Just A Fever ── Simon 'ghost' Riley

Something something Gaz as a soccer scholarship student in his third year at the university you work at. He’s the model student athlete; excelling both on and off the field. He’s already in a frat, accepted by the brothers and happily indulging in the American hedonism that is Greek life. 

He’s undecided in his major, just kind of flitting around until he has enough credits to graduate. He knows he’s smart so he’s on the Dean's List he’s just… bored. 

He was passing by one of the large message boards in the frat house when he sees a flyer for your class. Some foofy English elective focusing on 18th and 19th century British and Irish literature. The descriptions touts a deep dive into some of the most popular novels. He doesn’t pay much attention to the flyer or class again until his advisor tells him he’s a credit short for an English major and he decides that since he’s in for a penny, he’s in for a pound, and adds your class to his schedule. 

When the semester starts up he’s expecting a little old woman to hobble in with skirts trailing down to the floor and gray hair that isn’t much shorter. So imagine his surprise when you walk in; closer to his age than not and fresh out of a PhD program with a beaming smile. You dive into the syllabus with such gusto that it’s impossible for him to not be excited about the course material. 

He also happens to note that he’s the only male in the class- the rest of the chairs taken up by girls that have had English decided as their major since before they were admitted to the school. So it only makes sense that your eye catches him the most, naturally drawn to the confident sprawl he sets himself into when he’s sitting in your seminar.

Gaz enjoys the way you flitter around the room and talk about each book as if the entire meaning to life was filtered away into it’s pages. Suddenly Frakenstein and Pride and Prejudice have new meaning, and he’s flying through Dorian Grey as he sits in the frat house common room with the noise of football playing in the background. He keeps a book with him so during practice he can continue to read, much to his coach’s displeasure. 

He completes all his work on time and is a model student, even going so far as to help the others in class if needed. You see this all from your table in the front, and he sees you seeing him. 

It’s all calculated really; he makes sure to you can see him as he offers his assistance or when he raises his hand to express a point in a simpler way. You’re impressed, and tell him so one day when it’s only the two of you left in the room. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says back to you, brown eyes sparkling. You swore you could see some color dust high on his cheeks. 

So, it came as a surprise when he asked you to cubby away some office hours for him regarding an essay he was having issues with. You had thought that of all your students, Kyle would be the last one to need help. But you agree, and let him know you made time for him on your late day so he could come straight from training. 

He’s military precision punctual and shows up to your office that night covered in a sheen of sweat. You make some comment about letting him know a shower was an important enough reason to be late and he just smiles, eyes crinkling. 

It’s anyone’s guess how you ended up having his tongue halfway down your throat with the door barely shut behind him. 

Well, you could have guessed but it still felt taboo. Sure he was 21 but still, you were in a position of power over him as his professor. And you tell him such as he grips your face in a bruising kiss. He just laughs, moving to grab your legs and plop you down so you’re sitting on your desk with your legs spread wide and open for him. He lets you whine about decency and rules until he’s had enough, and then promptly sticks his face between your legs to shut you up. 

He leaves later that night, wiping his damp face with his already sweat soaked shirt while you hastily readjust the sweater dress you had been wearing. As you round the desk to get your purse you notice that your panties that he had taken off, with his teeth no less, were missing from their hasty hiding place. Heaving a sigh, you fall into your office chair and contemplate a transfer. 

Halfway back to his room, Gaz fiddles with the stolen panties in his pocket, thinking about applying for that summer English internship he saw advertised in your office.

GAZ NEEDS MORE LOVIN EXPRESS NOW CALLING FOR BOARDING!!

'Can you translate that from bullshit to english?'

-Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Simply HAD to make a moodboard for this utter ray of sunshine. He's SUCH a sweet pie 😭

Shadowplay 🌤️

😈 You are not bound by the Hays code.

😈 You are allowed to have evil characters who are not punished by the narrative by the end of the story.

😈 You are allowed to have evil characters who win.

😈 You are allowed to have evil characters who make evil look fun and cool.

😈 You are allowed to make your fun, cool evil character the protagonist.

😈 You are allowed to glorify, romanticize and eroticize evil characters and villainous acts.

😈 You are not obligated to teach your audience a moral lesson.

big bear of a man John Price corralling you towards your shared bedroom for an afternoon nap. forget the blankets, he’s hoarding you to himself - strong arms trapping you against him, beard tickling your skin as he hides his face against your neck

hi mach 🥺

Yes this exactly 😭😭 and his hands and the way he smells, that all encompassing gruff musk, and the little grunt once he's settled-

There's no escape once you're caged in by those arms, by the press of his chest to your spine, by the way his thigh slots between yours. His beard scratches softly at the curve of your neck, and you feel the brush of his nose, still a little cold from the air.

Technically, you could get the blankets. You could reach for a pillow.

But nope. He's already tucked you in with the sheer force of his body. Big and warm and safe. And when you shift, even just a littl? His grip tightens. His voice, low and half-asleep: "oi. Where d'you think you're going?"

Absolutely nowhere, that's where.

(so mad i can’t see straight) Yeah i just don’t think chat gpt is a good classroom tool

Soap is a leaver. He will always be the first to leave. Never to be left. He'll be gone before you know it. But they'll get over him. He knows they will. Which itls why it scares him so much when Ghost keeps following

I think anyone that studies medicine with Damian would lowkey hate his ass.

Not in a mean way, but in a petty why-aren't-you-struggling-like-me type of way. I mean, thanks to Robin and the league Damian is light years ahead of everyone on terms of experience and it would show.

Half the class is puking their guts out the first time they see a patient with an open fracture. Damian has been there, done that, seen that and worse. He's eating m&m's in the back.

They're all practicing making sutures until late. Damian is like "No, I don't need to join you. I could suture with my eyes closed" and then when someone is like "prove it, rich-boy" that mf actually blindfolds his eyes and sutures perfectly using four different techniques.

He also passes everything with flying colors! Because of course, the guy can't just be rich, good looking and famous, he has to be smart too.

And it just gets worse when he starts his actual residency.

Nothing shakes him! Thirty hour shifts? He doesn't even yawn. Extreme stress during a surgery gone awry? Damian is the one telling the other members of the surgical team to stay calm. Violent patient? They don't even get to call security, Damian has the guy pinned already.

And it would be easier to not get jealous of him if he somehow was a souless blood sucking asshole. But Damian is a good person, awkward and standoffish but always willing to help. He's there for whatever people need. He aids nurses, listens to patients, conforts victims. He sits with people for the bad news and when someone dies he gets this sad faraway look that shows he cares.

And it's just so unfair.

He like boob )-:

Jason should kill the Joker and just not tell anyone. like, lets be real here, if he were to silently slip in and kill the Joker in his sleep, are any of the workers at Arkham really going to give enough of a shit to say anything??? with the paperwork they’d have to do, and the attention they’d get once the media caught wind of the break in/murder, i bet all Jason would have to do is leave like, a basket of muffins next to the dead body as a thank you and the staff would just dispose of the body and shut the fuck up about it.

i bet you he could get through a solid six to eight month period of being weirdly happy and interactive with the rest of the family before Dick finally asks why he’s been in such a good mood lately over family dinner

Jason, casually: i dunno, i guess i’ve just had a weight lifted from my shoulders; there’s less to drive me away now.

Bruce, thinking he’s finally done something right: aw Jaylad, i’m so happy you’re feeling more comfortable!

Dick, the only batkid around when Jason was Robin, remembering all the times Jason would transform into the happiest kid on the planet only for them to find out a week later it was because he’d pushed a bully down the stairs at school and fractured his wrist: hold on B.

Dick: Jay, what weight has been lifted?

Jason, still nonplussed: well i finally got my GED, and the Joker thing really calmed the lazarus rage. also Steph got me into puppy yoga, we go once a week.

Bruce:

Bruce: what Joker thing.

Jason, glancing up from his food: ? d’i not mention that? he’s dead, man.

Bruce:

Dick:

Dick: sorry, what?

Tim: why the fuck am i never invited to puppy yoga?

Bruce, having a panic attack: y- what are you talking about Jay-

Tim: i would LOVE to go to puppy yoga. what the FUCK?

Jason, shrugging: you can come to puppy yoga, replacement, it’s all good

Bruce: the Joker’s dead?

Tim: FUCK YEAH, PUPPY YOGA

Jason: i think they do it with goats too.

Damian: i would be interested in this activity.

Jason: hell yeah family yoga session

Bruce: JASON PLEASE EXPAND ON THE JOKER THING

Jason: no i don’t like your tone. anyway, dick, puppy yoga?

Dick:

Dick, glancing at Bruce’s glare nervously: …i would be down for puppy yoga