it took a lot of time but it looks crappy

2

cry out [RIJF'16]

Shiro's Turn, Tumblr AU Shance

Shiro is Gay™ basically
—————————-
Shiro sipped his coffee while scrolling through his Tumblr, his brother asleep on the couch behind him. He was visiting for a week, since his brother was a bit of a hot gay mess and Shiro was mainly his emotional support.

Keith was currently pining after someone named Hunk who worked at a bakery, and when Keith started pining he usually ended up forgetting to take care of himself. Which was where Shiro came in.

For now, Shiro was content with answering Anon asks and the occasional doodle and reblog or like, eyes scanning the computer screen, slightly bored.

Unfortunately, he was taking a bigger gulp of his drink when he scrolled down enough to see the most gorgeous man that couldn’t possibly be real on his dash.

He inhaled too quickly and choked on his hot coffee, turning his head away to cough violently, brown liquid splattering onto the floor as Shiro hacked up his lungs.

His sudden loud bout of coughing startled Keith awake, the other man jolting up and flailing, falling off the couch with a startled yelp and a thud.

“Shiro! What the fuck, man?!?” Keith hissed, pulling himself up over the couch arm to glare at his older brother, furious at being woken up so rudely.

“Keith, I’m so fucking gay, holy shit-” Shiro wheezed through his tears, hand patting his chest as the coughing fit paused for a minute to let him breathe before starting up again.

“I knew that already, but why are we stating this fact again?” Keith questioned, raising an eyebrow at his dying brother.

Shiro merely pointed at the screen, still trying to get coffee out of his lungs.

Keith huffed and got to his feet, padding over to squint at whatever onscreen was making his brother react like this.

“Oh. It’s just a selfie of Lance?” He asked, blinking and turning to his brother.

Shiro had significantly recovered to the point of sitting upright again. “Yes? But he’s actually kinda hot?” The older man stated, rubbing his eyes clear of water to stare at the screen again.

The selfie was of BlueLionLance, and god he was adorable. Pretty blue eyes like the ocean, flawless tanned skin, brown hair that looked positively silky and soft, a bright grin with perfect white teeth and dimples. He was positively gorgeous, probably spent a lot of time taking care of his skin what with how smooth it looked.

Shiro’s fingers twitched, itching to feel Lance’s skin and hair in person to see if the other man was as soft to touch as he looked.

Keith took one look at the sappy, lovestruck look on his brother’s face and sighed.

“I’ll go get the ice cream, we can pine together on the couch and watch crappy romance movies.” He stated, already moving to the fridge.

Shiro smacked his head down onto the computer desk with a groan.

“Yeah. Good idea.”
—————————————
Shiro POV, he’s a thirsty boy, poor baby.
I’ll probably make an info list for this later, for worldbuilding. Hope you enjoyed! Wonder what I should do next for this….. oooohh, maybe a con! I’ve always wanted to try writing out one of those! :3

drabble; let me tell you bout my best friend

for @leiascully’s fic challenge “rest”

drabble; pg-13; msr origins (i.e. friendship); FLUFF; set season two, pre-abduction; Scully stays up a little too late solving a case with Mulder.

***


Even the solitary light from the fish tank feels a little risky, though his apartment passed so many of the gunmen’s bug sweeps he’s now pretty sure they just wanted to hang out. With a crappy pair of birdwatching binoculars anybody could look in and find them there. Sitting right next to the tank her face is cast in blue and shadows over and looks a little psychedelic. Watching her mouth move around hypersyllabic words like ileus and meconium is a lot like a day trip he took at Oxford. But at this time of night the world itself is also hazy and unreal; this is his time, his realm, the only part of day that brings him a little peace. Normally he spends this time alone. He finds her presence isn’t such a nuisance.

And it’s not as if anyone in the Bureau actually cares anymore. They have been declared Impotent and A Sad Sad Joke. How many times has he showed up in her lecture hall unkempt and uncaring, sporting his hair wild on purpose and miserable eyes, less purposeful but nevertheless useful? He likes upsetting her students, who have all heard plenty of stories about good old Spooky, respectable Dr. Scully’s maniac ex-partner. She would slice and dice and maim the dearly departed and try not to laugh as he hissed at anyone who stopped paying attention and dared looking his way.

When the shitstorm settles he consults her on cases and neglects Agent Krycek like a Christmas puppy. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with Agent Krycek; he’s a shoo in for S.A.C. of some bullshit unit that receives way more funding than the files ever did, what with his penchant for every-inch-of-both-cheeks ass kissing and the size of his biceps. Mulder will only get in his way. He figures he’s saving the kid some pain.

Anyway, Agent Krycek can’t look at macramed intestines and tell him if they appear to be the intricate work of a voodoo priestess. Scully can’t tell him that either, would die before saying such a thing, but it’s way more fun to try and make her.

They’ve been at it for three hours and Mulder is getting to the best part, using polaroids instead of his slides to illustrate – something about colorectal balloon animals in the 1970s – when he turns to find Scully gently tipping forward and nodding her head. Her eyes flutter shut and she slumps over.

He quickly catches her by grabbing her shoulder with one hand and using the other to cup her cheek. “Scully? Hey.” He taps her face twice. “Scully, are you okay?”

Her eyes snap open and she scrambles back into the couch, her wide eyed stare flitting around the room like a sightless moth. When she comes back to herself, she shoots him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry Mulder,” she says, rubbing at a sore spot on her neck. She winces. “I must have fallen asleep.”

He stares at her oddly. Scully falls asleep anywhere anytime at the drop of a hat or her blood sugar, but she has never, ever done it mid-conversation. Not even that time he talked at her for a straight hour on his own by himself without noticing that she had started taking notes to formulate her responses.

His eyes fall on the clock and it hits him: its’s one o'clock in the goddamn morning. Scully has a new life now, classes to teach and dead bodies to harass and other, lesser units to appease, and she’s spending time with him like nothing has changed. When did he approach her with this case? He can’t remember, only because he hadn’t bothered keeping track. Before lunch, definitely, and they’d been together the entire time after. Scully is effectively splitting herself in two, her life with him and her life without him, and in this realm at this hour she is still his partner and the idea of her at Quantico is an empty threat when he sticks her with all the filing.

“You need to go to bed,” he gently chides, scooping up his polaroids and newspaper clippings and their mugs gone cold on the coffee table.

“Mmm, I think you’re right,” she says around a yawn, stretching and popping her limbs one by one. The sound makes him cringe. “I don’t know if my bed has ever sounded so appealing.”

He’s too caught in his own head to respond with an inappropriate zinger. He places the mugs in his sink, drops the photos back in their file.

“Take the couch,” he says distractedly, tugging on a doorknob. With much effort he’s able to strong arm his way through the tremendous clutter and cardboard-box war zone that is his bedroom without alerting her to how pathetic he is. He nearly breaks his neck slipping on a stack of vintage porno mags, but there in the middle of a decrepit bed frame rests exactly what he’s looking for: a sleeping bag and a stack of extra pillows .

With trademark focus he ignores her protestations and sets up his station, throwing down pillows that will support the weak spots in his spine and unrolling the bag like a good little camper.

“Mulder, seriously. There’s no need for this.” But she’s slurring and her body is so heavy she can’t stay upright. “ I can drive home just fine. Let me make myself some coffee. You’re being ridiculous. This is where you sleep.”

“Just go to bed, Scully,” he tells her. He repeats it when she says no. Time for bed Scully. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up early. And she eventually does fall asleep, succumbs to the mental exhaustion of arguing with him.

In a fashion that creeps him out a little he stares at her well into deep sleep, propped against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He feels tired just looking at her, the yearning to lie down calling to him a little more urgently than he’s used to.

Before he crawls into his bag he stands before her, looking into her slack and open face. It’s crazy and weird and definitely spooky. But this is driving him nuts. He leans down and slowly brushes an errant lock of hair out of her eye. Okay. Good.

Crawling into his bag he understands what’s bogging him down. Dana Scully is not living her double life as his partner, but as his friend. And somewhere along the line he became hers, too.

anonymous asked:

Who was Yuri's first time if Otabae and him did it on the roof that one time?

UGH I typed the reply to this once and then changed apps for a minute to answer a text message and Tumblr mobile reset so I lost all I typed (I hate this app ughhh)
But ANYWAY –
Yuri’s first time was with his high school boyfriend, that delinquent kid who really only wanted Yuri as arm candy. He never cared much about Yuri beyond his looks, but Yuri was desperate to belong anywhere so he took it gladly. After they slept together the first time though, Yuri felt awful. He called Otabek and Otabek came to get him, and took him to buy crappy freezer ice cream from a convenience store at 3 am and they ate it together sitting on Otabek’s bike in the parking lot, Yuri not talking about what happened but Otabek just knowing anyway and wrapping an arm around Yuri.

Green doesn't look good on you - TJ Perkins Smut

Did somebody order a side of crappy smut?

I will be updating this off and on to make it better.

Constructive criticism is really appreciated, becauseI know I need improvement.

A/N: Hey guys, I’m sorry I’ve not been posting in awhile I still have writers block and ive been busy with Twitter and school. But hopefully I’m back now. Also another smut will be posted this week but it’s a personal request ive been working on it a lot and it’s amost finished. Btw this is my first time writing smut so please don’t hate me.

Warnings: Crappy editing and ending because I’ve been working on this at 12 am and this took 3 hours to finish. So there will be mistakes, grammar issues and a lot of other stuff. TJ also uses the words Slut and whore a lot, oops? Rough sex, Daddy Kink!, Cursing, I did go back and forth on the daddy kink because not everyone likes that. Poorly Written Smut.

Finn makes a special appearance in this.

Pairings: TJ Perkins x Reader

Summary: TJ is jealous and fucks the reader.
——–

“Damn, looking good baby.” one of the male superstars said to me while letting out a wolf whistle. I just scoffed as I walked pasted him.

I was searching around the whole arena looking for The Finn Bálor who was also my biggest best friend in the whole wide world.
We went way back, I’m talking NJPW back.

I was about to give up when I heard that familiar irish accent.

“Y/N!” Finn screamed as he ran up to me wrapping his strong arms around me.

“Finn!” I said back, mocking his excitement. I also had wrapped mine arms around him returning the hug.

“Oh my gosh! I’ve missed you so much.” Finn squealed. “Awe, I’ve missed you too.” I smiled up at him admiring his beautiful features. Like his blue eyes, his red tinted lips, that pale perfect complexion of his and that contagious bright smile he always wore. Snap out of it Y/n, you have a boyfriend. I thought snapping harshly at myself.

I was too busy being zoned out though that I didn’t hear the ahem behind me at first. I slowly unwrapped my arms from Finn’s well built frame.

“Oh hey.” I said as I turned around being met with TJ’s harsh glare. “What the hell are you doing?” TJ snapped harshly at me, his brown eyes glaring at me and Finn.

“Um hugging a friend?” I said although it sounded more like a question than a reply.

“Um not what it looks like to me. And you buddy stay away from my girl or you’ll be getting a detonation kick from me, you got that punk.” TJ turned and jabbed his pointer finger at Finn as his stare felt like it was burning a hole through Finn’s head.

“Got it” Finn weakly muttered.
“Well I’m gonna go, see ya later, cutie” Finn said as he kissed your cheek and ran away, leaving you shocked.

“I’m gonna kill him.” TJ said in rage as he tried to run after Finn. “Baby, no!” you shouted as you held him back. You looked up at his angry face telling you he was pissed and you weren’t gonna lie it turned you on.

“And you know what I’m sick and tired of you flirting with other men Y/n, it’s time I’d show you who’s boss and who you belong too.” TJ growled as he dragged you to his dressing room.

As soon as TJ got to the dressing room he shutted the door and slammed you into it.

“Since you wanna act like a filthy slut you’re gonna be treated like one,” TJ growled into your ear lightly bitting on the shell of it and kissing his way down your neck, slightly sucking on your soft spot which caused you to moan loudly and probably will leave an hickey. He quickly took off your clothes and disregarded them around the room somewhere.

“Now get on your knees,” he demanded while he fumbled with his pants button. When you didn’t listen he grabbed you by the hair and roughly pushed you on your knees.

“When I say something you fucking do it the first time whore, got that” he slightly yelled. You only nodded scared to speak. You’ve never seen this side of him and truthfully it made you wet and weak in the knees.

After about a second he took his pants and boxers off sliding them down his thick legs and as they pooled onto the floor. He stepped out of them and right in front of your face.

“You know what to do slut, now get sucking and by the way if you tease me your punishment will be worse.” he said with no emotion but pure jealously and lust written on his face. You gulped not even thinking about talking back as his dark brown eyes stared down at you. You took one your small hands and wrapped it around his cock while the only massaged his balls. You slowly kissed his tip, before finally licking down his shaft.

“What did I say about teasing me,” he grunted. He quickly shoved his whole dick down your throat which caused you to gagged. “Now that’s better” he said in a lustful voice as he started thrusting into your mouth. You hurriedly picked up the pace by sucking his dick as fast you could to meet his thrusts. You continuously massage his balls as he moaned out an fuck. “Looked at you, down on your knees taking daddy’s cock like a good girl” he purred. You let out a moaned and looked at him through your eyelashes which caused him to moan as the vibrations ranned up his dick. You sucked harder and faster as he threw his head back at the pleasure he was reciving. His harsh thrusts slowed down and as he a moaning mess.

“Fuck, babygirl, daddy is so close.” he grunted making a misshift ponytail of your hairl, tugging on it while looking down at your naked form. “Come on daddy you can do it” you said urging him on while still sucking on his dick. After a few more harsh thrusts and sucks, he camed down your throat. You pulled him out of your mouth and swallowed all of his cum. His breath still uneven as he roughly pulled you up and onto the couch on all fours. “Now here is what I’m gonna do, I’m going to fuck you so hard until the whole rooster knows mine name, got it and I expect an answer from you” he said growling as he roughly smacked your ass. “Y-yes D-daddy,” you said crying out from the pain that soon turned into pleasure.

“Aw would you look at that, already so wet for me kitten and I’ve barely touched you,” he smirk as he ran his two fingers down your wet lips teasingly. He finally thrust two fingers into your pussy. “Fuck TJ” you moaned out not expecting for it to be so fast.

TJ continuously thrust his fingers into you. And each time your moans got louder and louder. “You see this tight little pussy babygirl it’s only mine and no one elses.” he husked into your ear. “Yes, only yours daddy.” you agreed as you let out an slutty moan. One hand was still thrusting into you while the other one was smacking your ass.

“S-shit Teej, I’m closed,” you rasped out.

“I know baby,” was all TJ said before he quickened the paced brushing your g-spot each time until you finally came all over his fingers, he wasted no time sucking your juices off his fingers and moaning at your taste. “You taste amazing, baby, here try it yourself.” he roughly kissed your lips, letting you taste yourself. Which caused you to moaned into his mouth.

He pulled away as he walked behind you, making you whined at the loss contact. “Don’t whine now baby, the pleasure has just begun.” he said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and roughly thrusted into your core pounding into you relentlessly from behind. “Fuck babygirl,” he hissed as your tightness clenched around his dick.

“Oh my fuck, TJ, this feels so good. faster and rougher please.” you begged. “As you wish, princess.” he groaned pulling on your hair hard, as his thrusts speeded up but not fast enough to your liking, as you meet his thrusts, moaning. “Fuck, you’re such a good slut, taking daddy’s thick cock from behind.” he groaned into your ear as he pounds into your g-spot. “Who fucks you this good baby,” TJ moans out. “You do, TJ,” you say as you clench around his dick. “Daddy I’m close.” you moan out as he is thrusting into harder. “So am I, babygirl.” he hummed.

All could be was loud moaning of his name after he thrust he made and the occasional skin slapping. After a quick few more thrusts you finally cummed all over his cock and he squirted into you, he thrusted in you a few more times getting you guys off your highs, after he was done he pulled out of you and felled onto the couch as the tiredness took over him.

“Wow.” you both said in unison, wiping off the sweat that formed on your foreheads.

You giggled kissing his lips tenderly.

“I’m sorry baby for flirting.” you said apologising, smiling at him tiringly.

“It wasn’t your fault and you weren’t the one flirting but I’m sorry for being an jealous asshole and calling you all those rude names,” he said back, apologising as well.

“It’s okay. I like when you’re angry.”

TJ was about to pull you into a passionate kiss until the knock at the door startled you.

“Hey could you guys keep it down in there? We all now understand that she’s yours, TJ.”

“Yikes.” you both thought.

Love or Hate (Part 7 of 13)

Summary: AU. When the reader’s shot at a better life is stolen from her, she continues to see the person responsible all over town. After a series of unfortunate events, will she learn that there’s a fine line between love and hate?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,457

Warnings: language, drinking

A/N:  Moving right along. Bucky has made his choice, it seems. Also, someone new is introduced!

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 -

Keep reading

Bucky got hurt because he wanted to protect Steve and Steve cares about him (and is angry because Bucky got hurt)

So this took me longer to draw than I intented to ( Yay I’m sooo slow O.o)

of course there are lot of mistakes, I’m still trying to get better with anatomy and proportions, so I’m sorry if it looks too crappy T_T

and I want to thank the people who helped me to decide how to draw Bucky and thanks to my sister (I bothered her all the time) <3

(and sorry for my bad english T_T)

A submission for 'One Hell of a Faimily'

If you are willing to take such from un-Tumblred folks such as I.

Yana Gavrilovna had a plan. Possibly not a very good plan, but, eh. In this economy, there really wasn’t many options for a high school dropout in a village 70 miles from St Petersburg. She had no desire to be a housewife and she wasn’t pretty enough to be a whore. So, summoning the devil it was. She’d found the spells in a book in the old house in the woods north of the Markovs’ potato field, the one that had belonged to Yekatrina Fyodorovna, who everyone said had been a witch. Apparently everybody had been right because there were plenty of supplies and a giant mortar and pestle just lying about the place. All Yana had had to do was nick a few herbs from the Markovs to replace the ones that had gone moldy, and then puzzle her way through the really old fashioned text.

It was handwritten on mismatched pieces of parchment stitched together into a ragged leather cover and covered in writing, some in weird, spikey letters, some in a weird, long-voweled language, and half the time with Russian notations underneath. There were also a few spells in what she recognised as Church Slavonic, but they were all for good luck and plentiful harvests and that sort of goody-goody shit. The foreign spells were much more interesting.

She found no less than twenty three summoning spells for ‘spirits’, which she assumed was the polite witchy term for demon. She found herself torn between summoning a spirit of Heavenly Fire, which certainly sounded like Lucifer, and a spirit of shadow-dwelling snakes, which also sounded like the devil. The need to play music for the latter spirit decided it. Yana had all the musical talent of a brick, and no desire to risk offending some demon with her crappy voice.

She stumbled her way through the verses of the summoning, burning herbs and lighting candles at the appropriate moments. She was sure that the spell was supposed to be all aetherially beautiful and mystic sounding, but since she had no idea what she was reading out and kept stumbling over words, it just sounded like a six year old reciting poetry. Eventually, she got to the end, lit the last bundle of herbs in the candle and drew a wonky circle around the flickering lump of wax with the smoldering sage.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Yana began to feel like an idiot. Then, the candle sputtered, and the circle burst into multicoloured flames and all of a sudden there was a thing inside. Thing was definitely the right word, because Yana had no idea what she was looking at. It certainly wasn’t the sleek-looking horned gentleman in a suit she had expected. Television had clearly lied to her. Instead it seemed to be a thing made of sheets of light, almost like the aurorae they sometimes got this far south. After a short period of squinting it resolved itself into an immense face, almost that of a dog, but longer in the muzzle, with sharp fangs and catlike eyes.

It spoke without opening its vast maw, its voice echoing inside Yana’s head like a seemingly infinite choir. Sadly, it spoke in whatever the Hell language she summoned it in, so it might have been demanding her soul or complaining about the herbs for all she knew. Unsure how to respond, Yana just shrugged and asked, “You speak Russian?”

“Do I speak- of course I speak Russian,” it looked around, “this is Russia. Of course. First time I’m summoned in over a century, and it’s to some dingy hovel in Russia. I guess that explains the crappy incantation. You can’t speak a word of Finnish, can you, girl?”

“Finnish.” Satan spoke Finnish. Satan was a Finn. That… made a disturbing amount of sense actually.

She dismissed that train of thought with a wave of her hand, “I want to make a deal. Demons love that right?”

It looked at her blankly. Yana took that to mean she should go on. “Anyway, you lot always want the human girl to bear your spawn or whatever, and you got the magic, so, hears the deal, make me immortal and eternally young, and I’ll carry your kid. Sound good?”

“Please let me leave.” It looked almost despairing.

“Agree to the deal and I will.”

After a moment, in which the demon seemed almost like it was considering just staying there forever, it sighed, which felt really strange, and said, “Fine, alright, whatever. Just let me leave.”

“Awesome,” Yana clapped her hands together, “so, d’you need to do anything to knock me up or what?”

“I suppose this would work better if I was solid,” it said miserably, “human shaped too. One moment.”

The demon did… something, and it became smaller, and solid, and somewhat to Yana’s surprise, a fox. A disturbingly large fox, about the size of a horse, but otherwise, just a normal fox, the kind she sometimes saw in the woods. Then, the demon did something else, which sort of made reality go all twisty for a moment, and it became a young man, with bright red hair and glowing fox-eyes. He was actually kind of cute, all awkward and naked and- holy shit that was the biggest cock Yana had ever seen outside porn.

“I, uh, attempted to recall what human females prefer in a mate. My kind does not reproduce in such a… physical way.”

“No, no, we’re good.” Yana supposed that human men probably ought to be disappointing after demons, but still.

“There’s a bed over there, um,” she broke the circle with the toe of her shoe, “let’s, y’know.”

They did. It was very awkward and the demon, who apparently had no name pronounceable by humans but who Yana dubbed Vasiliy after a favourite pet dog, had no idea what he was doing.

“So,” she said after they were done, and Vasiliy was just standing about looking confused, “Assuming this takes,”

Yana looked a question at Vasiliy, who said, “It will. I am certain.”

“Then you just need to come back in nine months to give me what you promised and pick up your kid. ‘Cause I’m sure as Hell not looking after it.”

Vasiliy nodded, then asked, “Should I stay around or can I leave?”

“Go, go,” Yana waved him off, “ just remember to come back and gimme my payment.”

Yana walked back to the village with a limp and a feeling of smug accomplishment. Phase one, complete. Time for phase two.

Finding an actual witch, and not some random-arse Wiccan or neopagan, was actually a lot harder than summoning a demon. Google didn’t seem to work for this, so, at four months and already starting go show, Yana was forced to rely on somebody she really hadn’t wanted to. Her Babushka, her hyper-superstitious, extremely devout church-scrubbing, headscarf-wearing grandmother, who knew all the gossip, seemingly, in rural European Russia. Her babushka who would definitely know she was pregnant out of wedlock and lecture her for hours about sin and Hell and suchlike. Not that Hell was going to be a problem.

Still, her babushka could never know that.

Never.

Four hours of fire and brimstone later, she was able to ask about witches. Subtly.

“I don’t remember doing anything carnal four months ago, the only thing I can think of was I poked around in Yekarina Olekova’s old house, and everybody knows she was a witch. That’s why father Boris had to run her over with the combine harvester. Twelve times. So maybe she cursed her house and now I’m cursed and a what if it’s the kind of curse that needs another witch to remove it.” Yana used her best puppy eyes and crocodile tears. Apparently, it worked. Supposedly, there was a witch four villages over who kept trying to bargain for peoples firstborn. Babushka had told her that so she could avoid Anastasiya Karamazova, but, ehh. A week later she had borrowed her brother Aleksei’s car, purportedly to go see a doctor at the nearest hospital, and driven over to see Karamazova.

Karamazova’s house was a lot nicer than Olekova’s. Not just because it hadn’t been left to moulder for two years either. It was newer, built only a few years ago when Karamazova had moved here from the big city and had yet to try and buy babies. She looked about thirty, with stringy blonde hair and a kind face, laugh lines around brown eyes.

“So, I hear you’re a witch.” Yana said when she opened the door.

“Not another one,” she sighed, “I will call the police on you girl, don’t think I won’t.”

“No, no,” Yana held up her hands, “I’m not here to bother you. I’m here to talk business.”

Karamazova raised a brow and stood aside, gesturing for her to come in, “Then I apologise for my rudeness in making you talk over a threshold.”

When they were seated at a neat looking dining table, tea steeping in a pot in front of them, Yana began, “You are a real witch, right? Baba Yaga’s granddaughter, that whole deal, not just some Wiccan.”

“I am. Not that I like to publicise such.” Karamazova poured the tea and offered the bowl of sugar cubes. Yana took one and put it in her mouth, drinking her tea around it, while Karamazova did the same.

“Then, I have a deal for you. I’m knocked up, see,” Yana gestured to her belly, “and I hear you’re looking for a kid. This’d be my firstborn, and I don’t actually want a kid. So, I propose a trade.”

“Well, this is new,” Karamazova said, “Never heard of someone actually offering before. I’m guessing you don’t even want ten years with him or something.”

“Nope,” a thought struck Yana, “him?”

“I’m a witch, girl. Do you really think I can’t tell sex and gender, even in a fetus? Both male, in this case. A shame, I would have preferred a daughter, but needs must, and this boy will have power, I can feel it. I am interested. What do you want, then?”

“Money. I want to be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams for the rest of my life.”

“Doable. I will have to pull some strings, but it can be done.”

“Awesome. See you in, what, five months?”

“Yes. 13th of March, around 8:45 in the morning.”

“Cool. I’ll arrange to be at Mariinskiy hospital that morning,” Yana said, “think you can magic up the papers so they say he’s you kid not mine?”

“Easily. I will be there also. What name should I put down, then?”

Yana shrugged, “How about Timofey Vassilieyovich? Timo’s my favourite brother, and the father’s called Vasiliy.”

“That will do. Will I have to deal with the father?”

“Up to you. You’re a witch, I’m sure you can handle him. Although,” she smirked, “you might want to keep him around. Boy has no idea what he’s doing, but damn, he has got a good foundation to work on, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebows and held her hands almost a foot apart, and Karamazova almost choked on her tea.

“I’ll see myself out,” she said, whilst Karamazova sputtered, “see you March 13th. Mariinskiy hospital, in Petersburg, and remember what I want.”

Winter came, and it went, and the only thing that really seemed memorable was that she got hugely fat, little Timmy seemed to decide bruising every organ he could reach was a great game, and there were far more aurorae than usual. Almost every night in fact, and a bunch of scientists kept turning up to poke at things with weird instruments and stare at the sky whilst scratching their heads. Other than that it was just the usual haze of her relatives’ and neighbours’ disapproval, she lost her job at the local pub, not that she really cared, and Timo agreed to put her up so she wouldn’t have to live with her parents. He really was her favourite brother. Also, he lived in Petersburg, and had a job as a journalist with the BBC, and could therefore be openly gay, which meant babushka would not bother her. She liked his boyfriend, too. Henri was nice, and Canadian, and told her stories about Montréal and his big, weird family and said that they’d happily put her up if she ever wanted to go.

Spring came and the canals filled with slush, and Yana became truly vast. Henri and Timo kept bringing her food and weird vitamin thingies and offered to adopt the kid if she didn’t want it, though they said they’d have to do that in Canada, where it was apparently legal for gays to do that and also get married. Yana spent a lot of her time looking up places she wanted to visit on Henri’s old laptop, and going to an English class that Henri taught. She figured English would be useful when she did travel, and she intended to travel and awful lot. She poked around museums and art galleries and looked longingly at fancy clothes and jewelry and expensive booze. And, come March 13th she made sure to be at Mariinskiy hospital bright and early around 6am, just in time for her water to break.

Two and a half hours of pain and swearing later, she was presented with a scrawny little thing by fearful nurses, while the obstetrician was on the phone and babbling about birth defects and journal articles and scans. Timmy had red hair. She supposed she ought to have expected that. Still, she was curious so she unwrapped the little bundle to take a look. The first thing that struck her was the tail. Well, no the first thing that struck her was that he was definitely a boy, but this was her son and a baby and that was just weird. Anyway, he had a tail covered in red fur, a when she turned him over the fur climbed up his back, and down his arms and legs to peter out on claw-tipped fingers and toes. When ne opened his mouth to cry there were fangs, and when she opened his eyes they were shiny and golden, the irises so large she couldn’t see the whites. This came out of her. Awesome. Anyway, Karamazova had apparently bullshitted her way in and was staring at her new kid with an expression of shock.

“So, uh, full disclosure,” Yana said, “Timmy’s dad is a demon. But hey, here’s your kid, gimme my money.”

Karamazova handed over a credit card silently, and picked up the boy, wrapping him back up. She appeared to be still in shock.

“Might want to make the doctors and nurses stop talking about weird birth defects and journal articles, before they start taking pictures.”

Anastasiya Vladislavovna Karazova had known the girl had been keeping something from her when she’d made the deal. She had though that it was something minor though, probably about the father. That he was black or Jewish or something a rural Russian would worry about, which wasn’t likely to be an issue since she intended to move to a Western country where they’d be less likely to be murdered, or that she had HIV or a drug problem or some genetic disorder, all fairly easily dealt with for a witch of Ana’s calibre. She had not expected this.

The father, she assumed, entered the room shortly after she had retrieved Timofey. She assumed it was the father anyway, because he was shrouded in some very impressive shapeshifting magic. He went over to Yana and spoke to her, then he did something that imbued her with some of his power. Then, she pointed him to Ana, who steeled herself for an argument.

“You are not a demon,” Ana opened, “some sort of nature spirit I’m guessing. A fox? You feel like fire and the aurorae have been oddly active.”

He nodded, “She summoned me and seemed convinced I would want a half human child. She demanded that I agree to her deal before she would release me. It was a kind of ignorant determination that I have never known to be swayed by facts.”

“So, now you want the kid so the deal can be fulfilled, yeah?”

“That is so.”

“Well, tough,” Ana said, “She made a deal with me too. Her firstborn for riches beyond her wildest dreams, and I held up my end of the bargain, so Timofey is mine.”

“But I also held up my bargain,” He - Vasiliy, wasn’t it, the hell kind of name is Vasiliy for a fox spirit – said, “Eternal life and youth for her half human child.”

“She played us,” despite herself, Ana was actually kind of impressed, “I’ve never even heard of somebody being ballsy enough to sell there firstborn to both a witch and a demon. Let alone bully a spirit into this sort of bullshit.”

“We seem to be at an impasse,” Vasiliy said, a thoughtful look on his borrowed face, “we could duel for the child. I am fairly certain I would win. However, not here. Too many mortals. Do you know of a good place nearby?”

“Yeah… how about no,” Ana said, “It must have been a long time since you last dealt with humans, but we’ve got a thing called joint custody now. I have him for say, a week, then you have him for a week, and we take turns like that.”

“Oh.” It seemed like the idea had never even occurred to him. While Vasiliy processes this radical alteration to his worldview, Ana took care of altering the doctor and nurses’ memories, so they only remembered a sad still birth by Yana, and a perfectly normal birth by Ana herself. Vasiliy stood in silence while she filled out the various forms, so that her son would have a birth certificate, and not long after Timofey Vasilieyovich Karamazov was officially registered as such, he spoke up again.

“Where do you live?”

“A few villages over from our mutual friend,” she gestured over at Yana, who waved back, “but not for long. I intend to go somewhere far from Russia, where we will be safe. England, maybe. Or America.”

“How about Canada?” Yana called out, “Kid’s gonna have family there. My brother Timo’s marrying a Canadian guy, he might be able to set you up.”

She though about it. By now, the demon hunters had heard about the strange goings on in the region, and she had already had to ward her home like a fortress, and the only reason that had worked was because they were looking for something bigger than some witch. They’d be after her soon enough, and Canada was a good choice. Low key. Not the kind of place anybody would think to look. And Timofey deserved to have as much family as he could, especially family that could help track down his birth mother if he ever wanted revenge.

“Sounds good,” Ana said, “unless you got a problem with that?”

Vasiliy shook his head, “It is good. Canada is close to the poles, I can visit without drawing too much attention.”

“Cool, go look up Timofey Ivanov, with the BBC. Tell him you got my kid and he’ll help you.” Yana said, then seemed to fall asleep.

“What is the Beebeesee?” Vasiliy asked.

Ana sighed and looked at Timofey. He was going to have one hell of a family to out up with.

Three months later, they touched down in Montreal airport, papers declaring them political refugees in hand, and Anastasiya Karamazov walked out into the chaos of a Canadian airport and into the slightly terrifying arms of her sponsors, the seemingly unending relatives of Henri Larivière, Timofey’s newly-minted uncle. Gods help her, for she was going to need it.

Do with this what you will. I am done with it.

—- DUUUUDE THIS IS GREAT THANK YOU FOR SHARING!!
the hollow

Run, desire; run, sexual being
Run him like a blade to and through the heart
No conscience, one motive:
To cater to the hollow

The motel phone is ringing and the shower’s running when Sam comes home from school. He locks the door behind him, toes the salt line back into place, drops his backpack onto the rickety table, and steadily ignores the ringing as he pulls out his book for English, his notebook and pen. By the time it stops shrilling into the dim little room he’s flat on his belly on the bed, jacket and shoes off, reading.

It’s only another five minutes before the water turns off, and there’s the rattle of metal rings as Dean yanks the curtain back. Sam licks his lips. He’s watching the bathroom door, not pretending to pay attention to the book anymore, and so he gets a great view when it swings open and there’s Dean in the gout of steam, flushed pink and wet and holding a towel in one hand, gleaming under the bathroom’s fluorescent light—then Dean sees him sitting there and there’s wide-shocked eyes and the hasty way he snaps the towel around his hips, but not before Sam gets his eyeful.

“Hey,” Sam says, eyebrows raised.

Dean runs a hand through his wet hair, the flush on his throat getting darker. “Sammy,” he says, a little faint, and then he frowns. “What are you doing home, already?”

“They let us out early, some kind of teacher in-service thing,” he says. Dean’s frown clears up and he moves over to the duffels pushed up against the wall, crouches to rummage around in his clothes, the towel still clutched around his waist, all modest. Sam pushes up and sits cross-legged on the bed so he doesn’t miss the view of Dean’s back, tan and pretty and freckled, water beaded up and rolling slowly down the furrow of his spine. When Dean turns around, boxers and a t-shirt in hand, Sam waves the book at him. “I was going to write this book report, but then I got a better idea.”

Dean rolls his eyes, recovered a little, though he’s still all flushed and Sam doesn’t think it’s just from the shower. “You’ve got a one-track mind, you know that?” Sam shrugs and Dean shakes his head, goes back into the bathroom. “What book?” he says, over his shoulder.

Sam drops it to the bed, scoots forward on the mattress so he can still see as Dean unwinds the towel, scrubs it roughly over his arms and back, over his legs in turn, over his bare pale ass. He swallows, almost forgets to answer. “Hatchet,” he says, eventually. “Again.”

Dean makes a little muffled noise as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. “Yeah, but you like that one, right?” he says, stepping into the worn-thin boxers. Sam drops a hand to his crotch, watching, and then Dean flicks off the bathroom light and steps back out into the main room, half-dressed and damp and just incredibly, stupidly hot. “That’s the one—with the kid lost out in the woods or whatever? And he figures out how to save himself with an axe.”

“Well, a hatchet,” Sam corrects, absently, his eyes still on the familiar bow of Dean’s thighs, and Dean rolls his eyes again, goes over to the fridge to get himself a beer. “And it was a lot better when I read it in sixth grade, the first time. I can’t believe this crappy school is assigning it to sophomores.”

Dean cracks the beer open on the side of the kitchenette counter, says, “Yeah, yeah, genius,” but he’s got a little smile on his face and Sam just wants to drag him down to the bed, wants to spoil the shower Dean just took, and then the phone rings, again, and the smile wipes right off of Dean’s face.

Sam drops onto his back on the bed, sighing, when Dean picks up. He looks up at the water-stained ceiling, lit in bright stripes with the afternoon creeping through the blinds, and listens to Dean’s half of the conversation. All murmured yes, sir and no, sir and three bags full, sir, and Sam slips his hand down past his belt, palms himself, waiting for Dean to hang up. Dad usually leaves them alone for longer than this, and at this point it’s a relief—he gets Dean to himself, gets to pretend they’ve got some corner of a normal life. It’s a weird one, sure, but it’s his, and it makes it easier when they’re stuck on a hunt or trapped under Dad’s drill sergeant routine—thinking about this. How he gets to have this. He tucks his fingers into his fly, rolls his balls a little, and by the time Dean clicks the receiver down he’s hard all the way, ready, but then Dean says, without turning around, “Dad’s coming to pick us up tonight.”

It’s a poisoned lead ball dropping into Sam’s stomach. He sits up, fast, onto the edge of the bed. “What the hell, Dean?” he says. Dean turns, looking resigned. “It’s only—we’ve only been here for a week!”

Dean crosses an arm over his chest, shrugs. “There’s some kind of mysterious death thing going on in Lexington,” he says, and he’s not even—he’s not even annoyed, just stating the facts, and Sam kind of wants to punch him all of a sudden. “Dad’s gonna be here around midnight or one, he said, so we gotta make sure we’re packed up.”

“So that’s it?” Sam says, and his hands are digging too hard into his thighs. “No argument, just yessir, we’ve got to go?” Dean licks his lips, then bites into the bottom one and shrugs again, looks down, and it’s just so—so fucking frustrating sometimes. Sam stands up, and Dean’s saying, “You were just complaining about this school,” trying to be reasonable, but that’s not the point, not at all, and Sam’s still hard and Dean’s still half-naked, but now Sam’s pissed, and he crosses the narrow space in a second and backs Dean up so his lower back crams up tight against the counter, shoves his crotch against Dean’s thigh, so Dean can feel it.

“Whoa, Sammy—” Dean starts but Sam grabs the back of his neck in one hand, pulls him down and kisses him, hard, pushes his tongue in past Dean’s teeth when Dean opens his mouth in shock—and then Dean’s hands land on his hips, his mouth going easy and soft for Sam. So easy, he always is, ever since the first time Sam asked for this, confused and desperate and wanting anything that would ease it, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to say no. He crams his other hand tight over Dean’s dick and Dean flinches, from his hips to where Sam’s nearly biting at his mouth, and Sam wrenches his head down more, wishes he were tall enough that this could be as easy as he imagines it, sometimes.

“I want to suck your dick,” he says, not whispering, clear and firm up into Dean’s ear, and pulls back enough to see Dean flushed dark, eyes wide, mouth open and wet and plump from how Sam’s been working him. “I’m gonna. Right now. You gonna say no?”

He never does, not really, and he doesn’t disappoint now. Sam goes down to his knees right there, denim slipping a little on the linoleum, and when he looks up Dean’s just staring down at him, hands wrapped tight around the edge of the counter. Sam breathes out damply against his boner popping out the front of the boxers, lets his chin graze over the stiff-hot of it under the soft thin fabric. Dean sucks in a sharp breath, the blood high in his face and that edge of guilt shearing away, and Sam grins up at him, a weird kind of triumph viciously tight in his belly. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and Sam hauls down his boxers, his own dick jumping in his shorts when Dean’s pops out hard and ready, brushes up silky against his cheek, and then he sucks it in, sucks it down, wetting the length of it all the way to the base like he’s learned to do before he pulls back off, gasping. He grabs the base of it in one hand, sliding his other hand up the back of Dean’s thigh to grab his ass, licking his lips. He knows what he wants, now, and Dean’s going to give it to him, at least twice, before Dad comes home. He’ll have it dark and rich and massive behind his eyes, have the knowing of the look Dean gets when he’s about to come fresh in his mind, so that when Dad asks how everything went Sam’ll say, fine, sir, with the taste of Dean thick under his tongue.

“Sammy,” Dean whispers, shaking fingers sliding so-gentle over his temple, along the shell of his ear.

He kneels up a little more, looks Dean in the eye. “It’s Sam,” he says, and then opens his mouth and fills himself up with what he can take from his brother.

(read on AO3)

Come back of the Apocalypse Enjolras (with a red coat because I thought it would look better, even if a lot of people are tired of Enjolras = red)

Anyway I’m really glad it’s finished because it took quite a long time and I tried some new things with SAI c: A big big thanks to dorpmayne for her help because before her it looked like shit seriously ha ha!

(Okay, yes, I admit it, the scarf was totally inspired by cy-lindric’s Moonlight Beneath design. Yes. Sorry. I’ll let you sleep at my place if you come one day.)

Psst.

Sehun x Reader  A Baby, a husband, and the Ex (Requested) Part 1/2

“mymisstina said:Can you do a Sehun’s scenario? You liked each other since students and now you’re married, you’re pregnant with your first child, everything starts to mess up when your ex classmate comes back, she likes Sehun and wants to ruin your family? Fluff/angst” 

I hid what kind of ending the requester wanted~ After typing 5 pages, I decided I should just post what I’ve done as a part 1 ^^ Next part coming soon ~~~

Part 2

The moment Sehun confessed to you changed everything. He had always been your crush since you met in high school; you never would have thought that you would end up married to him at that time. You loved him very much, and wanted to be by his side through everything.

You remembered the moment the pregnancy test shown two lines. You freaked out and panicked, worried it could deter him from you as it was a huge responsibility. But when you revealed that you were pregnant with his child, you took all the fear back; he smothered you in kisses, including many excited ones on your stomach. “I love you, and I’m over the moon that we’re having a baby! We’re going to spoil them!” You recall him saying, easing all your fears of isolation.

You were 2 months in when you received a letter addressed to your both in the post. You opened it up as you sat watching TV with him after work. “Sehun, our old school is having a 5 year reunion!” you exclaimed, “Can we go? Please?”

Keep reading

I've done a lot of shit

I’ve done a lot of shit in my life. Mistakes upon mistakes. Bad decisions upon bad decisions. Seemingly ‘regrets upon regrets’.

Yet the more I look back on the crappy risks I took, I find it hard to be disappointed in myself. I’m no longer angry at myself for being ‘stupid’, ‘selfish’ or ‘naive’.

I merely acknowledge that “yes, those were some shitty decisions” and “no, I probably wouldn’t take that risk again”.

It’s taken me some time, but I’ve finally learnt that an ‘oh well’ is better than a ‘what if’

anonymous asked:

i love how you have this style that looks crappy but you can tell that you took a lot of time and effort into making it quality crappy. your arts make me smile.

´_>`

10

I know I’ve made a ridiculous number of posts about this, but here’s the slightly more compact one that sums up a lot of this week.

I’ve absolutely loved my four years at NYU. I’m immensely proud of what I’ve done and thankful for who I’ve met. It’s impossible to sum up the entire experience in one post.

A bit of explanation: NYU is really big, so while All-University Commencement is held at Yankee Stadium (this year, May 18th at 11am), there are also individual school Baccalaureate ceremonies (mine, for the College of Arts and Science, was at Radio City Music Hall on May 19th at 3pm). The President speaks at both, but my name is called at the bacc and I get to actually walk.

Photo explanations beneath the cut! (Also lots of bragging. Sorry, not sorry.)

Keep reading

2

This is about a week old, but I am proud to say my room is still fairly clean. There is something to be said for getting up and just making your bed immediately - it just makes you tidy up everything else too in the process.

My room looked like this for months and I have finally cleaned it. These are the only pictures I took, but my desk space is usable again, and my book shelf is a bookshelf and not storage! Cleaning and motivating myself to keep things clean is a very hard task for me most of the time. Which also just makes me feel even more crappy about everything. In a clean space I can feel more motivated and slightly less stressed (cause hey, there’s less to clean!).

The blog @unfuckyourhabitat is very helpful and has lots of tips for motivating yourself, really helpful source if you’re struggling to clean!

Tutoring

Word Count: 3572

Phil’s POV

I burst into the classroom gasping for breath and stared at the people surrounding me for a moment with wide eyes.

“Why are you late?” The teacher asked from behind her desk, not even looking up at me as she continued clicking away on her computer.

I blushed and started rambling nervously, knowing what I was doing but unable to stop myself. “My bus was late and then when I got here I kind of went into the wrong class and didn’t realise until the teacher started handing out physics sheets and then when I put my hand up to leave she asked me a physics question and wouldn’t let me go until I answered it and I couldn’t answer it and she started yelling at me and -”

The teacher cut me off impatiently, “There’s a free seat over there, I suggest you stop talking and sit in it.”

“Yes miss,” I mumbled back, heading towards the seat she’d indicated with my head down.

Once I’d gotten settled in my seat and gotten out my calculator and pen I looked around at the others, wondering what we were meant to be doing. They were all hunched over various sheets of paper, so I looked down at my desk and pulled the exercise sheet towards me, staring at it when I saw the questions. I had no idea what any of it meant. Literally nothing looked familiar, so I glanced to the side at my neighbour, slightly panicked.

“What are we meant to do with these?” I hissed at him quietly, tapping the sheet with my pen.

“Feed them to your pets, obviously,” he muttered as he glanced at me and rolled his eyes a little. “You’re meant to answer the questions moron, how hard is it to figure that out?”

He turned back to his work, blond hair falling forwards into his eyes. He was cute but clearly also a complete douchebag, so I sent him a scowl he didn’t see and went back to trying to decipher the weird equations.

It became clear very quickly that unless I managed to swap brains with someone there was no way I was going to be able to answer any of these. I didn’t even know how to begin answering the questions that were only worth one or two marks, let alone the ones worth seven or eight, so instead I turned my attention to a quickly expanding doodle of flower vines twining together and twisting between the questions intricately. I focused all my attention on only that for the rest of the lesson in an attempt to ignore the fact that I was one day into college and already doomed to fail at least one of my subjects.

Unfortunately I was so focused on my doodle that when the teacher came around to collect in the papers I didn’t notice until she was stood in front of me and clearing her throat loudly.

“Even if you were late and missed the instructions, I don’t believe any teacher has ever asked any student to draw flowers on a test paper, so would you mind explaining why you’ve answered none of the questions and instead covered the page in doodles?”

I felt myself automatically recoil a little, and just shook my head at her, lifting my shoulders in a shrug.

“You might want to seriously reconsider if you should doing maths at A Level,” she said with a slight smile.

She started to move away to collect the rest of the sheets and I was vaguely aware that most of the class’ eyes were glued to me, but that smile made something in me tighten and snap and I felt my mouth open without my permission.

“I won’t need to, thanks.”

My heart seemed to miss a beat as I waited for her to turn around and use her evil teacher powers to behead me for snapping back, but she just kept collecting sheets and barely glanced in my direction.

“We’ll see.”

She picked up the last sheet and dismissed the class, picking her way through the desks and students carefully.

I wasted no time in slinging my bag over my shoulder and hightailing it out of the room so I wouldn’t be the last person in there with her, slowing down as soon as I was out of sight of the door. I blended in with the rest of the students streaming out easily and soon I was standing outside squinting around in the sun.

Realising I didn’t know if I had a break now or not I fumbled around in my bag for my timetable, and wasn’t sure if I was pleased or disappointed to see that I didn’t have another lesson until three and a bit hours later. Other than spending that time thinking about how I was doomed and going to fail college, I couldn’t think of much to do, so I started meandering slowly towards where I thought the front gates were so I could go out into the town and explore.

I hadn’t had a chance to look around the town yet, I just knew my new college seemed to be right in the middle of a high street, or at least a far too long street with a lot of shops that I’d had to practically run past earlier this morning. Trust the bus to be half an hour late on my first day of college, but thank goodness for Google maps or I would most probably have managed to get hopelessly lost amid all the brick buildings and badly paved roads that all looked the same to me.

After I’d pressed my new college ID card against the scanner to be let out of the tall iron gates I took a moment to look down the long road on both sides of me to try and gauge which side would have more things of interest to me. I’d just decided to go left when a small breeze blew by from the right, carrying the smell of something warm and sweet with it. My feet started moving in the direction the smell had come from without me giving them the conscious command to do so, and my nose automatically tried to pick up another trace of the smell.

It took less than a minute to arrive at the source of the smell, and I rolled my eyes at my stomach. Of course it had taken me less than five minutes to track down the nearest bakery, I thought, eyeing the cakes and muffins and cookies and rolls on display, and the rows of bread stacked on shelves behind the counter. Deciding which kind of sweet baked good I wanted wasn’t going to prove easy.

I’d just about narrowed it down to two kinds of muffin and a donut when I heard the door to the bakery open, the slight breeze moving a few strands of hair into my eyes. I pushed them back without thinking and looked up at the guy who’d just come in. He shot me a smile and made a beeline for the counter, where called out for the owner of the bakery, apparently a woman called Gemma.

I heard her yell something back about being covered in flour and needing him to wait for a minute, but I was too transfixed to pay attention properly. The guy was gorgeous. Chestnut brown hair that dipped down in a fringe over his left eye, his hair a similar style to mine, and while he was facing away from me, more noticeably, trousers that had dropped to about halfway down his butt, the thick belt clearly doing nothing to help. The sonic boxers on display made me stifle a giggle, and I dropped my gaze quickly when he started to turn in case he realised what I was laughing at.

When I raised my head again to continue trying to decide between the two muffins, now having decided not to go for the donut, I saw him watching me and immediately felt my cheeks start to heat up.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “Aren’t you in my maths class?”

“Um,” I hesitated, trying to decide how useful it would be to deny it and then never show up to that class again. “I don’t think so?”

He shook his head and squinted at me a little, clearly trying to remember. “No, I’m sure you are, didn’t you arrive late with some sort of physics related excuse and then doodle flowers all over the question paper?”

Ok, so I’d attracted a bit more attention than I thought.

“Maybe… But who knows, it could have just been my doppelganger on the loose trying to give me a bad name at college. Obviously I’m not stupid enough to get on the teacher’s bad side this early on in the year.”

He chuckled and nodded understandingly. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I see your doppelganger running round and causing more trouble then.”

I was about to thank him when a short young woman with curly brown hair walked in through the door behind the counter, drying her hands on her white apron and looking at them in dismay when they came back covered in sticky looking dough.

“I give up, seriously, no matter what I do I never seem to be a hundred percent clean when I’m in here, there’s always a bit of flour or a remnant of dough or even some bloody egg stuck to me,” she informed me with a shake of her head. “Anyway, how can I help?”

“Which one would you recommend, the banana and walnut or the chocolate chip muffin?”

“Banana and walnut, definitely. Anything else?”

I shook my head and smiled at her politely.

“Ok then, Dan could you sort that please I need to go wash my hands again,” she said to the guy still standing behind me, lifting her hands to show off the lumps of dough stuck to them.

He sighed but walked around the counter and grabbed a paper bag and a small metal tong, sliding aside the glass door covering the display from behind and carefully selecting the biggest muffin. He dropped it into the paper bag and folded the top over a few times, then held it out to me with a smile.

“Bossy older sisters, eh?”

I took the muffin and dug around in my bag for my wallet, but when I took out a five pound note and offered it to him he waved it away with a wide grin, dimples appearing on both sides.

“On the house, because you’ve had a crappy day so far.”

I suddenly felt a whole lot more pleased with the muffin and beamed back at him. "Thank you!”

“It’s nothing,” he said, laughing at how excited I looked, and grabbed a chocolate covered donut for himself before sliding the glass door back into place.

His sister walked back through the door and raised her hands in the air triumphantly. “They’re clean! It’s a miracle! Look at them! Aren’t they glorious,” she sighed, obviously content.

“Well now that you’re a little bit more presentable, maybe it’s time for proper introductions,” Dan said, turning to me. “This is my older sister, Gemma, and Gemma, this is -” he broke off, looking at me for a moment. “Actually I don’t know who this is, what’s your name?”

“Phil,” I replied, feeling a little foolish that I hadn’t thought to introduce myself before.

“Gemma, this is Phil. He’s in my maths class and this may be both the first and last time you ever see him because to say our teacher hasn’t taken a liking to him would be an understatement.”

Gemma pulled a face. “Who do you have?”

I looked at Dan helplessly, at a complete loss for what our evil teacher was called.“We have Helen, she started the class by giving us a motivational talk about how most of us would probably benefit greatly from dropping out of maths now because we wouldn’t have what it takes to scrape even an E. Lovely woman,” he commented sarcastically.

Suddenly I was quite happy to have missed the first part of the lesson - my physics interrogation sounded far more pleasant now that I thought about it.

“Oh I remember her, all my friends hated her guts. At the end of year 13 they left her a card telling her thanks for everything and a cake that consisted of mostly their spit. Not the nicest thing ever, but she’d made them cry plenty of times so fair enough in my opinion.”

Dan looked at me, eyes sparkling, and pointed at his sister. “That. We need to do exactly that if she doesn’t get miraculously nicer soon.”

I agreed, and after chatting to Gemma a bit more she declared that she had to get back to work before the lunchtime rush and Dan and I left the little bakery.

I’d never been to the area around our college before, and Dan had lived there his whole life and claimed to know every single nook and cranny of this part of the city, so I decided to test him and brought up a list of places for him to find with the help of Google. We spent the rest of our lunch time walking from the one destination to the next and I was amazed by how easy it was to talk to him, the conversation flowing easily. By the end of lunch I’d declared myself the winner of our little game because Dan had failed to get us to a small tailor’s, with him protesting heavily and claiming that he’d just misheard.

We both knew I’d won really.

*****

The second Helen left the room I was banging my head on the desk and groaning to myself at how hard this subject was.

Dan patted my shoulder sympathetically and I buried my face in my arms.

“She was right, I need to drop maths and take something else instead. At least I’d have a chance of passing that,” I sighed, my voice muffled by my jumper.

Dan didn’t say anything for a bit, and I lifted my head to look at him curiously, wondering what he was thinking about.

“Dan?”

He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, then resurfaced from his thoughts and shook his head a little as if to clear it.

“Sorry, was just thinking about something. If you want to change subjects then you have just under two weeks to hand in the form to do it, but I know you don’t really want to drop it, you’re just struggling with it right now. I’m ok with it, so would you like me to tutor you a bit?”

I considered it and decided I had nothing to lose by letting Dan give tutoring me a go, and nodded, still a little hesitant. “Are you sure you want to waste your time trying to explain this stuff to me?”

“I wouldn’t be wasting my time,” he replied instantly. “I want to help, and this seems like as a good a way to do it as any. Plus it’s not like I’m going to object to spending more time with you.”

My stomach did a little flip at his words, and I couldn’t help but feel rather chuffed that he wanted to spend more time with me, despite the fact that we spent plenty of time together already and it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me.

“In that case, yes please. But I’m only going to give you a week because I think sorting the forms for changing subjects and getting all the needed signatures could take a while.”

“Brilliant, we start lessons this lunchtime. Every lunchtime and every free we have together will be spent on maths until this time next week, agreed?”

“Agreed.”

I turned back to the questions in front of me and sighed deeply. I’d need every single minute of those tutoring sessions if I was to have any hope by next week.

*****

“It’s too hard,” I moaned, my head resting on the table.

“No it’s not, now come on, try again,” Dan commanded sternly, his pen tapping against the table like it had been during every session. That was the only indication I ever got that he was getting just as frustrated as me - the more exasperated he felt, the faster the pen started tapping. Right now he was pretty damn annoyed.

I raised my head covered my face with my hands, glaring at the question through my fingers. “Ok, I get how you got the first part, but where the hell did that come from?”

I pointed at the random 14 in one of the equations that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, and Dan wordlessly started working it out again to show me, and after what felt like an age of staring at the numbers it finally clicked.

“I get it now! So to get the final answer to you just square that and divide it by four?”

“Yep,” he said, sounding significantly more cheerful than he had before. “Want to try another one?”

I made a face but nodded, sipping from my water bottle as Dan found another question like it for me to do.

It was a slow and torturous process, but I was definitely getting better at it. We still had a couple more days before I had to decide, but the chances of me choosing to continue with it were undoubtedly higher than they had been before Dan had started to help me.

*****

Today was our final day of tutoring, and I could tell Dan was just as nervous as I was. He’d spent most of the night before making a test for me to take now, and what I got on it would help me to determine if it would be a good idea for me to continue or not.

We sat opposite each other at a table in the little bakery, tucked away in the corner and working our way through a pile of cookies that Gemma had made especially, having been told about our plans. I had half an hour to finish the test, and Dan was looking at my working out and answers upside down, his fingers brushing against mine occasionally when he reached for another cookie, or when I did something right for a particularly hard question as a silent well done.

If anything he was making concentrating on the questions about ten times harder because each time his fingers stroked over my knuckles or brushed my wrist I felt a little jolt go through me, the area he’d touched me always seeming to tingle slightly, no matter how brief the contact. I didn’t mind the distraction at all if I was being honest with myself.

I finished the test with a couple of minutes to spare and leaned back in my chair, stretching and feeling very aware of Dan’s eyes on me.

“Done?”

I nodded, and fiddled with my sleeves, pulling them over my hands and back again constantly as I waited for him to finish marking it and tell me how I’d done. I thought it had gone ok, but the more I thought about it as I waited the more unsure I was of that.

Finally, Dan looked up, expression unreadable, and he slid the piece of paper across the table to me. I took a deep breath and looked down at it, and at the very top Dan had written 89% with balloons and confetti doodled around it.

I stood up and walked around the little table and pulled Dan up so I could give him a huge bear hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you so much,” I chanted in a whisper, hugging him even tighter. “Oh my God I could actually kiss you right now, thank you!”

He pulled back from the hug and looked me dead in the eye. “Go for it.”

It took me a second to cotton on to what he meant, and when I did my heart started beating double time and my cheeks heated up a little.

I leaned in, slowly, not sure if he meant it or not, and with a little impatient huff he closed the rest of the distance and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted of cookies and chocolate and coffee and he brought his hands up to cup my face, his thumbs stroking along my cheeks as I wound my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

“Guys! Oi! Cut it out! Dear Lord, PDA much?”

I broke the kiss off and looked at Gemma a bit dazedly, wondering what she was getting so hyped up about until I came to a little more and noticed the many strangers staring at us, some smiling and some just shaking their heads or rolling their eyes at our teenage antics as they waited in line to be served. Oops.

Dan just laughed and waved at the customers cheerfully, then grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the bakery.

“So, are you keeping maths?”

I smiled widely at him. “Only if I get to keep my current tutor. He’s quite brilliant you know.”

“That can definitely be arranged,” he said, grinning happily.

With a lot of crappy photoshop skills I picked up over time, I made the space dorito into my version of human Peridot. She has big ol dork glasses, a huge sweater, some crazy boots and prosthetic arms. I love her. Also, I threw on a watermark because I worked on this for hours. Sorry that I kinda gave up on making the legs look good but whatever.

Also, bonus Lapis:

she took like 3 minutes cause she has the anatomy of a normal human, plus she wears normal looking clothes instead of spacey sci-fi dorito clothes

Just a heads up to the Dreamworks/HTTYD fandoms

I went to go see the movie today. Amazing. It’s the second time I saw it and I plan on seeing it again next Tuesday. And probably a few more times after. 

But that’s not the point.

The point is that there were probably about 20 people there give or take. 

It’s a Friday night.

It’s a Friday night on opening day. 

It shouldn’t have such a small crowd. 

It was at 7:45 so it can’t even be blamed on the time because I think that’s a pretty decent time. There were a lot of kids there. so yeah, not that late at all.

I was talking with someone else and they told me that at the premiere there were only about 20 people in the theater.

This isn’t good.

Stop waiting for someone to upload a movie that they took on their crappy camera. Stop streaming.

Stop trying to get the movie for free because it’s hurting the company.

Now I realize that a lot of people might not be able to make it because of financial reasons or because they just can’t go until it’s a good time for them… but please, please support this amazing company.

They have lost so much with their recent movies.

They can’t look at HTTYD2 as a failure too. 

Opening weekend and only 20 or so people in a theater is going to do that. 

So please, please go see this movie. Please try to see it multiple times.

Dreamworks can’t keep making movies if they keep losing money. 

This movie can only be a success with you.