there's something heady and despairing and metafictional about it. "I'm sorry Yaz, I'm fucked, I know for a fact that this season is gonna end and I'm gonna move on to the next person because that's how the casting works on this show so we might as well just cut it here." I feel like the obvious payoff to this would be the character going against this thought process in some way at the end, love is more important than inevitable loss, or whatever. But it actually comes to much weirder conclusion: It absolves the Doctor entirely. Her viewpoint is, in the end, truly objective and justified. She's positioned as someone who genuinely lacks agency, and the harm caused by these relationships suddenly ending and her never contacting again is simply an inevitable fact of the universe; even when she herself seems to be at fault, it's not a thing she herself actually does to people with any intent to harm. Most interestingly, I think, the emotional turmoil of the companions is characterized as basically being their own fault. Yaz tells Dan, for instance, that he's misinterpreting the Doctor being upset at him; she's acting that way because simply because she "doesn't like goodbyes" rather than out of anger:

Any assumption Tegan has made about why she never heard from him again is negated; he always cared, she just didn't get him:

Most pointedly, Ace's emotional resolution involves her acknowledging that she was entirely wrong in judging him for anything, as she was simply failing to grasp his personal burden:

TLDR; I think the thesis statement at the end of the chibnall era is basically "The Doctor leaves everyone, that's how the show works, and the only way the characters can find resolution is to move forward and just accept that it's not the Doctor's fault and no bad feelings were ever involved." (I think this is, again, the result of attempting to recontextualize the doctor losing contact with characters suddenly and with little or no resolution in the classic show as an entirely intentional character beat for her, without coming to any overly nasty conclusions about her being in the wrong)

So on that note, there's a lot of confusion over Yaz's ending; the doctor, dying, is like "well, that's it then, I'd rather be alone now" and Yaz accepts this without further pushback. It's not made especially clear why she has to leave or why she doesn't argue the point, and a lot of people have struggled to explain why she actually leaves (as they've never sent anyone away when they've died before)

I don't think this is quite as random as it's usually taken, though; Yaz here leaves the show when subject to the same inevitable abandonment the story has been exploring the entire time, but unlike the other characters, she actually gets the doctor. She's connected to them on a deep enough level to understand that they're not actually leaving on bad terms. She's accepted her role in this cycle and the doctor's lack of fault in it and will therefore never be tegan or ace or dan wondering what went wrong. She, unlike the doctor, holds all the agency here. It's her actions going forward that will determine if this is tragedy or merely bittersweet. And we know it's the latter, because she knows not to say goodbye. genuinely batshit and i kind of have to respect it. anyways I also just have to say it's wild that they have a set up where the doctor pressures yaz into taking a gun against her better judgement and then later gets shot and it's 1) not yaz who shoots her, 2) not the same gun and 3) not what kills her. my god they were so close to some insane tragically ironic gay drama there and they fucked it up. unforgivable. think of the fanart.

[p0orbaby]

Skeletons

summary: aitana has a secret that you’re reluctant to keep, but you do, because having her in private is better than not having her at all

warnings: angst, closeted relationship

a/n: inspired by this request ! fyi i’m not a massive fan of the ending so if you think it’s bad then your opinion is valid

word count: 4.9k

-

It’s been a long day, another day of tactical meetings and drills, the weight of another training session at Barça hanging heavy on your body. You sit beside Aitana in the lounge of her flat—everything pristine but minimal, almost impersonal, as if she's never spent enough time here to give it a real life. No personal touch to the decor, just basic furniture. A lamp that looks like it was picked because it was there and not because it meant anything. The kind of living space of someone who only ever comes home to sleep, or maybe to avoid something else. You think you know what that something else is, or maybe it’s just a suspicion that’s been gnawing at you for years, a quiet terror lodged deep in the center of you, almost as if it's waiting for something to happen. You’re pretty sure it's always been there.

You notice how she sits too close, legs curled beneath her on the sofa, leaning into you in that way she always does when she’s not really aware of it. Aitana’s always been like that—too close, too warm, her casual touches like a silent scream at the back of your mind—her fingers brushing your arm, her shoulder pressing lightly into yours, her laughter soft and private, like you’re the only one who could ever understand the joke, like she trusts you with something that’s too big for either of you to say out loud. It’s a proximity that drives you insane, but you’ve learned to live with it because there’s never been another option. Not really. Not when every look, every smile, every stupid moment of her being this…close keeps you on a knife's edge between bliss and misery.

She looks at you now with those eyes that you’ve memorised, those soft brown eyes that never stop searching, like she’s always trying to find the right words but can never quite get there. It’s a little terrifying, the way she looks at you sometimes. Like you’re the answer to something she hasn't quite plucked up the courage to ask yet.

“I’m glad you came over,” she says, her voice softer than usual, like she's thinking about something more serious but doesn't want to show it. Her hand is on your arm again, a casual thing, but it’s not casual, not to you. It hasn’t been casual for years.

You nod, biting back whatever sarcastic response you might’ve thrown out, because this—this moment feels like a delicate thread, as if one wrong move could break it. And you don’t want to break it. God, you don’t want to break it.

“Of course, I came over. You needed me, right?” you say, forcing a lightness into your voice that feels false, but you’re so used to this performance. It’s second nature. Being near her and pretending like it’s normal when your heart is pounding loud enough to deafen you.

“Yeah,” she says, but there’s something under that single word, something unsure. She leans back into the sofa cushions, and you feel the shift, the weight of her thigh brushing yours, your heart picking up speed even as you try to ignore it. You look at her, and she’s staring at the floor now, like she’s trying to figure something out but can’t bring herself to say it.

You’ve never been good with silence, not between the two of you, not when it feels like this, charged and dangerous, and you almost say something—anything—to break it, but she beats you to it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, her voice quiet, her gaze still on the floor. She shifts, her fingers tightening slightly on your arm, and your chest clenches, that familiar wave of something crashing over you. “About…stuff”

The vagueness of it should annoy you, but it doesn’t. Not when her voice sounds like this. Not when her whole body feels tense, like she’s holding something back.

“What kind of stuff?” you ask, keeping your tone casual, keeping the panic buried deep where it belongs. You can’t show it. You can’t let her see how much this is affecting you, how much every word out of her mouth feels like it could unravel you.

She finally looks up at you, and there’s something different in her eyes. Something you haven’t seen before, or maybe you’ve seen it a hundred times but you’ve never let yourself believe it could be real. Her gaze holds yours for a moment, and then she looks away again, biting her bottom lip like she’s nervous.

It’s not a look you see from Aitana often. She’s usually so sure of herself, so confident, even when she’s being quiet, even when she’s being thoughtful. But this—this feels different. She’s fidgeting now, her fingers tapping lightly against her knee, and you can’t help but watch her, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head, trying not to let yourself hope. Because hope is dangerous. Hope is a trap you’ve fallen into too many times, and every time you climb out of it, it feels like it just leaves you more bruised.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about,” she says, and her voice is so soft now, so fragile. It’s like she’s terrified of what she’s about to say, and that terrifies you because Aitana is never terrified.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. “What’s up?” you ask, trying to sound calm, even though your heart is racing and there’s a knot forming in your stomach.

She hesitates for a moment, and then she reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit you’ve seen a thousand times but never thought much about until now, when everything about her feels heightened, like you’re seeing her for the first time all over again.

“I…” She stops, her voice faltering, and then she takes a deep breath, forcing the words out like they’ve been stuck inside her for too long. “I think I might like someone”

Your chest tightens. This is it. The moment you’ve always dreaded. The moment where she tells you about some guy—some random guy she’s fallen for, the guy she’s going to love the way you wish she would love you.

“Oh,” you say, and it comes out flat, empty. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else.

But she doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Her fingers are still tapping against her knee, her eyes still fixed somewhere just past your shoulder.

“It’s… weird,” she continues, her voice wavering, and now she’s biting her lip again, harder this time, and you can see the tension in her jaw. “Because I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this about…a girl”

Your heart stops. You freeze. Every part of you goes still as her words sink in, slow and heavy, like they’re not quite real. Like they can’t be real.

But she’s still talking, her voice shaky, her eyes finally meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, the uncertainty, the fear that she’s saying something wrong, something that’s going to ruin everything. And suddenly you’re not breathing, not thinking, not doing anything except sitting there, staring at her, because what else can you do? What can you say when the thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly, inexplicably, in front of you?

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, and now her hand is resting on your arm again, her fingers brushing your skin in a way that feels deliberate, feels like more than just a casual touch.

And you—God, you don’t know what to do either. You don’t know how to breathe, how to think, how to process what’s happening. Because this—this moment—is something you’ve imagined a thousand times in your head, something you’ve dreamed about but never really believed would happen.

But it is happening. Right now. Right in front of you.

You blink, your throat tight, your mind a mess of thoughts that don’t make any sense, and she’s still looking at you, still waiting for you to say something, do something, anything. But you can’t. You can’t because you’re terrified that if you move, if you speak, if you do anything, this moment will shatter and you’ll wake up and it’ll all be gone.

So you sit there, frozen, staring at her, trying to understand how you got here, trying to understand what this means, trying to understand her—Aitana, your best friend, the girl you’ve been in love with for what feels like forever.

And she’s looking at you like she’s scared. Scared of what you’ll say, scared of what you’ll do. But more than that, she looks scared of herself, of what she’s feeling. You can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she’s still not sure if this is okay, if she’s okay, if liking you—wanting you—is something she’s allowed to want.

“I’m scared,” she says softly, and it breaks you because Aitana doesn’t get scared. She’s brave. She’s fearless. She’s everything you’ve always wanted to be. And now she’s sitting here, vulnerable and uncertain, and you don’t know how to help her because you’re still trying to figure out how to help yourself.

But then she looks at you again, her eyes searching yours, and something shifts. Something clicks into place. And before you can stop yourself, before you can think about what you’re doing, you reach out and take her hand, your fingers lacing with hers, warm and steady and real.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m not going anywhere”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, she smiles, just a little. A small, tentative smile, but it’s enough. It’s everything.

-

It starts slowly, like all dangerous things do. A late-night text that pulls you back to her place after training, her fingertips brushing your hand on the walk back from the gym, a lingering glance that lasts just a second too long when she thinks no one’s paying attention. You both fall into it like gravity’s pulling you, and for a while, it’s enough. Enough to have her behind closed doors, enough to know that, at least in those quiet moments between just the two of you, she’s yours.

But it’s also nothing like what you’d imagined all those years, lying in your own bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what it’d be like to have her next to you for real. It’s not perfect—it can’t be, not when everything has to be hidden. You’re still her best friend in public, the girl she spends all her time with, the girl who knows her better than anyone else. But not the girl she kisses when the cameras aren’t flashing, not the girl she pulls close when no one’s looking.

Those moments belong only to the nights when her guard is down, when her walls crumble and she lets you in, just for a few hours. It’s messy, but you’ve always known it would be. Aitana is nothing if not a contradiction—so sure of herself on the pitch, so certain of what she wants when it comes to football, but with this—with you—she’s hesitant. Insecure, even, and it’s a side of her you’re still learning how to navigate.

It’s late one night after another exhausting match, and she’s already taken her shower, her hair damp against the pillow as you lie beside her. Her apartment smells faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser she never turns off, and the air between you feels heavy, like it always does after sex. Like there’s something unsaid just hanging there, but neither of you is brave enough to say it.

She’s resting her head on your chest, one arm draped lazily across your stomach, her fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin. And for a moment, everything is perfect. Just her and you, tangled together in her too-big bed, your bodies sore but comfortable in the way that only comes with familiarity. You feel her breath against your neck, steady and soft, and you close your eyes, trying to commit every second of this to memory. These are the moments you live for now.

But then she speaks, her voice low and hesitant, and you know what’s coming before she even says it.

“You know we can’t tell anyone, right?” Her fingers stop moving, and she lifts her head to look at you, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “Not yet”

It’s not the first time she’s said it, and it won’t be the last. You’ve had this conversation before, too many times to count. But each time, it feels like a fresh wound, like she’s cutting into you all over again with that same blunt blade. You want to tell her that it hurts, that it tears you apart every time she introduces you to someone as “just a friend” or dodges questions about her love life in interviews, leaving you wondering what it would feel like to be acknowledged, even just once.

But you don’t say that. You won’t. Because you know she’s scared. Scared of what it means, scared of what people will say, scared of admitting to herself that she’s not the person she thought she was. And you love her too much to push her. So instead, you nod, keeping your voice steady even though your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Yeah, I know”

She sighs in relief, dropping her head back to your chest, her body relaxing against yours again. And just like that, the conversation is over. She’s yours again—for now, at least.

But there are moments, moments when the secret feels too heavy, too suffocating, and you don’t know how long you can keep carrying it without cracking under the pressure. It happens one day after a game, when the whole team goes out to celebrate a win, and you’re sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and trying to keep your distance. Because that’s what you do now. You keep your distance. You stay just close enough to be there for her, but never close enough to make anyone suspicious.

Aitana’s across the room, talking with a group of teammates, laughing at something Alexia says, and for a second, it’s like she forgets you’re even there. She’s in her element, charming and confident, the version of herself you’ve always admired. And when someone asks her about dating—probably joking, probably not thinking twice about it—you watch her laugh it off, deflecting like she always does.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone,” she says, so casually, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you don’t exist. Like the nights you’ve spent together, wrapped up in each other, mean nothing.

It hits you harder than it should. Harder than it ever has before. And you know it’s not fair to feel like this—it’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to you. You knew what this was when you started, knew that it wasn’t going to be easy. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You drain the rest of your beer, the bitterness burning your throat, and get up to leave before anyone notices. Before she notices. You can’t sit there and watch her laugh and flirt with other people, pretending like she’s not going to go home with you tonight. Pretending like she’s not yours.

When you’re halfway to the door, you feel her hand on your arm, and you stop, turning to face her. She looks up at you, her expression soft, her eyes wide and questioning.

“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice low enough that no one else can hear. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“I’m tired,” you say, not bothering to hide the edge in your voice. “I think I’ll head home”

Aitana frowns, her hand still on your arm, like she’s not ready to let you go yet. Like she can feel the shift, the tension simmering just beneath the surface. “I thought we’d—”

“I know,” you cut her off, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to hear her try to make this okay when it’s not. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You pull away from her, walking out into the cool night air, your heart pounding in your chest. You need space. You need air. You need time to remember why you’re doing this, why you’re putting yourself through this, why you keep coming back to her even when it hurts.

And later, when you’re lying in your own bed, staring up at the ceiling again, you remind yourself of all the reasons why. The way she looks at you when no one’s watching. The way she holds you close at night, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way she whispers your name in the dark, her voice soft and vulnerable in a way it never is around anyone else.

She’s worth it, you tell yourself. She’s worth the pain, the hiding, the pretending. Because you have her. Maybe not in the way you always dreamed, but you have her.

-

It’s an away game in Seville, the kind where the atmosphere is tense but electric, the city vibrating with the weight of the upcoming match. The hotel isn’t much, just another chain where the carpets smell faintly of stale cigarettes and overuse. You’re in one of those rooms that looks exactly the same as all the others, sterile and impersonal—off-white walls, a single window overlooking the car park, a television bolted to the wall like an afterthought. But right now, none of that matters.

Aitana’s there with you, her back pressed against the cheap headboard, her hair a tangled mess around her face. She’s just come out of the shower, skin still damp and smelling like hotel soap, and there’s something reckless in her eyes tonight, something unspoken simmering between you both. There’s always been that quiet, dangerous tension with her, like you’re both walking a line neither of you knows how to stay on.

You hadn’t planned for this. Maybe you never plan for it. It’s just a hunger that’s become second nature, something that overtakes you both when you’re alone together, something neither of you can resist. Her lips had found yours the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind you, the match tomorrow the last thing on either of your minds. You’re supposed to be resting, supposed to be saving your energy for the game, but there’s always this with her, this fever that takes over when you’re in the same room.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pulling her close, her fingers digging into your back, her breath hot against your neck as you press her against the mattress. The room feels like it’s spinning, like it’s just you and her and nothing else matters. And the noise—God, you can’t help the sounds she makes when you touch her, the way she bites back a moan, then gives up, letting it out like a release of all the tension she’s been holding in. The bed creaks beneath you, too loud in the silence of the hotel, but neither of you care. It’s too late to care.

You lose track of time. You lose track of everything except the feel of her beneath you, the way her body responds to yours, the way she whispers your name like it’s the only word she knows. And for that stretch of time—however long it is—she’s yours, wholly and completely. There’s no team, no match, no world outside this room. It’s just her, and you, and the way she looks at you when she lets her guard down, when she lets herself need you.

But then there’s a knock at the wall, followed by a muffled voice that snaps you both back to reality. You freeze, still half-entangled with her, your breath ragged, your heart pounding.

“Oye! Quiet down in there!” someone yells through the wall. The voice is too familiar—Pina, or maybe Patri—it doesn’t matter who it is. The point is, they’ve heard. The walls are paper-thin, you realise, and you hadn’t exactly been discreet.

You scramble off her, untangling yourself from the sheets, and for a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, loud in the sudden silence. Aitana’s eyes are wide, her face flushed, her bare chest rising and falling rapidly, and you can see the panic starting to creep in. Not panic because they know—no, they don’t know who she is. Panic because they think it’s just another random hookup. Another girl you picked up on a whim.

There’s another knock, louder this time, more insistent. “We get it! You’ve got company,” someone calls, laughing now, their voice tinged with amusement. “Didn’t know you’d have a guest tonight”

You let out a breath, already slipping into the familiar role. The one where you play it off like this is nothing. Like this is just another night, just another girl. You’ve done it so many times before—it’s a routine at this point. The jokes, the teasing, the knowing looks from your teammates when they hear about another one of your so-called conquests. It’s all part of the act, the persona you’ve built to cover for what’s really going on.

You flash a quick smile at Aitana, hoping to reassure her, but the look she gives you is anything but reassured. It’s tight, like she’s barely holding it together. You ignore it for now, your mind racing for the right thing to say.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that,” you call back, trying to keep your voice light, casual, like you’re not lying through your teeth. “I’ll keep it down. Promise”

There’s more laughter from the other side of the wall, some muttered jokes about your reputation, about your ‘lucky night,’ but eventually it quiets down. They’re not going to press you. They never do. You’ve always been able to laugh it off, always been able to make it seem like none of it matters.

But when you turn back to Aitana, you see the way her eyes have gone dark, her face tight with something that looks like pain, like anger. She’s pulling the sheets up around her, suddenly closed off, like she’s trying to build a wall between you both.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice low, tentative. You reach for her, but she pulls away, sitting up straighter, wrapping the sheet tighter around herself.

There’s a heaviness to the air that wasn’t there before, a weight that settles between the two of you. It’s in the way she’s breathing—slow, measured—like she’s thinking too hard, like she’s bracing herself for something. You glance over at her, half-expecting her to meet your gaze with that teasing smile she always gives after moments like this, but her face is turned toward the ceiling, eyes wide and distant, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Aitana?” you say softly, your voice barely cutting through the thick quiet. You can feel the tension in your chest start to coil, tight and uneasy.

She doesn’t respond right away, and when she finally does, her voice is quieter than you expect, almost tentative, like she’s not sure how to say what’s on her mind. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, still staring up at the ceiling, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the sheet.

You frown, sitting up a little, trying to make sense of what she means. “Do what?”

“Cover for me.” She says it so softly, like it’s a secret, like it’s something she’s ashamed of, but not in the way you’re used to. Not the shame of being found out. This is different, quieter, heavier. “I know why you did it, but… you didn’t have to”

You blink, thrown off for a second. “You mean… when they knocked on the wall?”

She nods, slowly, her eyes finally drifting from the ceiling to meet yours. There’s something in her eyes that makes your heart drop, something that feels like guilt, but not the kind that comes from getting caught. It’s the kind that lingers, the kind that’s been building for a while.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper now, her fingers still moving in that absent way across the sheets, like she’s trying to distract herself from what she’s saying. “I know it’s just how it is. But… when you said that, when you acted like it was someone else, it just—it felt wrong”

You can feel your chest tighten, the words sinking in, slow and heavy. You want to tell her that you had to, that it’s how you’ve always handled it, that you were just trying to protect her. But the way she’s looking at you now, her eyes soft but resolute, makes you pause. She’s not angry. She’s not hurt, not the way you thought she might be. She’s just… sad. Sad that you feel like you need to keep pretending, like you need to keep covering for her.

“I didn’t think it’d bother you,” you say, and it sounds like an excuse as soon as it leaves your mouth, even though it’s the truth. You’ve done this so many times before, played it off like it’s nothing. It’s always been your way of protecting her, of protecting what the two of you have.

“I know you didn’t.” She sits up then, pulling her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them as she looks at you. Her hair falls over her face, messy and damp, and she brushes it aside absently, not really paying attention to it. “But that’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to. Not anymore”

There’s a beat of silence, the words hanging in the air between you. You sit up straighter, searching her face, trying to understand exactly what she’s saying. You’ve had this conversation before, or at least versions of it. But it’s never felt like this. It’s never felt like it’s this close to something real, something neither of you can take back.

“What do you mean?” you ask, your voice cautious, like you’re afraid to push her too far, to make her retreat behind that wall she’s so good at building.

Aitana lets out a slow breath, her eyes not leaving yours. “I mean… I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of being a secret. And I’m tired of making you cover for me like you’re ashamed of what we have.” Her voice is steady, but there’s a vulnerability in it that catches you off guard, something raw and exposed. “I don’t want to do that to you anymore.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. You’ve always been the one to take the fall, to laugh off the questions, to keep up the charade. You’ve always thought you were doing it for her—because she wasn’t ready, because she needed more time. But now, sitting here, looking at her, you realize that maybe you’ve been doing it for yourself too. Maybe you’ve been hiding just as much as she has, afraid of what it would mean to actually be out there, to actually be seen.

“Aitana…” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice soft but firm.

“I know it won’t be easy,” she says quickly, like she’s already thought this through a thousand times. “I know people will talk, and it’ll be… hard. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to hide us. I don’t want you to pretend like I’m just someone you picked up or some random girl in your bed. I’m more than that. I’ve always been more than that”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and for a second, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve spent so long keeping this part of you hidden, keeping this relationship in the shadows, that the idea of stepping out into the light feels… terrifying. But at the same time, hearing her say it, hearing her admit that she’s ready—that she wants to be open—it makes something inside you shift, something that feels like hope.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice quieter now, more careful. You don’t want to push her, don’t want to rush her into something she’s not ready for, even though every part of you is screaming to say yes, to finally stop hiding.

She nods, her eyes steady, her expression soft but sure. “I’m sure.” She reaches out then, her hand finding yours, her fingers threading through yours with a quiet certainty. “I don’t want to hide anymore. Not from them, not from anyone.”

You feel the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like you can breathe. Like the walls you’ve both built are finally starting to come down.

“I don’t want you to hide either,” you admit, the words coming out easier than you thought they would. And it’s true. You’re tired of pretending too, tired of covering for something that’s real, something that’s yours.

Aitana smiles then, a small, tentative smile, but there’s something bright behind it, something that makes your chest ache in the best possible way. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, her breath warm against your lips.

“So… I’ll tell them,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but filled with a kind of quiet determination that makes you believe her.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart pounding, your hand tightening around hers. “We’ll tell them”

[lavenderprose]

There is some universe where Rook is a young up and coming popstar (Not like teen idol tho she's like. 27.) and she sings songs about Riding Dick and Eating Pussy using cleverly disguised innuendo like sports car and cherry. (They're not clever.) She doesn't write her own lyrics she just sings them with her mouth. When she writes her own songs they're like. Hey does anyone ever think about dying. I lost my mother at a young age and that was WILD. One time I had a transcendental sexual experience with a girl who wouldn't meet my eyes afterward and I was sad about it for a YEAR.

These are good songs but the executives were like. Yikes kid, bummer. How about you sing about partying in Val Royeaux.

I've never EVEN been to Val Royeaux, says Rook. Nobody listens.

Meanwhile Emmrich is a famous pianist. He was a child prodigy and he's been making television appearances since he was eight years old. These days he has a residency with the Nevarran National Symphony Orchestra and only occasionally (Several times a year) makes appearances elsewhere. He's often approached to feature on albums, especially when artists are trying to appeal to a new demographic.

Anyway, Rook's producers are like. You HAVE to release a Wintersend album. It's just what's done. And Rook is NOT religious but she has fond memories of the more traditional Wintersend songs her mom used to play, so she's like. Okay. I'll do whatever weird version of All I Want For Wintersend is You that you put in front of me, BUT. But. I also want to do a version of Winter's Longest Night.

(This is a very Andraste-heavy song that basically just rehashes the lore of Wintersend. It was Rook's mom's favorite. It's usually done with a killer piano solo in the middle)

Cue Emmrich, because of course. He shows up in a maroon sweater vest with the longest fingers Rook's ever seen, introducing himself like she didn't grow up listening to HIS Wintersend album.

They fall in love while the snow falls. Because of COURSE they do. There's a scene where Emmrich sits behind Rook and she's wearing nothing but his shirt and he leads her in plucking out chords on the piano. It's the most romantic shit you've ever seen but that's not the POINT.

The point is that the tabloids are like. What is this HOT YOUNG POP STAR doing with this OLD PIANO DUDE. Our moms listened to his music, screams all the rags. Or something to that effect.

A publicity stunt! She's a gold digger, he's a creep!

The truth is much simpler and it's this: anyone with half a fucking brain can look at Rook and tell that she's deeply fucking gone on that old man. She walks down the street holding his hand, just being young and hot wearing shorts and a bikini top and looking at him like he hung the stars while he's in a waistcoat and slacks and reading menus OVER the top of his reading glasses. Why even put them on. God he's hot.

They go on vacation and someone with a telescopic lens snaps an image of Emmrich looking like a translucent fucking ghost while Rook smiles ear to ear and hangs off him in the tide pools, all tan and sunhat.

When the paparazzi corner her in an airport, it's always just to see her power-walking down the jetway with Emmrich's hand on the back of her shirt like a little kid being led through a crowd.

Someone has the bright idea to address him. Ask him some unsavory question about the age difference--something stupid and out of pocket and just to get a reaction.

Rook spins around and flips off her sunglasses to reveal bloodshot eyes--because she's played six concerts in as many nights and now she's on her way to PASS OUT with her man in a giant bed with his stupid fluffy cat.

"You," she snaps at the paparazzo. "Yeah, blobfish looking motherfucker. Do not speak to him. Keep your tongue in your fucking mouth around my husband, or I will end your career in a way that means your grandchildren won't be able to work in this town. Do you understand?"

The front page of every gossip site immediately reads, "HUSBAND???"

Emmrich, of course, forgives her. He was never even upset in the first place. He does make sure that the pregnancy is quietly and subtly leaked to a more reputable magazine, though.

[aropride]

fascinated and distressed by chase's disordered relationship with sexuality + his emotions abt his own trauma & abuse

thru the beginning of the show he doesn't even realize he's hot despite being objectively attractive. when he finds out he's hot he then realizes people pretend to be interested in him as a person in order to have sex with him and gets super upset about it

he starts having a bunch of meaningless sex as a coping mechanism when cameron leaves him. and also a lot of other times. whenever something bad happens, basically, he starts going out with a bunch of women, just to feel something, presumably

^to the extent where hes known within the hospital as a slut. and has had sex with an insane amount of nurses. as well as presumably women who are not at his place of work.

he says doing this made him hate himself so he stopped. it's the b-plot for an episode and then he's back having meaningless sex again by the end of the episode

even his coworkers know this about him. and have called it out, masters even says she thinks he doesn't respect women bc, in her words, he's with a different one every few days or maybe he finds comfort in meaningless relationships

goes back to having meaningless sex within weeks of getting stabbed. which is really bad for wound healing reasons too. genuinely it seems like such compulsive behavior for him considering he keeps doing it even when its objectively not only a bad idea but actively dangerous

house even directly says he's "a serial slut" because he's "terrified of intimacy." incredibly accurate assessment

his relationship with his sexuality reads so heavily as someone who thinks they're not good for anything else

see also: dissociation & avoidance

we know he has a lot of trauma especially in childhood- he never really gets into it let alone into how he Feels about it but what we know is already bad & that's just the stuff he's okay with sharing with his coworkers or patients

in general he's very avoidant of his own trauma- when he gets stabbed he says he "can't change what happened, can only make better choices from here" as if it was his own fault, and refuses thru the whole episode to acknowledge that being traumatized by this would be a really normal reaction that he is definitely having. instead he just blames himself

also, he dissociates from traumatic things that happen to him - says "there was a stabbing" rather than "i was stabbed" for instance

when he's talking abt his childhood trauma he does it in a very similar way - he talks about it very bluntly and doesn't ever get into how he actually feels about it.

see also: dr. fawn response

general passive willingness to go along with anything- when cameron says they should have sex in s3 he's surprised and then he just kinda goes along with it. not bc he didn't want to bc he obviously did, but he's just generally very much someone who does whatever other people want him to do. i feel like he and cameron both tend to seek validation thru sex in an unhealthy way that i'm still gnawing on like a dog with a bone i have to go rewatch s3 to really articulate it though

he has a sort of desperation for praise and approval especially from anyone he views as an authority figure. he does whatever authority figures tell him out of this idea that it'll bring him approval and therefore safety

like no matter what house does or says to him he doesn't argue or retaliate or anything. even when house punches him he collapses on the ground in pain and then just keeps talking about the patient like nothing happened.

the scene in 3.10 after house punches him where he's in the ddx room and house walks in and throws the file at him and chase is startled and tries to pretend he's not. and he looks up with this huge fuck ass bruise on his jaw swallows heavily and pretends not to be upset. and house asks if he got that looked at as if he wasn't the one to give it to him and chase just swallows and says he's fine. dr fawn response :(

[konpeitonom]

Can you please do NSFW alphabet but with curly! <3

captain grant curly nsfw alphabet.

nsfw — lowercase intended ^_^

fem reader —

requests are open and heavily encouraged, i write for every mw character ^.^

notes; it’s always really fun writing for curly! i had a lot of fun writing this one in specific.. sorry for any mistakes. i don’t proofread but it is late where i am so obvious typos might have slipped through. doing jimmy next most likely as the people in my inbox call for it. hope you guys like this one, thank you for all the love!!

nsfw under the cut! minors do not read

a — aftercare, (what they’re like after sex)

— the best at aftercare! it is his biggest priority. he never wants you to feel used, if you ever did i think he’d feel absolutely horrible..

— he’d clean you up, bathe you if you wanted. water, of course- he’d make or order you something if you were hungry. whatever to make you happy!

b — body part (their favorite body part, and their partners)

— i said this in my general headcanons but tummy’s.. he loves placing his hands on your waist, caressing your ‘cute tummy’ he’d say.

— it’s not even a ‘this tummy might hold my kids’ one day thing. he genuinely thinks it’s the cutest and sexiest thing ever.

— besides that, i guess he’d like tits, thighs, the general. he likes everything! doesn’t really have a favorite.

— for his own? he’d have to say his back, or his arms. he works out! it’s canon (literally) so i think he’d be very proud of his body..

c — cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

— who would’ve guessed.. on your stomach. lol. he’d like cumming inside as well, but only if it was safe too/you two were trying for a kid. but on your stomach he just.. he likes that sight, he really does. besides your cute facial expressions that might be his most favorite part!

d — dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

— i don’t consider this dirty, but he does. he’s jerked off to you many times before you got together. not a big deal, but to him it is.

— he probably feels an immense amount of guilt. like, ‘she’s not just a girl for me to ogle at.. she’s my friend that i’m so happened to be in love with..’

e — experience (how experienced are they?)

— all his relationships were the full on commitment kind. he is not really a ‘one night’ kind of guy. maybe a few times when he’s feeling it. so he’s had his fair share of experience.

f — favorite position (self explanatory)

— your legs on his shoulders! god, he thinks it’s so sexy. and it feels good too. and he can see your entire face. checks off all his boxes.

— but if you ask he’d say, “whatever your favorite is!” and would wanna do it always knowing it’s your favorite. he is a d1 people pleaser.

g — goofy (are they more serious in the moment?)

— i’d depend.. if it was night time and that felt like the mood, he’d be serious about it. like after a fancy dinner night out, all he wants to do is fuck you slow and nice. but if it was the morning, or a long day at work, he doesn’t mind if it’s less serious, per say.

h — hair (how well groomed are they?)

— he’s pretty well groomed, i’d say. i like to think he’s very cleanly.. it’s obvious he cares about his health and looks and the way it is down there counts too!

i — intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic wise?)

— ahh.. i’d really depend on you. his go-to is soft and romantic. he just loves you so, so much. if sex is the way you want to be shown love then he’ll do it.

— he’s very stereotypical. he wants to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, play with your hair, caress your body in all the right places as he sets a gentle pace. but if you prefer things a bit rougher, he doesn’t mind. just reassure him that it’s okay and that it’s what you want.

j — jack off (masturbation headcanon)

— as a teenager, i think he probably felt bad for jerking off. now as an adult he can understand that it’s a very normal human thing. he doesn’t do it often, especially when he’s in a relationship, but he’s not opposed to doing so.

— maybe once a week if you’re there (like swansea, he would rather just fuck), up to 3-4 if he’s working in space and all alone and such..

k — kink (one of their kinks)

— praise him. god please. he needs it.

— just one, “that feels really good..” or, “you’re doing so well..” gets him going!! he might stop and try to process it, his dick buried inside you as he lets out a long breath- he’s making you feel good? he’s doing that?

l — location (favorite places to do it)

— “anywhere you wanna” god he’s so annoying. unbearable.

— most likely the bedroom. he’s basic. but he’s open to anything semi-public. he just feels like he can love you best in the most intimate setting, your bedroom!

m — motivation (what turns them on)

— i think he gets turned on at the simplest of things to the point it’s funny.. like when you’re looking in the mirror and admiring yourself, you just look so cute and happy..

— and suddenly your skirt looks just a bit too short for comfort, and the bra you’re wearing looks extra nice on you. he’d feel bad, yes. how can he be so perverted when you’re just there- looking cute?

— but he can’t help it. he just wants you in every way he can have you.

— besides that, you straight up saying you want it is enough for him!

n — no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

— he’s a people pleaser.. if you’re into it, he’ll try it at least once. but for himself? hm. anything that feels too degrading is a no for him either. like free use? he’s not into that. he wants you to feel loved, not that you have to do stuff to get him to love you..

o — oral (preference in giving, receiving)

— giving.. he loves giving. i think it’s obvious. he loves when you place your hands on his hair, your legs squeezing him tight.

— mumble words of encouragement and praise and he’ll feel as if he’s on cloud 9!!

— he likes receiving too. but only if you like it. how many times can he emphasize that..? he does think you’re very pretty in your knees though.

p — pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

— soft and sensual is his favorite like i’ve said. he wants to feel every thrust, appreciate the way your body reacts to every small thing he does. he just loves to close his eyes and fawn over that feeling, it’s one of the best feelings in the world.

q — quickie (their opinion on quickies, how often)

— i think quite often they happen.. like he loves to make love, he really does. but with his and your busy work life, sometimes it’s needed.. if you’re pent up and stressed and need his dick right then and there, and quick? he’s willing!

r — risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)

— i think he is for your sake, but he’s confident in what he likes and stuff so he wouldn’t wanna try out anything new to his own accord. if he does then he’ll talk that out with you. your comfort comes first.

s — stamina

— if sex ends up being rough, maybe only one. it’s a bit of a mental load on him to be mean to you like that. but usually he’s good with two or three. anything past that seems pushing it.

t — toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on themselves or their partner?)

— he owns a few. only for his partner, not for himself. if you like toys then he’ll definitely utilize them but if not then he won’t force them upon you or anything.

— a bit of a throw away thought but remote controlled vibrators, the idea of it? kind of turns him on.

u — unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

— he likes to tease! just a smidge bit. not too much or else he’ll feel bad but it keeps the mood light and fun. i’ve mentioned somewhere he liked playful banter, so that kinda goes along with him teasing you and such..

v — volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

— he’s loud! he’s very vocal. when he’s feeling good he wants you to know that. grunts, groans, whines, whimpers.. but sometimes he holds it in and shuts up so he can focus on yours. he likes yours way more.

w — wild card (a random headcanon)

— perhaps.. once in a blue moon, he really needs it. rough and fast, with your hands scratching his back. Your legs are too sore to move, so they just lay there shaken up. it’s different when he’s doing it to please you in comparison to please himself.. you know? like it’s just so much better when he’s just a bit selfish.

x — x-ray (what’s going on underneath?)

— I'm biased. this is my blog, this is my favorite character, these are my headcanons. he has a pretty dick. it’s a nice color, nice to look at. it’s just pretty. 7 inches in length, regular thickness. ok bye

y — yearning (how high is their sex drive?

— kind of average or if not, slightly below average. he loves to show his love in many, many ways. sex is just one of those many things. he can live without it either. if you decided to go celibate, it wouldn’t change his life or anything. yeah, he’d miss it, but you come first.

z — zzz.. (how quickly they fall asleep)

— he has a lot of energy so i don’t think he falls asleep quick. even so, he’d make sure you fell asleep first- that you’re all taken care of before he can rest.

— also, for selfish reasons, he wants to stare at you and your pretty face, play with your soft hair as you sleep. if he could pause time, i’d be then. you’re just so cute.

[alons-ycreeper]

Look I don't write for this pairing I pure read fanfic of it and that's it but this one idea keeps festering in my head so here:

Post-mountain, already at Kaer Morhen but like no Deathless Mother shenanigans. Geralt gets shit faced with his brothers as per the winter usual only this time with the added bonus of all his angst physically following him home. Especially the Jaskier-angst. The bard hasn't spoken much to Geralt instead spending all his time with Yennefer in the lab, continuing Ciri's noble education, or helping Vesemir finally organize the library. Basically Jaskier makes zero time for Geralt except for meal times which always have the bard either sitting with Yenn, Ciri, or Vesemir but never near Geralt.

So when Geralt goes to drink with Lambert, Eskel (both game-canon) and Coën he finds out that Jaskier has been slowly approaching his brothers little by little trying to befriend them. It drives the angst and jealousy through the roof and it's not even midnight before Geralt is flat on his ass murmuring "Toss A Coin" in the softest, saddest tone ever particularly on the "your witcher" part. The boys tell their brother to get some rest and the big sad wolf trudges up the step until he stops in front of Jaskier's room. He can hear the bard sleeping, he just wants to check on him so Geralt opens the door and lets himself in.

The bard is a pretty as ever. Quarter-elf blood goes a long way to keep it like that. Then Geralt notices the quill on the desk still dripping with ink. Jaskier is dead asleep.

Quill. Jaskier. Quill. Jaskier. Geralt has an idea.

Jumping out of bed the next morning, Jaskier rushes down to get whatever breakfast is left over. He doesn't notice the others gawking at first too busy feeding himself and telling Ciri that the lessons with him will be combined with Yennefer's today as they'll be discussing court mages. It isn't until he's done that he notices them. Eskel, Lambert and Coën have this horrified-amused look, Vesemir looks very tired, Ciri is blushing so hard her face is as red as tomato and Yenn is glaring daggers at Geralt who seems to be very pleased with himself.

"Something on my face?" Jaskier asks.

"Go look in a mirror, bard." Yenn says not turning away from Geralt who she keeps murdering with her eyes.

So he does. Jaskier goes to the closest mirror and gasps at what he finds.

There written on his left cheek "Property of Geralt of Rivia". Kaer Morhen is about to be down a witcher.

[blastzachilles]

meet… STANFORD ERA LESBIAN!ATP .ᐟ ★

a/n: hi guys the much promised part two of lesbian!atp headcanons… stanford edition! so sorry it took me three weeks to get these out i am in an insane slump right now…… i’ll be free soon (hopefully) i have so much i want to get out. and also thank you @peariote some of these are taken from conversations we have had… and thank you @diyasgarden my lovely for helping me flesh out tashi. anyway. please enjoy. smiles. 

CW: hints at nsfw

ART - VISUAL ARTS MAJOR .ᐟ

– VISUAL ARTS MAJOR ART who swears you’re her muse. Always begging you to let her use you as a model for whatever she’s working on, he’s positive her work simply turns out better when it’s of you. Nevermind the fact you’re almost always nude. 

– VISUAL ARTS MAJOR ART who is always covered in charcoal and paint, to the point he’s like a magnet. Even if she’s not doing a project with those mediums, it still finds its way onto him. Little do you know it’s because you said you loved the way she looks with it one day, and she’s never looked back.

– VISUAL ARTS MAJOR ART who loves that he has to learn photography because it means she can always capture moments of you for forever. Always has a camera on him whenever he’s with you to make sure she doesn’t miss anything. Anything from being in the shower to falling apart under her. She even teaches you photography just so you can take photos of her between your thighs or when her hands are too busy elsewhere to hold a camera.

– VISUAL ARTS MAJOR ART whose exhibitions always feature at least one piece of you, whether it be painting, photo, or sculpture, and are always dedicated to you. Whenever he sneaks you in for ‘early access,’ he always shows you these with the biggest grin on her face. She swears one day he’s going to do an exhibition solely of you (Never including the nude pieces. Those are hers and hers only). You know she will.   

PAT - FINANCE MAJOR .ᐟ

– FINANCE MAJOR PAT who went into finance for his parents, who want her to take over after graduating. He absolutely hates it, but listens and goes for the four years anyway. Their grades are average, simply because she cannot care enough to do more than scrape by. Despite the hatred, she still becomes the biggest finance bro possible. 

– FINANCE MAJOR PAT who has in fact been attempted to be recruited to a frat before. Walking past a tent during rush week had them handing him a form until they opened their mouth and spoke. This is his favourite story to tell when trying to get someone into her bed (“Come on, I was basically a frat brother. I can show you a good time too.”).

– FINANCE MAJOR PAT who is somehow at a new party every night. Brings a new girl home every night too, partially in thanks to the frat story above. Is known around campus for being the biggest sleazebag ever, but no one really cares if it means they get a night with her. 

– FINANCE MAJOR PAT who meets you and decides maybe you can change them. A one night stand where you treat her the best he’s ever been treated absolutely changes her world, and one night turns into two, and then three, and then she decides maybe there is more to life than just sleeping around and finally locks you down for herself (but it does take time for her to get used to just the one person, and there are some flirting incidents in the beginning). 

TASHI - COGNITIVE SCIENCE MAJOR .ᐟ

– COG SCI MAJOR TASHI who is the most disciplined person in college. Like poster girl of discipline level discipline. She creates a schedule and actually sticks to it. As you spend more time with her, you eventually catch onto it as well, and start doing most things together.

– COG SCI MAJOR TASHI who is incredibly dedicated to her studies. One of the top students in her classes. She is always studying whenever she has time, but hates not being around you. Her favourite kind of date is studying with you at a library or cafe, where she doesn’t need to choose between you and her work. 

– COG SCI MAJOR TASHI whose favourite courses are the natural sciences, particularly chemistry and biology. Something about learning how the body’s natural chemicals and processes draws her in, but she wants to make a difference with it, to make it mean something. So she minors in sociology alongside cog sci. 

– COG SCI MAJOR TASHI who eventually takes the MD and PhD route, so she can do research and help in a medical setting. She spends her time in class one day, volunteering at a hospital and shadowing a doctor the next, and uses what she learns to do exactly what she wanted to. To do something bigger than herself.

tag list: @artstennisracket @glassmermaids @jordiemeow @cha11engers @kaalxpsia @apatheticrater @tacobacoyeet @tigerlilywl @newrochellechallenger2019 @compress1repress @artspats

want to join my tag list? fill out this form!