#Grinding on homework and tests and essays

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎… ~

❤️👻💜👻🧡👻❤️👻💜👻🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟹: 𝙲𝙰𝚁 𝚁𝙸𝙳𝙴˚*•✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟾𝟺𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑 🐢❤️

𝙻𝚎𝚛’𝚜: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑, 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝙳𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝…𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎…

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜 👁️👄👁️…

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚂𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚍𝚗𝚍𝚑𝚜𝚓𝚓𝚜˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Are we there yet?” Mikey whined loudly. 

“Uh…no?” His immediate older brother said, sighing impatiently. 

“…Are we there yet now?” Mikey whined louder. 

“No, Mike.” Donnie huffed through his palm as he rested his cheek on his hand, effortlessly playing his Nintendo Switch as he started to drown out his younger brother’s consistent complaining and restlessness. 

Which…you would think he got used to by now. 

The orange cladded turtle let out a short grunt loudly and dramatically, dragging his hands down his face, “Are we there yet now—?”

“Mikey, I swear to God if you ask that question one more damn time I will not hesitate to open the car door and throw you into ongoing traffic.” Raph growled lowly at the youngest. 

“Boys…be nice to each other, please…” Splinter exclaimed from the front seat as he drove. 

“But Dad! Mikey’s being annoying!” The tallest turtle moaned and groaned as he sunk in the middle seat.

“When is he not?” Donatello mumbled under his breath. 

“Boys…” The rat said warningly. 

“…Sorry, Dad…” The teenager’s grumbled collectively as they glared at one another. 

The rodent father sighed, plugging his phone into the car unit as he stopped on a red light. “…Why don’t we listen to some Podcasts on the radio?” He offered, trying to find something that his boys would enjoy that didn’t involve ripping each of their tails off.

“Yohou listen to podcasts?” The purple banded teenager exclaimed curiously as he took off his headphones. 

“Of course!” Splinter announced proudly, “I’ve been listening to this one that Spy-itify recommended me…it’s really good and well thought out!”

“It’s…It’s…'Spotify', Dad…” The hazelnut eyed teen corrected. 

“That’s what I said; 'Spy-itify'.” The father said simply, causing Raph to facepalm and stuff his face right back into his phone.

“What’s the podcast about?” Michelangelo asked as he leaned his head on the closed window as Splinter started to drive again once more.  

“It’s about this man talking about nature…it’s extremely interesting; I think you three will enjoy it.” The charcoal eyed rat explained. 

“Huh…sounds cool enough.” Donnie snickered, “What’s the guy’s name? Like, the one who mainly talks in the podcast and stuff.”

“Zach Green.” The rat said. 

“He sounds like a drug dealer…” Raphael mumbled under his breath, earning some small snickers from his younger brother’s as their Dad started to play the podcast in the vehicle. 

A guy, most likely 'Zach Green', started singing as there was a ukulele playing in the background…

…And he sang…

…And sang…

…And. SANG.

And the three teenager’s wouldn’t have minded if the dude sounded…y'know, good! 

But he didn’t sound good. 

At all. 

“Grass is green~! The green is the grass~! The grass is the green and the green itself is greeeen~!” The speaker’s sung as the three teenagers collectively sighed as the Podcast continued to play amongst them. 

“…How about we play 'I spy' instead of listening to Shaggy get high?” Mikey suggested as his Dad hummed along to the tune…

Poor soul probably knew this song from heart…

“Anything but this.” Donnie agreed. 

“Best idea I’ve heard all day.” The second oldest murmured, crossing his arms as he looked at the youngest expectantly, “Well? You gonna say 'I spy' or what?”

“Let a guy think for a moment!” Mikey shrieked, “Okay, okay, okay…I spy with my little eye—”

“—More like pink eye.” The turtle with glasses giggled under his breath, trying to cover it as a cough as he saw his younger brother side-eyeing him. “Y'know, Dee…we could really go.” The orange banded teenager glared.

“Bet. Catch me outside. 3:30 on the dot.” The purple cladded mutant threatened. 

“Bet.” The youngest repeated. 

Donatello raised an unamused brow, “I already said 'bet' you phrase snatcher!” 

“You don’t own the word 'bet', you four-eyed freak!”

“God— 'BET' YOURSELVES!” Raphael snapped, taking a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his snout, “I swear to literally anything and everything holy I am completely envying the fact that Leo doesn’t have to suffer in this freaking hell-hole with me.”

The second oldest leaned forward and tapped his Dad’s shoulder, “Speaking of which…how come Leo got to study with April while I—”

“We.” Donnie corrected swiftly. 

“—I had to stay with these two excuses for mutants, Dad?” Raphael continued, frowning deeper as his Dad became unresponsive and became completely entranced by the radio, “Dad? Dad? Dad? Daddy? Father? Dad— aaaaand you have your 'I’m locked in to this music' face…gotchu...” The tallest turtle huffed as he sat back down in the middle seat.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted.” The youngest huffed, “I spy something…grey/gray.”

“Grey/Gray? Grey/Gray as in ashy? Ashy as in you?” Donnie smirked, his smirk turning to a smug grin as the orange banded teen glared back at him with a mix of disdain and pure disgust.  

“Donnie, I swear—”

“Is it the car seat?” Raph muttered, dying in complete humiliation about the fact that this was his onlysource of entertainment. 

Michelangelo shook his head, crossing his arms as he leaned back on the seat, “Nope. Try again.” 

“Is it…Dad’s fur?” The turtle with glasses guessed.

“Nooooooope!” The smallest mutant dragged out, sticking his tongue out at the second youngest causing Raph to just sigh, slumping in the chair further.

This car ride was going to be his 13 Reasons Why…

“Okay…seriously, though. Raph-Taff, what’s up?” Mikey asked carefully, looking over his older brother’s stiff and utterly overall unhappy demeanor. 

The second oldest just grunted, glancing away and his frown drooping as he locked eyes with his immediate younger brother, “You can tell us anything.” Donnie assured.

“Well…not everything. Almost everything. Semi-everything.” The genius clarified, “Buuuut you get the point…”

“No, no Ihi really really dohon’t...” The red banded teen grimaced. 

“What Egghead Humpty Dumpty is trying to say is that you can tell us what’s bothering you. You haven’t been your usual…let’s just say 'Sarcastic Sappy Self'.” The hazel eyed teen confirmed, biting back a chuckle as he saw his purple themed brother gasp in offense. 

“I just needa get out of here…” Raphael emphasized, rubbing his temples like he’s seen centuries worth of knowledge, “School was rough. School is annoying. Kids are annoying. Y'all are annoying— no offense.”

“None taken.” The two youngest said in sync.

“And I just need to distress…” Said the older turtle, going on his phone only to be met with a completely pitch black screen, “And my phone is dead. Yip dee doo da fuckin' day…” He cursed. 

Mikey rubbed his chin in thought, leaning on the inside door hand rest, “I have an idea for that, actually. Just trust me.”

“'I have an idea' and 'just trust me'…two words I never want to hear come out of your mouth ever again.” Donatello insisted almost immediatelty. 

“Shut up.” The smallest mutant exclaimed to his immediate older brother, inhaling and exhaling loudly before continuing, “Okay…so I spy with my little eye—“

“Seriously?” The elder mutant deadpanned. 

“Trust me, I said!!!” The younger shouted once more to try and get his point across, “I spy something…black.” 

“…Black?” The second youngest asked, tilting his head. 

“Black.” Mikey confirmed.

“Ohooo…black.” Donatello snapped his fingers, nodding as he relaxed in his seat. 

“Black!” Michelangelo beamed as Raphael looked around in confusion, wondering if his younger brother’s were going to elaborate on this whole 'black' nonsense or if they were just going to communicate via gibberish. 

The red banded teen scratched his head in confusion, “…What is happening…?”

The youngest gave his red cladded older brother a knowing look, causing the red cladded mutant in question to just simply sigh longly, “Right riiiight…trust. I got it…”

“Uhhh…” Raphael hummed, looking around the car for something…well, black; as his little brother’s so veeeeery clearly stated. 

The chocolate eyed teen raised an uncertain eye ridge, pointing at his own black sweatshirt that he was wearing. 

The purple and orange duo nodded, “See? Black!” Donnie grinned, poking his older brother’s sides and causing his older brother in question to shriek loudly and try to cover his middles, wiggling his way over more to Michelangelo. 

Whiiiiiich…was a first. 

“Yeah! Black!” The smallest mutant smirked cheeringly, prodding the other side of the black sweatshirt wearing boy, “You got it?”

“Ihihi gohohot ihihat I-Ihi gahat ihat!!” Raph said immiediatley, kicking his legs on the car floor as he pushed on the other two’s shoulder’s. “Ehhhhh…I don’t think you do…” The young genius teased lightly. 

“Dohon’t a-act smahart with me yohou l-lihittle shIHIT NO!! Mihikey nonononohoh!” He said as he saw Mikey wiggling his fingers near his neck, causing him to try and hide his face in Donnie’s shoulder, swatting the youngest away. 

“D'aww~! Hey, big bro! Need a hug~?” The scientist said innocently, wrapping the taller in a hug as the shortest of the three skittered and scratched the red banded mutant’s shell lightly; almost barelytouching it. 

The red banded mutant in question wheezed loudly, banging his fists on the car seat whilst his legs stomped up and down, “Wohohoah! Mr. Deflating Balloon Man— yohou okay?” Mikey teased, making sure to trace the patterns on his elder brother’s shell in a very veeeery mean manner. 

“Are you boys alright back there?” Splinter asked, getting out of his trance as the podcast soon and finally ended. 

“We’re fine!” Donnie beamed, wiggling his fingers into the crooks of the chocolate eyed teen’s neck right beside him, “Right, Raph?”

Raph squealed loudly with laughter, not answering.

Well…not answering in word form, perhaps.

The Father rolled his eyes fondly at his son's, looking away from the rearview mirror and focusing back on the road. 

“See!? He agrees.” The youngest beamed, “We’re perfectly fine and dandy, Dadio.”

“'Fine and dandy?'” Donnie repeated in amusement, causing the orange banded teen to almost laugh as loudly as Raph currently was.

Key word: Almost. 

“Fine and dandy.” Michelangelo confirmed, kneading his hot-headed brother’s hips and sides as the taller leaped like a drunk frog, “STAHAHOP!! HIC LEHEHET HIC HIC GOHOHOH!!!” 

“People are gonna think we’re beating you up or something by the way you’re squirming, bud.” The purple banded turtle joked, letting go of the taller teenager as the smaller teenager spidered his fingers all over his tummy.

“MIHIHIHIKEY!!!” The older wailed, pushing the other’s hands away as they slowly but surely stopped. 

The two youngest’s giggled, fist bumping each other for successfully turning Raph’s frown upside down. 

Splinter drove into the O’Neil’s driveway as Leo walked out of the front door to the apartment, waving his goodbyes to April as he got into the car. 

The eldest sat in the front seat, buckling up as their Dad drove to their home.

The blue banded teenager let out a small snort, looking towards the back to see his immediate younger brother’s face the exact same shade as his own bandana, “Jeeheez..whahat dihid I miss?” 

“I daha— hic don’t wanna tahalk ahabohout it…” Raph grumbled, his beet red blush deepening on his face as Donnie and Mikey snickered slightly, giving each other one last fist bump of victory. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[ddejavvu]

dbf!hotch "helping you with your homework" but you're just grinding on his thigh while you try and finish your essay. and he's like

"c'mon, pretty girl, you gotta finish your essay"

today is multiverse monday! send me any au you can think of :)

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Aaron pretends not to notice what you're doing. The way you shift yourself subtly over his thigh, his knee angled upwards as he leans back into the couch while you perch near the edge. You've taken to straddling his thigh, and he notices the still of your fingers over the keyboard each time you grind down onto his jeans.

Your essay is 5 pages out of the 8 required. You're working through the last body paragraph, then you need to list statistics, and state your conclusion. Aaron knows because he's sifting through your rubric now, eyes squinted slightly as he scans over the requirements.

You'd been more conservative before. You'd started slow, an inconspicuous wiggle on page two, then another on four, then one on five. Then another, barely three sentences down. And now a third, no typing between where you'd stopped last and where you are now.

"Sweetheart," Aaron murmurs, reaching out to carefully brush a hand over your back, "You need to focus on your essay."

"I'm trying," You mumble, bashfulness invading your tone, "I just.. I can't. Not now, please can I just have a break?"

"Not until page six," Aaron decides, glancing down at the ever-nearing due date. You're only capable of a soft whimper in response, and you test your boundaries with a slight wriggle of your hips.

"I wasn't kidding," His voice is low and tight, one of his massive hands gripping your hip and stilling it, "Not until page six."

[nevermore-baby]

cockwarming with James Potter

description: James, your boyfriend, was feeling needy, but you had homework to do - so you came up with a little compromise.

pairing: james potter x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw 18+ (minors don't interact), no use of y/n, use of pet names (baby, Jamie), cockwarming, fluff, james being a lil baby, slight dom/sub dynamic

word count: 700

You were doing your potions homework, a two-page essay that seemed never-ending. It was never fun and never your go-to free time activity, but it had to be done, and you would probably do it much quicker, if not for your boyfriend - the infamous James Potter - being a little crybaby. 

He was sitting on the bed, to the right of your table, body slumped against the pillows. He kept turning and twisting in the sheets, sighing loudly from time to time, looking at you with his brown eyes, just enough so you could see him sulk at the periphery of your vision.

“Baby? You’re done yet?, you heard James go for the third time in the last 10 minutes. 

You sighed exasperatedly. “You just asked me, and no, not done yet.”

“I miss you”, James whined, giving you his best puppy eyes, the ones you could never resist.

“I am literally right here”, you began, James pouting more. “Fine”, you huffed, putting away the parchment - you haven’t written a word in the last ten minutes anyways - and getting up. Grabbing a transfiguration textbook, you plopped onto the bed, right across James. 

“Here’s the deal”, you started grabbing James’s attention. “I’ll move to the bed, but - I still have a transfiguration test to study for, so you will have to stay quiet and let me study, okay?” 

James, grinning widely, nodded eagerly, stretching his arms out already, just to settle you against his chest. You picked up the book, eyes skimming through the pages. Some time passed, and James, first content, was now shifting around underneath you, making it incredibly difficult to read.

“What’s the issue now?”, you finally snapped, words coming out harsher than should have. 

“You aren’t close enough”, James sniffled. “I’m just- I’m sorry”, he deflated, trying to pull away. You turned around to face him and caught his hand in yours, fingers interlacing.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. Nothing to be sorry about. Let’s just try to figure out what will make it better.” By the looks of it, James had an idea, but he wasn’t sure about it. “Don’t be shy, tell me.”

“Can I just…”, James rutted his hips up, letting you feel the growing bulge under his thin pyjama pants. “No fucking, just- can I just put it in? Just to be closer to you”, James murmured, and you couldn’t help but feel the sting in your chest from seeing him like this. 

“Of course, Jamie, we can do that”, you smiled sweetly at him, and the way his face lit up warmed your heart. Gosh, sometimes you couldn’t imagine how you can be more in love with him, but it always happened, and your love grew larger and larger. 

“Can I- can I take those off?” James’s fingers were at the brim of your pants and underwear, and after seeing you nod, he removed them both in one go, fingers making their way to your core. You hissed at the feeling of his fingers against your soft, sensitive skin. 

“Don’t get distracted, baby”, you laughed a little, James smiling too, but withdrawing his fingers and reaching for the lube instead. 

He squirted some on his fingers, spreading it on your pussy,  the other hand pulling down his own pyjama pants, letting his half-hard cock sprung free. He pumped it a few times, before turning on his side, you rolling right next to him. He lifted your leg just enough for him to grind against your pussy, gathering some extra wetness, before slowly pushing the tip in. You both moaned at the sensation, your walls squeezing him perfectly.

“Merlin, you’re always so tight. Am I hurting you? Are you okay? Let me just-”, James began to blubber, the tightness and warmth making his brain go foggy. Not letting him finish, you pushed your hips back, before your hips met his. James moaned loudly, head slumping against your shoulders, hands sliding up to cup your boobs, still covered with clothes. 

“Feeling better now?”, you wondered, getting a quiet “mhm” followed by a whimper in response. You picked up the book, getting back to where you stopped. “Now be a good boy and we’ll see what we can do after I’m done studying.” 

[myratbrainmusings]

i hate school (in a "there is no way this is what humans were made to do" way)

28th dec 2023

i was out walking to get stuff from the amazon lockers and thinking like "huh ive been so happy these past few days and ive been the calmest ever, i dont get random waves of soul destroying tiredness, i dont feel the urge to cry, ive been productive" and i tried to think what changed, the it hit me NO SCHOOL. ive had free and empty days to do whatever i see fit and no stress of doing homework while walking to lessons and its really solidified in my mind the idea that we as a species (assuming whoever reading this is human) really were not made for the grind. if i could spend my days studying what i please (i learned about ancient greek symbolism in hairstyles today, JUST BECAUSE I WANTED TO BECAUSE HUMANS HAVE A INATE HUNGER FOR KNOWLEDGE) i would be so great and have the actual time of my life, like give me a packet of all the information i need to know by the end of the week and ill learn it and take tests and write essays and do it great because im not in a room full of randomers listening to another randomer talk for an hour then having to go and immeadately learn another topic and pay full and complete attention with NO BREAKS??? like i have break and lunch but am i a prisoner? do i only have outside exercise time and eating time? do humans really not need any breaks other than 35 minutes to eat????? i was not made for the grind and would excel at home education because the people in my lessons are absolute FUCKWADS yeah i said it. if i could do lessons alone i would be in ABSOLUTE BLISS at all time but noo i need socialization. well jokes on you me and the people in my head are having a wild time.

anyways

[legoshi-plz]

Study Date ( Legoshi x Reader)

Summary: Late night study date with Legoshi and he can not keep his hands to himself. College! Legoshi x Fem!Wolf!Reader

Warning: Smut (NSFW +18)

A/N: No one asked for this but this has been sitting in my drafts for waaay too long. Hope you all enjoy 💕

/////////

“Do you think this essay is too short?” You asked your boyfriend who was currently zoned out.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you think my essay is too short? The max amount of pages was five but I don’t want three and a half to come off as lazy,” you mumbled. You waited for Legoshi’s input which never came.

“Earth to Legoshi, what it up with you?” You snapped your fingers which seemed to bring him out of his daze.

“Oh, uh, sorry it’s just....”

“Just..... what?”

“You’re..... you’re really pretty... have I- have I ever told you that?” he asked in a breathless tone and you felt your heart throb at his words.

“Yes, many many times, Legoshi,” you giggled, reaching up to scratch behind his ears. His tail began to wag in delight which in turn caused your tail to swivel in reciprocated joy.

“I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Legoshi sighed, pulling you into his lap. The two of you were previously sitting side by side at your bedroom desk in an attempt to get some homework done but a certain grey wolf found it hard to concentrate on anything that wasn’t you at the moment.

“The essay, Legoshi...,” you whined but making no move to get up from his lap.

“Right, sorry. I- uh, I actually think it could be a bit longer,” he murmured into your shoulder, claws gently stroking your thighs.

“I knew I should have added another paragraph before the conclusion, it was reading way too rushed at the en-” you squeaked in surprise as Legoshi’s hand found their way up the him of your oversized T-shirt and into your panties, rubbing slow circles around your clit.

“Legoshi I’m trying to finish my essay,” you were struggling to bite back a moan, your body immediately responding to his.

“Then finish it, stay focused,” His voice was gruff and you could tell he had already switched into ‘Male’ mode.

There was a time at the beginning of your relationship when Legoshi was afraid to touch you in fear of hurting you. He was nervous about his own sexual (which was actually pretty nonsexual) history with small mammals and felt nervous about being with his own kind. He felt like he was inadequate in a way because he didn’t have the first clue on how to pleasure female canine. But that time had long since passed as he quickly became an expert in your body through experience. Lots and lots of hands-on experience with none other than yours truly.

“Legoshi, can’t this wait? I really need to get some work done,” you whined, hoping to disguise the slight moan in your voice. Legoshi’s response was taking your arm that held your pencil and pressing it against your paper almost a little forcefully.

“Write.” He growled and you felt your spine tingle in excitement.

You and Legoshi had had many conversations about his strength and how he didn’t have to hold back with you the same way he would with a small mammal. Initially he was mortified at the idea of exhibiting his strength to anyone, especially his girlfriend, but after testing the waters for an almost torturous amount of time, he eventually slipped into comfortability which slowly morphed into something else.

He began to crave those moments he could allow himself to feel you unrestrained, without the constant pressure of holding back looming over him. With you, he could finally just feel (and be felt) for the first time, no guilt attached. He finally understood why people placed such a high importance on being with your own kind. Where he originally thought it was meant to be a means of confinement, he soon discovered it actually opened up a whole new realm of freedom he could have never imagined.

You were whimpering in his lap as he began to finger you purposefully. You held your pencil in a death grip while he plunged his thick digits inside you at a vigorous pace. Despite never vocally confirming it, Legoshi was actually quite proud of his agility with his hands. It’d taken him a while to get to this point where he was confident enough that he could pleasure you so roughly without hurting you with his claws. He was cautious of every single movement yet he made it look, and most importantly feel, effortless.

“Le-Legoshi please, I can’t take it,” you moaned as you squirmed uncontrollably in his lap. Your cunt was an absolute sopping mess as your arousal gushed all over his fingers and onto his thighs. Legoshi’s mouth watered at the sight.

“Stay still for me, you’re almost there and I really wanna help you cum,” Legoshi breathed into the fur of your neck, his senses going into overdrive at the scent of your raging hormones. He was struggling to keep focus on helping you achieve your orgasm with his own straining member screaming for attention while you were practically bouncing in his lap.

Legoshi grabbed your tail by its underside, a motion he knew you couldn’t resist, and was rewarded by your wanton cries as you finally gave into your own release. The pencil in your hand snapped in two but you hardly noticed anything that wasn’t Legoshi’s fingers inside you.

“Good girl. I think you deserve a break for that,” Legoshi lifted you up and tossed you unceremoniously on your bed before grabbing you by your calves to tug you closer to him.

Legoshi practically ripped your panties off of you while you tugged off your shirt. He paused looking down at you sprawled before him. It was a sight he didn’t think he would ever get tired of no matter how many times he saw it.

“Hey! This is no time for dawdling, Furball,” you teased tugging at his sweatpants.

“Well excuse me for being mesmerized by my beautiful girlfriend,” Legoshi began to strip and your eyes never once left him. He took pride in the fact you were just as mesmerized by his own physique.

When he finally freed his weeping member from the confines of his boxers, he didn’t miss the way you bit your lip. He knew his size was pretty intimidating even now after all this time but he also knew you could take it and, more importantly, he would take care of you to make sure it didn’t hurt.

Legoshi pumped himself as he ran his tip between your soaking lips, allowing your arousal to coat him. He then began to ease into you, humming at the snug tightness surrounding him. Every time he entered you he knew that you had to be made for him, that wolves were made for each other. There was no unbearable pain or discomfort that came with him trying to force (or, in the case of his ex-girlfriend, be forced) his member into an anatomy that was simply too small to take him.

You had never tried to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You were patient and allowed him to set the pace for the sexual relationship the two of you had. Though initially hesitant, Legoshi’s wolf hormones would not let this hesitancy stand for long. He craved you, craved being inside you, in a way he never had with a Herbivore or anyone else actually. There was something about being with you that called to him in the most primal way and that was a call he was always happy to answer.

Once he was completely inside of you, he had to try and calm himself down. He wanted to go wild with you but not yet, not when you looked this beautiful beneath him. He wanted to savor that look for as long as he could before he fucked you into a sweaty mess.

“Legoshi~,” you cooed, running your nails through the tender fur of his lower abdomen. You knew he was especially sensitive there and he shivered at your touch, hips bucking into you automatically.

“Sorry, I just- I could look at you all day,” Legoshi lamented, grinding into you slowly. Your hips met his with you own frantic rhythm, a clear indication you were way too wired for such a slow pace.

“I know, baby, I know but I need you right now,” you mewled and Legoshi felt his spine tingle in desire.

“What do you need from me? I gotta hear you say it,” Legoshi asked in a husky tone as he dragged his claws through the fur of your thighs.

“I need you to fuck me, Legoshi,” you purred and that was all the confirmation he needed.

Legoshi pulled out slightly before sinking back in, putting most of his weight on you. He thought it odd at first when you told him you loved when he would lay on you fully during sex. ‘I just feel like we’re so much closer when you do it. And it doesn’t hurt at all,’ you had assured him multiple times and though it was nice to not have to worry about accidentally crushing you, Legoshi was still cautious of himself.

Legoshi fucked into you relentlessly, his pace becoming more frenzied as he neared his completion. You were in absolute bliss as your drenched cut began to tighten around him. Legoshi grit his teeth, determined to outlast you.

“Le-Legoshi I’m right there, shit I’m so close,” you wailed, your hips gyrating frantically as you sought your release. Legoshi continued to pound into you, his length repeatedly brushing against your cervix. The thought of filling your womb with his litter was too much and sent him toppling over the edge. He removed himself before his knot had a chance to lock into place but not before he filled you with his cum.

“No, not yet! I’m right there baby!” You yelped, grabbing at his sides trying to pull him back in.

“It’s alright, Y/N, I’ve got you. You know I’ll take care of you,” Legoshi panted, bringing his fingers to your entrance. He fingerfucked you vehemently through his cum as he watched you come undone before him, your claws sinking into his back while you rode out your release.

When you finally opened your eyes again you noticed Legoshi staring at you as if you hung the stars and the moon. He crawled on top of you to hover above you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Have I told you-”

“Yes, many times.” You answered for him, already knowing what he would say. Legoshi chuckled, bringing his lips to your own softer ones.

Legoshi knew he complemented your beauty a lot but he felt he had to, both as a side effect of his own guilt and as a reminder to how lucky he was to have you. When he first met you, he was unintentionally put off by your beauty. He could barely even bring himself to look at you, let alone talk to you beyond cordial acknowledgment if you spoke to him. He was almost downright rude to you, completely uncharacteristic for him. Yet a few talks with Gouhin led him to the ultimate conclusion he’d been avoiding this entire time.

His mother was a beautiful wolf and she left him, leading to his own subconscious mind resenting beautiful wolves. It’s why despite him and Juno being so right for each other on paper, he could never imagine himself as anything more than her friend. And Juno’s beauty didn’t even hold a candle to your own.

So he finally sat down, began working through his issues with his own species instead of working around it and finally gained the courage to apologize to you properly. Which led to him finally being able to see you as a person, a person he couldn’t stop thinking about. A person that he couldn’t stay away from even if he tried.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked softly, stroking his fur as he laid on top of you, seemingly zoned out for a moment.

“You, as always,” Legoshi hummed in content, nuzzling your neck.

“I’ve still got a essay to write, remember,” you cooed, making no move to get up.

“I thought you finished already,”

“Oh I finished alright, just not the essay,” you giggled, and Legoshi groaned at your pun.

Yeah, he was definitely lucky to have you.

[221castiel]

Schooled

Destiel Teen AU // read on Ao3 here!

“I would like for you all to read chapter three over the weekend,” the teacher, Rowena calls as she hands out the marked assignments. “And do read over the notes I've left on your essays-” 

Dean looks up as she pauses next to him, her gaze staying locked on his own as she places his essay face down onto his desk. Her expression sat somewhere between annoyed and concerned, with her lips pressed in a tight line but eyes wide.

Frankly Dean wasn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Are you able to talk after class Dear?” She asks softly, Dean only managing to give a small nod of his head before she walks off again. “And have a good weekend everyone,” Rowena calls just as the bell rings.

As the rest of the class begins getting up, collecting their bags, and sorting through papers Dean doesn't move his gaze instead resting on the paper. Slowly he flips the page over, his heart seeming to stop as his eyes land on the 8.5/20 written in the top corner; a circle had been drawn around it as if the bright red wasn’t enough to get his attention. The text that covered the page had been marked with corrections, pointing out various grammar mistakes, and other errors. 

Fuck. 

That’s all Dean can think as Rowena walks back to his side and crouches next to his desk.

“Dean,” she begins softly, her tone gentle, too gentle. Why couldn't she just yell at him, it'd be easier. It wouldn’t bring the weight to his stomach, or the burning to the tip of his nose. “I asked you to write a five paragraph essay on how war affects humanity using the texts we’ve been reading over the past month.” She pauses, “you gave me a paragraph.” 

He clenches his jaw, forcing a small nod, “you chose three texts, each of those should have had their own paragraph where you explained why you chose them. We talked about this together, do you remember?” 

Another nod of his head. His lips part, a shaken breath filling his lungs, then exiting, staying that way until he’s sure he won’t cry. “I didn’t have enough time,” Dean whispers 

“I gave you an extra week to finish this.” 

Finally he looks up away from his essay and to his teacher's wide eyed gaze. “I think you need to begin focusing more in class and less on your friends.” 

Dean doesn’t reply, he doesn’t think he can. 

“There’s only so much I can help you with. You need to start trying yourself.”

“I am trying.”

“Have you been meeting with your tutor? writing the notes? Reading the practise I give you?” He looks back to his essay, the paper shaking slightly in his hands. “Dean, I know you struggle with english but unless you put the effort in it isn’t going to be easier.” Rowena pauses. “You aren’t even showing up half the time.”

Why would he? 

So he could feel stupid?

So he could sit numb in his spot pretending to understand the blur of words in front of him. Be asked questions he didn’t know the words to, and get yelled at for interrupting again. Every ticking second burning against his skin, the boredom dragging on, mixed with the drowning feeling of not understanding. 

Why the fuck would he come. 

“Dean-”

“I need to go.”

“Can we please finish talking, we need to find a solution.”

Dean doesn't listen, instead grabbing his backpack from the floor, throwing it over his shoulder as he stomps out of the classroom. He makes his way through the school and to the parking lot, pulling open the driver door of Baby and practically falling in. 

Fuckin’ english. 

He throws his backpack to the back seats before crumbling his essay into a tight ball and throwing it onto the ground of the passenger seat. “Fuck!” He screams burying his face into his hands, palms of his hands bruising into his skin causing a dull pain across his face. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

The thought continues to spiral as he sits with his hands covering his face, staying that way until the passenger door is pulled open.

Immediately his hands jolt away, head darting up to meet Cas as the other gets in. “My apologies,” Cas says, pulling the passenger door closed. He turns his head just in time for Dean to plaster a grin across his face, one that Cas returns with a small smile. “Meg had needed help with cleaning up her art project.” 

“It’s all good,” Dean hums. He keeps the smile across his face as with shaking hands he pulls out the car keys and starts the engine. He glances over his shoulders, eyes meeting Cas’s for a moment before he turns back to the road, and begins driving out of the mostly empty parking lot. 

From his right he can hear Cas shifting through his binder, papers flipping slowly, then the soft scratching of a pencil. It’s the only sound that fills the car, Dean’s own mind spinning too much to talk, stomach heavy at the very thought of his essay.

With his left hand still around the wheel Dean reaches his right out, eyes darting to the side just long enough to allow him to lace his finger through Cas’s. The other’s hand’s warm in his own, soft, though not giving the comfort he’d wanted. 

Dean clears his throat his. “Did ya get your chem test back?” 

A small hum comes from his right. “It went well, I got ninety seven percent.”

“Well?” Dean asks, forcing his voice to sound lighter, more teasing then pained. Not wanting the other know the way his heart tugs at the disappointment Cas has for anything less than perfect. “Angel that’s fuckin’ awesome.”

“It would have been better but the teacher had decided the indicator would have become a redy orange, not red.”

Dean clenches his jaw, trying hard to avoid the annoyance that was clear in Cas’s voice. Cas didn’t take ninety sevens, he didn’t nineties, and definitely didn’t take forty twos. He didn’t take less than perfect.

Dean’s less than perfect. 

The small sound of pencil against paper continues as Cas works on whatever homework he has. The small scratching barely audible over his hammering heart, mixed with his spinning thoughts. 

His essay.

Cas.

The math test he has on monday.

Cas.

The science test he’d had the day before.

Cas.

Work

Cas.

Failing. 

Cas. 

Cas. 

“I think we should break up,” Dean suddenly says, the words coming without a second thought. 

“Pardon?”

Before he can stop himself Dean glances to his right, getting a glimpse of Cas’s wide eyed expression, lips pressed in a tight line. His dark hair ruffled and adorable. “I think we should break up,” Dean forces himself to repeat, looking back to the road that spreads out in front of them. 

A sharp inhale comes from his right, causing Dean’s grip around the steering wheel to only tighten, his other hand pulling away from Cas’s and going back to his side. “You think we should break up?” Cas finally says, sounding ust as breathless as Dean feels. “Why?”

Dean’s lips part. Why? Because Dean’s stupid, becasue he takes the easiest math class their school offered and still barely manges to get a high C, because he’s stupid. Because he can barely understand the words he reads. Because he’s stupid. 

Because Cas’s absolutely brilliant, and athletic and perfect.

And because Dean’ss stupid.

“Because,” Dean finally whispers, taking a slow breath. Despite that the air barely fills his lungs, when did it become so hard to breathe? 

“Because- you know,” Dean glances at the other, the words stuck in his throat as his gaze darts across Cas’s face then down his body, before looking back to the road.

He takes the turn out of town and in the direction of Cas’s house, his heart hammering in his chest, grip tight around the steering wheel. “You wear button ups,” Dean finally says, “and I wear t-shirts.”

From the corner of his eye Dean can see Cas’s hurt expression drop, his head tilting to the side as a crease forms between his eyebrows. “You’re breaking up with me because we wear different shirts?”

Dean hesitates before nodding.

“Dean,” Cas says, “are you alright?” 

“Yah.”

“Dean-”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t se-”

“I said i’m fuckin fine,” Dean snaps no longer carring to keep his voice steady, he just needs to scream, to cry, for Cas to leave “I just don’t think things a fuckin workin’ anymore! Don’t you get it, I-” Before he can continue his angered rant, a low groan comes from Baby's engines as the car begins slowing down. 

Shit.

Dean steers the car to the side of the road, jaw clenched as Baby comes to a stop. His foot is pressed to the gas, teeth grinding as that doesn't work, the keys are then twisted off and on, twice without any success. The whole time Cas’s stare burns against the side of Dean’s head only making the fire in his chest hotter.

“Fuck,” Dean screams, slaming his fists against the steering wheel.

“Should I call a mechanic?” Cas suggests softly. 

Dean gives a harsh shake of his head and pushes his door open. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, “I can fix it.”

Much to Dean’s relief Cas doesn’t follow him out of the car and let’s him walk to the impalas hood alone. They were only a few miles out of town yet it was quiet, the only sign of life being a distant house that stood a few yards away, and even that, with its lights flicked off, seemed empty. The sky above a dull grey leaving a chill in the air. 

He can still feel the spiral of emotion coursing through him as he opens the hood and begins working on the engine. A feeling Dean no longer would call anger, he didn’t so much as burn from the inside out, but felt as if he was being torn apart, dull pain piercing every inch of him. Stabbing at his heart and tearing the air from his lungs as his thoughts continue to spiral. 

He doesn’t make an attempt to wipe his eyes as his vision becomes blurry -he doesn’t think it would do any good- and instead keeps his head down. Even as the passenger door opened and closed, and crunching of Cas’s shoes followed. 

“Dean,”Cas whispers, stopping at Dean’s side. Dean clenches his jaw, gaze staying down, he doesn’t think he can look up without crying, he can barely breathe without crying, each breath coming out more shaken, more forced than the last. 

“Dean,” Cas repeats, though Dean doesn’t look up. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten your essay back?”

“Does it matter?” Dean mumbles. He tightens his grip around a piece of the engine, the metal causing a dull pain across the palm of his hand. It doesn’t help, and Dean has to let go to wipe away forming tears. “Not like it’s anything to fuckin celebrate over.”

Cas steps closer and takes Dean’s hand in his own causing Dean to look up, his eyes meeting Cas’s. “You’re still able to tell me,” Cas insists.

“Why?” Dean laughs bitterly, “so you can fuckin’ laugh at me?’.

“Why would I laugh?” A bubble of emotion burns in Dean’s chest as Cas’s gaze darts over his face. He wants to cry, so bad. His failed essay. Driving Sam to soccer practise. The new book they were beginning. His two jobs. His science test on monday. It was all spiralling, crumbling no matter how much he tried to keep it together. 

“Because I’m fuckin’ stupid,” Dean snaps, voice shaking as he speaks, “I’m stupid Cas, I can’t even get a fuckin fifty precent on an essay.”

“I’m- i’m-” Dean gasps, the first tear falls and he doesn’t have the energy to stop the next, a third soon following until his whole body’s shaking with each sob. The pain stabbing through him, burning with each gasped breath. “Cas.”

Cas let’s go of Dean’s hand and instead pulls him into a tight hug, his warmth bringing no comfort as the tears continue to roll down Dean’s face no matter how much he wishes they'd stop. “Cas,” Dean sobs, the pounding of his heart almost louder than his own voice, “I’m try- i’m- I’m trying. I swear.”

He tries to speak more but the words won’t come as sobs rake his throat, tears and snot staining his face. He can barely feel Cas’s arms around him, his own grip around Cas tight as if he was the only thing keeping Dean standing, and maybe he was. 

“I’m trying,” Dean whispers once he has no tears left to cry. “I really am.”

“this is why you wanted us to break up?” Dean doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to, Cas already knows the answer and the way Cas’s arms tighten around him only further confirms that. “Dean you are absolutely brilliant” Cas says, “one essay doesn’t change that.”

“You know it’s more than one.”

Dean takes a slow breath, an action that seems more forced than it should have. His throat is raw and his eyes feel itchy and dry, yet the pain persists, just as consuming and raw as before. He doesn’t even want to cry anymore, he doesn’t want to scream or throw something, he just wants the pain to end. 

“I am also aware that most mechanics require schooling to know at least half of what you do,” Cas whispers as Dean rests his chin against Cas’s shoulder. Squeezing his eyes shut he takes another forced breath, his hand clenching the fabric of Cas’s trench coat. “Or that no one is as charismatic as you, or kind, or selfless.”

“None of that,” Dean whispers, his voice raw and throat burning as he speaks, “means jack shit.” 

Cas pulls away, letting their eyes meet. Cas’s eyes are wide, the concern in them clear rimmed with the faintest shade of pink that twists Dean's stomach, under Cas’s intense gaze breathing��s hard, standing’s hard, being alive’s hard.

“Dean,” Cas says, he raises a hand and rests it gently against the side of Dean’s jaw, the touch barely ghosting his skin. “You are raising your brother,” he hates himself, “you’re working two jobs,” he hates Cas’s gentle tone, “you can’t blame yourself for your struggles with school,” he hates himself.

He hates himself. 

He hates himself. 

Dean steps away, avoiding Cas’s gaze as he slams the impalas hood shut, “can we just get goin’” Dean says, walking back to the driver’s door. He can feel Cas’s gaze following him, though Dean refuses to meet it, he doesn’t think he could keep breathing if he did. “I’ve gotta get to work.”

Cas doesn’t make an argument much to Dean’s relief and instead takes his seat on the passenger's side without another word. Letting the silence hang, Dean starts the car. He keeps his hands on the wheel, even when all he wants is to reach out for Cas, the pain teetering on the edge of unmanageable. He keeps his eyes on the road even when he gets a glimpse of Cas leaning to the back seat, and he keeps his mouth shut when Cas sits properly in his seat, a book now in hand. 

“Your class started reading this yesterday, correct?”

Dean glances to his side, eyeing the book Cas held out for him to see. Frankenstein, he’d barely made it past the first paragraph before giving up. The story, being written in the 1800’s, was long with a blur of unnessaccary descriptions and words Dean could barely pronounce, never mind understand. Even if he could read it, he doubt it was interesting enough to keep his attention. 

“Yah,” Dean replies looking back to the road. 

The sound of flipping pages comes, then Cas clearing his throat. “To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, December eleventh,” Cas begins, voice steady filling the car as he reads the first line. “You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.”

Dean doesn’t stop Cas as the other continues reading through the first chapter, only pausing after each paragraph to explain what was happening or add his own opinions. Once or twice Dean manages to choke out a few words, thoughts -analysis as Rowena would call them- about the story that has a smile tugging at Cas’s lips. They continue that way until Dean pulls up to Cas’s house, his hand finally letting go of the steering wheel to put the car in park. 

He looks to his right, unable to stop a smile as he watches Cas finish reading, the sunlight that fell through the window warming his tanned skin. Beautiful. Add that to the list of Cas’s perfections. Kind. Thoughtful How did Dean get so lucky?

“I am required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing,” Cas finishes reading as he folds the corner of the page then slowly closes the book. He doesn’t look up, his expression sat in a way that causes Dean’s stomach to drop. He doesn’t think he can handle another conversation, he’s tired from crying, and the pain had only just become manageable. 

Despite what Dean wants, Cas begins talking. “Dean you are brilliant, and I’m aware that me saying that doesn’t make you believe it,” Cas pauses and takes a slow breath. “But please don’t let that determine your worth, or at least determine whether you are good enough for me or not. You are more than good enough.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, I am capable of making my own decisions and I choose you and I would choose you everyday of my life,” Cas says. “If you can’t realize your own brilliance at least let me.”

Dean opens his mouth, trying to find some argument, some sarcastic comment that would lighten the mood, but nothing comes and instead he’s left to stare, Cas’s eyes locked on his own. Emotion bubbling through his chest. A warmth that makes him want to cry all over again. He can feel the electricity like fire through his veins and for once he welcomes the spiral of emotion.

“Thank you,” Dean manages to whisper, though that doesn’t even begin to cover everything he wants to say, how much he loves the other. How he can barely breathe. How he feels as if he’s melting under Cas’s gentle look. “I love you.”

A smile spreads across Cas’s face and he slowly leans in allowing Dean to meet him halfway for a soft kiss and when they pull away, lips barely grazing, Cas replies; “I love you too.”

[bluescreening]

Practical GCSE Advice

Tips From A New Year 12 Who Somehow Got All 9s

Don’t worry, I’m not becoming a studyblr. I’m writing this on results day as a sort of farewell to GCSEs and to impart some “wisdom” upon the youngsters before I move on to A-levels. I’m going to keep this to specific, practical things you can do to improve, none of that vague nonsense. Subject-specific tips for maths, geography, triple science, language, literature, graphic comms and comp sci under the fold because this is too bloody long already.

General Tips:

Don’t go revision crazy. People will always emphasize revision, but so long as you’re revising effectively (see below) you’re safe to start revising about a month before mocks, and two months before your final exams. In terms of a revision schedule during those months, I worked with one or two hours per day, with a free day on Friday and Sunday. 

Use apps to stay organised. Put your school timetable and exam dates in your calendar of choice with appropriate reminders and colour coding. To keep track of homework and revision, use Adapt - you can put in your GCSEs and it tracks which topics you have covered and how many times, as well as allowing you to input homework and your school timetable. During study time use Forest (free on Android) to lock yourself out of your phone for a certain amount of time.

Pay attention to lessons from the start. From the beginning of Year 10 every lesson is a GCSE lesson, and everything you learn could come up in an exam. Follow along with your teacher, make the best notes you can, do the work and understand the concepts as early as you can. You’ll thank yourself in a year as you watch the rest of your class wonder what a ribosome is when revision time comes.

Revise effectively. Use Adapt or a textbook to keep track of your confidence level on every topic, so when you’re revising you can focus on the ones you don’t understand whatsoever. Also, don’t just read stuff when revising. You have to train your brain to retrieve the information. Memorise vocabulary and basic facts using flashcards, then answer exam questions. Lots and lots of exam questions.

Use your teachers. They want you to succeed because it reflects well on them! If you don’t understand something after a lesson, pop back at break or lunch, or shoot them an email and they will help. Don’t just bank on it not showing up in the test because Sod’s Law dictates that it will. After Christmas in Year 11 they will often start revision sessions or intervention. Attend them for any subjects you’re even slightly shaky on. They’ll boost your grade like nothing else, even if it does take up some of your chill out time.

Buy textbooks and study materials through school. If your school offers you textbooks and workbooks it’s likely that will be the best deal for them, since they’re purchased in bulk. Grab all you can in Year 10 and talk to the school if you can’t afford many - they may be willing to help. If you know any higher-level teachers see if they have any sample study materials from CGP and the like. My English teacher gave me a lovely set of sample CGP Macbeth flashcards that would have proved really useful.

Make flashcards at the end of every topic. Stay on top of them. You want a term on one side and a definition on the other, or a quote and analysis etc. If you don’t like endless bits of card floating around use Quizlet - you might not even need to make them yourself as many people have shared GCSE flashcards there.

And finally - don’t forget you’re a human! Humans need regular sleep, healthy food including breakfasts, hydration, fun and social time. Make time in your day to take care of yourself. Your brain works better when you’re healthy so often an extra hour of sleep will do more for your grade than an extra hour of revision. Hanging out with your friends and keeping up with your hobbies reduces stress. 

Feel free to ask me any questions you may have about any of this stuff, or if you just need advice I’m here too! I’ve done it before, I can help you out.

Subject Specific Tips:

Edexcel Maths:

Use CorbettMaths. All the time. If you haven’t done every one of his worksheets at least once you’re not grinding hard enough. Jk, but seriously this guy used to teach me in real life and he’s awesome. He makes flashcard packs, videos on every aspect of GCSE maths, daily challenges, textbook exercises, practice exam questions... literally everything you could ever need.

Practice everything until you’re sick of it, and then do ten more questions.

You’ll need to memorise some trig identities. Don’t memorise them as a table, that’s hard. Memorise them as these triangles, sketch them out in an exam and work it out on the spot. Easy.

AQA Geography:

Don’t goof off during your fieldwork. Don’t make the same mistake as me. If I ever had to do the fieldwork paper I would not have got a 9. Even though it’s a field trip, even though you’re with your friends, this will directly impact your GCSEs and you need to treat it like an exam.

Memorise vocabulary then move onto exam questions. Geography is very formulaic and exam questions repeat themselves - take advantage of that.

Memorise. Your. Case. Studies.

AQA Biology, Chemistry and Physics:

A l l  h a i l  f r e e s c i e n c e l e s s o n s .

Practice those reading comprehension questions where you’re presented with information and have to answer questions about them. A surprising amount of people get overwhelmed because they haven’t revised it. You can’t! You have to read and understand it within the exam.

Memorise your bloody equations for physics or you will fail. Use Quizlet, learn them all by the end of year 10 even if you don’t know what they’re about yet, practice using them.

Buy the CGP workbooks and complete them! Make sure to buy the answers too, because CGP are scammers.

AQA English Language and Literature:

Identify 10-20 brief quotes from each piece of literature so you have a few for each character and theme. They can overlap! Also, memorise the author’s intentions for each one. With poems (for those of you who have to do them... I’m not salty, I promise) ask your teacher to recommend 5 that match up with the most themes and memorise 3 quotes from each. Remember to analyse the rest of the poems too - any of them could come up so it’s good to have an understanding.

Memorise structures for every question. The examiners will tell you not to use structures. Shut up, I got all 9s. Structures are the best way for slow writers to ensure they get everything they need to in. TETAAC (topic, evidence, terminology, analysis, alternative interpretation, context) works for lit essays and can be modified for every other question. Work out how many paragraphs you can write in 40 minutes and take that into account when planning. Once the plan is done it’s just a matter of making it sound frilly. English: hacked. My normal plan for a lit essay is a one-sentence thesis statement for an intro, 3xTETAAC paragraphs and a conclusion which reiterates everything but better.

Don’t worry if your grade is terrifyingly low to begin with. That’s just how English rolls. You’ll slowly develop the skills you need and start to make 3 or 4 grades of progress throughout year 11.

OCR Art and Design - Graphic Communication:

Think long and hard about whether you want to do graphics or fine art, if your school offers both. Graphics is designing logos, fine art is whatever you want. I should have taken fine art in retrospect.

Make as much work as possible from the very start, even if you haven’t decided on your portfolio project yet. Everything, and I mean everything, can be shoehorned. If you make a lot of work you have some leeway and can leave out your early stuff so your overall portfolio looks better.

Annotate as you go and store all your thoughts digitally. Even if you have no clue what you’re supposed to write in annotations, put down your thought process. It’s easy to tidy up something you wrote a year ago, but it’s really hard to stare at a letter F made out of newspaper and remember where on earth you were going with it.

To make enough work you will need to stay after school often and give up a lot of lunch times. That’s just how it goes. At least with the right crew it can be fun - the combo of my friends and the very chaotic art teachers at my school made my Thursday graphics sessions something to look forward to.

OCR Computer Science:

Use Quizlet flashcards to memorise terms. Being able to correctly define terms is half the battle, literally. You’ll basically get an instant 9 on the first paper if you memorise every term defined in the textbook. Luckily, someone beautiful and generous by the name of sporkified (wink wink) on Quizlet has created two sets with everything you need to know for the entire qualification.

Practice programming in your chosen language before your programming project starts. Learn to do everything mentioned in the textbook and try it out on a sample project. Many will tell you to not bother about the programming project, it doesn’t matter. That’s true to some extent, but excelling in the programming project can tip you up a grade as well as making the algorithm questions on paper 2 easier for you.

Take part in Cyber Discovery. Give it a Google, sign up. It’s really hard if you have no practical computer experience but doing it gave me a real edge with paper 2 which is where you want to focus your energy as it’s weighted more. Also it’s fun.

[education-and-sadness]

March 2, 2021

I feel like I haven’t been super busy lately. I even took a nap today, which is crazy!

Finished APES homework from yesterday

Chorus homework

2 hours of scholarship search/essay writing

Duolingo Spanish

Drops Spanish

I literally had no homework in any classes! I should’ve done my micro, but...

I also could start back up my Art History class, but...

Although I might do a CLEP test to try and get even more gen eds out of the way, depending on where I end up going. 

Who knows? Who cares? Right now the grind is scholarships and college information.

[fuckepilepsy]

I feel that gambling your health in pursuit of a halfway decent academic performance is such a universal epileptic experience that it could be called a rite of passage. It’s not something that anyone should have to do, and we sure as hell don’t WANT to, but sometimes we just aren’t left with a choice.

You know how it goes. You’re stressed out, maybe you’re kinda seizurey already. You need your sleep. But there’s a test the next day, or an essay due, or you’ve got a presentation to give. Or all three and more, because sometimes school be like that. It’s like the teachers CONSPIRE to monopolize your every waking moment, and then some. And your grades are already hanging on by a thread, because even if some other shit isn’t making good grades all but unattainable, epilepsy sure as hell can do the trick.

So you can’t afford to skip this one. Supposedly there are allowances for this sort of thing--accommodations for disabled students--but you gotta jump through metaphorical flaming hoops of razor wire for those, and even when you get them, good luck having teaching staff and administrative officials actually comply with them.

So you sit your sorry ass down at your homework station, wherever that is, take a sip of a caffeinated beverage, cry for a bit, and then dig in. You watch the clock, knowing that each minute spent toiling over ultimately meaningless and useless busy work is a terrible sacrifice. With each second that ticks by, you can practically feel your seizure threshold dropping. 

All for something literally nobody cares about or will ever use outside of a school. Like, for example, an essay about The Grapes of Wrath. An essay in which you are expected to regurgitate the same literary analysis every other student who has ever been forced to read The Grapes of Wrath has been taught is the One True Interpretation That Must Not Be Questioned. An essay in which you are expected to write exactly the same thing as all of your classmates, but in your own words. Or Else.

Somehow, according to everyone who has power over you as a student, this steaming heap of bullshit is more important than your health, and if you don’t risk your health, maybe even your LIFE, to complete it, the powers that be will make your life a lot harder. You’ll get a lower grade, your parents will get pissed, and perhaps worst of all, you’ll feel stupid.

Because it’s really fucking hard not to. All your life, every adult you meet insists that school is Good and Important and that school should come first. Maybe someone even started bitching at you about college when you were still in grade school. Put your fun and games aside, it’s time to start thinking about the ACT you’re going to take in ten years!

So when you don’t make the grades, whatever the reason may be, you just feel stupid. And the guilt trip makes you feel compelled to sacrifice your health, risk a seizure, maybe even guarantee a seizure, because according to the people who have the power to fuck you over if you come up short, you can totally do it! You just have to Try Harder. Work Harder. Buckle Down! Nose To the Grinder Baby!

Because the idea that you might be physically unable to make it happen is so alien, so inconceivable, that saying as much is tantamount to defiant refusal.

Sure, maybe if you study until your eyes bleed and completely bankrupt your spoon supply you might score a good grade, but for what? The Grapes of Wrath? A fifty-question trigonometry worksheet? Who cares? That’s not worth a seizure. Is anyone going to be asking about that shit at a job interview? Spoiler alert: employers don’t care. Granted, they don’t care about you at all, or anything else except for maximizing profit for that matter, but that’s another subject altogether.

Sigh.

I’m sorry. Honestly, I intended for this post to be a cutesy joke about how you should get a very real award, medal, badge, or something every time you do some bullshit in spite of or because of your disability. In this case, the idea was that sacrificing your health for school, regardless of outcome, should be rewarded with a medal that you could pin to your chest and wear around so other people would know how awesome you are. But instead it turned into a rant about how school is unfair to disabled students. Really, it’s unfair to pretty much everybody, for a variety of reasons. But this blog is about epilepsy, and that’s where I’m trying to focus.

Anyway, if you’ve read this far and what I’ve been talking about applies to you, all I can say is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that things are this way, that’s it’s not fair, that you’re mired in needless struggling. If I had the power to change it, I would. I’ve been there, and I know how it feels. I know what it’s like to stare at a pile of assignments, knowing how long it’s going to take me to grind through it, knowing that I’m going to sacrifice some sorely-needed sleep to get it done, and knowing that I might pay for doing it.

I know what it’s like to be surrounded by textbooks and pages of notes and an old wonky laptop, and have to quietly cry for a while because it’s just too much for a seizure-addled, heavily-medicated brain to handle. I know what it’s like to understand perfectly well that school is needlessly difficult in the first place, and that living with epilepsy made it next to impossible, but nonetheless feel stupid because you can’t get it done. Like it’s somehow your fault.

It wasn’t my fault, and I want you to know that it isn’t your fault either. You’re not stupid. You’re not. You’re a disabled student trying to do the best you can with what you’ve got. And whatever you manage to accomplish, even if it’s nothing at all, even if you choose to simply abandon the responsibilities you never wanted for the sake of your health, I’m proud of you. 

I hated The Grapes of Wrath.

[purrincesscatitude]

angst 14

Why did I write this in present tense?? Good question. 

This probably turned too sweet for angst but whatever it happened I’m not overthinking it.

Prompt from this list. Yes, if you like this, you can still send me things! 

######################

Adam comes to the Barns after school, because he doesn’t have work for once in his life but does have a ton of calculus homework and a whole act of Hamlet to read & summarize scene-by-scene and college app deadlines looming like a swollen thunderhead. The Barns isn’t normally his most productive workspace, but it is warm and has more space for him to stretch out all his papers and textbooks, which feels like a thing he needs to do with the way everything is tangled in his head right now.

He’s been in a mood all day, can feel it festering just beneath his skin. He’s evolved over the months, now able to identify and acknowledge his bad days before they surprise him and his victim by shooting barbs from his tongue and condemnations he can’t take back. But knowing that he’s in a shit mood isn’t the same as controlling it. Growth is, as always, a slow and arduous process.

This evening, he sits at the dining room table under the kitchen’s yellow fluorescents. It’s only 6, but it’s already dark outside. Autumn winds rush over the mountains and rip through the valley, a harsh reminder that winter is only a month away.

Adam has a headache. Not a bad one, but enough that it bugs him, makes it that much harder to focus on equations and soliloquies and why he’s worthy of an Ivy-League education. Spreading the papers out hasn’t helped organized his brain like he wanted it to. Instead it just makes him more stressed, seeing all the work he has to do, all the expectations, all the time and money and thinking he needed in order to get through it all.

And then Ronan comes in.

Ronan understands why Adam does work here, encourages it, even. But that doesn’t mean Ronan finds it fair that Adam comes into his home only to completely ignore him. Some days he’s fine with it. Other days he goes and sulks elsewhere until Adam comes to him.

Today, however, Ronan wants Adam to be here and present. Wants to talk to him. Wants to sit with him, be with him, wants Adam’s undivided attention.

Currently, Adam’s cheating on him with a calculus textbook. And really? Calculus? He’d rather Adam shove his tongue down Skov’s throat.

He sits down at the table with him. Adam ignores him. Not unusual; they do this all the time. Homework-Mode Adam is a one-track mind, set to finishing whatever worksheet or essay or chapter he was working through and loath to be pushed off-course.  

Sometimes, though, Ronan likes to toe the line. Because Adam’s line, in his opinion, needs to be more fucking flexible.

Ronan starts small. Just to see where Adam’s line is today. He picks up a page of notes. Adam, scribbling through an equation, doesn’t react. Ronan scoff, drops it back on the table. Still nothing. He picks up more papers, reads them through with feigned interest and then lets them flutter back down to the table.

Adam is intentionally ignoring him now. Ronan can tell the difference.

He starts trying to build a card tower out of looseleaf papers. It’s going about as well as expected, and making plenty of noise. Opal, ever drawn to the sound of rustling, edible paper, clambers into the kitchen.

“Don’t, brat,” Ronan warns. Opal hisses at him. He rips a blank page from a notebook, crumples it into a ball, and throws it back out the door. Opal chases after it with a screech.

Adam winces. “Cut it out, Lynch.”

But he still hasn’t taken his eyes off his book, and Ronan still feels like a third wheel in his own home.

He starts drumming. Not any particular song, just a series of beats using a discarded pencil and his index finger. Adam tightens his grip on his pencil, glares at the problem sets.

“Lynch,” he grumbles. It’s a warning.

“Parrish,” Ronan replies. It’s a challenge.

Adam grinds his teeth, presses his pencil hard enough into the paper to leave imprints on the pages below it.

Ronan adds his foot to the rhythm.  

“Stop,” Adam demands, finally rips his eyes away from the page to shoot him a signature Adam Parrish witheringly frigid glare.

Ronan raises his hands in mock surrender. Adam returns to his work.

Ronan drums harder.

“Ronan.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just feeling the beat, you know?”

“There are ten other rooms in this house where you could go right now.”

“It’s my fucking house, so I’m going to stay in whatever fucking room I want.”

Adam rolls his eyes. Ronan is pretty sure he’s walking the line like a tightrope right now, and it’s dangerously close to snapping.

He lets Adam go back to work. Manages his energy quietly. Tries to not get jealous of a goddamn textbook.

He resolve lasts maybe five minutes.

He starts drumming again. On his leg. And then his leg starts jittering, and then his foot starts tapping.

And then he hits a beat too hard, slams his knee into the table, which makes Adam’s hand jolt, and the pencil catches in the paper and rips a hole in his problem sets.

“Ronan what the fuck,” he shouts, throwing his pencil on the table.

“Whoops,” Ronan says.

Adam rips the page from his notebook.

“Dude, chill. Just tape it, they won’t give a fuck.”

“That’s not the point. You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m not the one eye-fucking a damn textbook in someone else’s house.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Just keep doing your damn homework, whatever,” Ronan says.

“Are you going to stop being an asshole?” Adam spits back.

“Does keeping you company mean I’m asshole? Then yes, I’ll gladly fuck the fuck off and let you keep nerding alone.”

“Bullshit, you’re not keeping me company. You’re being selfish and immature and it’s fucking obnoxious.”

“Fine. I’ll fucking stop. Jesus,” Ronan growls.  

“You say you’ll stop but then you keep doing it! Making noise and hitting the table and, just, being a fucking brat.”

“What do you want me to say, Parrish?” Ronan snarls, throwing himself out of his chair and storming towards the door.

“Nothing! You don’t need to say a goddamn thing!” Adam snaps. “Just stop.”

They stand apart: Ronan curling and uncurling his fists by the door, Adam digging his nails into the peeling cover of his calculus textbook. A war of wills.

Adam breaks the glare first. It isn’t a surrender. He shoves his schoolwork into his bag.

“I’m going home,” he announces.

Ronan scoffs. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Adam clenches his jaw. He leaves.

He bikes back to St. Agnes in the dark, pedaling hard as the frigid November air cuts his cheeks and turns his fingers white as bone. Running his trembling hands under hot water doesn’t do much, only heightens the pins & needles pricking under his skin. He flexes his fingers over and over as he settles at his desk. He starts rewriting his calc problems. It takes him an hour to finish, when it should have been thirty minutes. Valuable time sucked down the drain. He resists the urge to throw something. 

The wind rattles the window, howls through the gaps in its ill-fitted frame. Someone is practicing the organ. They’re not very good. The low notes send vibrations through the floor. It’s almost as annoying as Ronan. Almost.

But it’s a different kind of annoying. It’s cold, and distant. Turns him inward, makes him glare and grumble and bite his nails. The sort that can’t be remedied, that can only gnaw and curdle until he accepts the inevitability of constant suffering.

Ronan’s sort of annoying is infuriating, makes his blood boil, fills him with a sort of fire that can only go outward, that demands he confront it head on, in an almost cathartic kind of way. It makes them bicker and argue and shout at each other.

But it’s familiar. And sort of warm, in a weird way. In that it’s almost comforting in how he can expect it, how Ronan always seems to know the exact right buttons to press to set him off even if he doesn’t mean to.

A Ronan Lynch who isn’t annoying as hell isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam learned to tolerate, and then like, and then like like; isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam will probably decide he loves; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who can piss Adam off one second and have him laughing with side stitches the next; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who’s impulsiveness and brashness and pigheadedness can be as frustrating as it is liberating and joyful and wild and adventurous.

It isn’t the Ronan Lynch that Adam wants.

The apartment vibrates with a horrifically discordant note. Adam digs his nails into his scalp. Scrubs his hair into a ferocious mess.

The old walls creak. The organ resumes, quieter and in a higher register.

It’s been a long time since he was at St. Agnes alone. Truly alone. He’d sequestered himself here before, told Ronan he needed time to study, needed to finish a paper, needed to focus without distraction. But there was always a hope that Ronan would stop by for half an hour– perfectly timed when Adam was at his most exhausted or frustrated, a study break calculated, Adam guessed, by the months he had spent with him in the latest and earliest hours watching him study–with food in hand and a smirk on his face that Adam would spent 20 minutes kissing off and replacing with a very different sort of grin.

There isn’t that hope tonight, which…fucking sucks, if he’s being honest. Just one more load to weigh on his shoulders.

Adam’s stressed about school, about all the essays he needs to write and the tests he has coming up, and the fact that grades are due soon and he’s sure he’s doing fine but there’s always a chance that someone’s parents are going to buy their slacker son a 4.0 and kick Adam down to Salutatorian. He’s stressed about the SAT Subject Tests he needs in order to apply for the schools he wants, not just the studying and the psychological prep work necessary to outsmart the test in the way it wants you to, but the money it’ll cost him and the weekends he’ll lose taking them means he has to stack hours at Boyd’s and the warehouse and the factory now, and even then he doesn’t know if he’ll have enough money for food after he pays for the tests. He’s stressed about having to take all these shifts to pay for the tests and the college applications, because even though he got a waiver for a few of them (it was Gansey’s idea, one that made Adam absolutely furious. The way he coincidentally mentioned it at lunch the day following Adam venting to Ronan about their discriminating pricing and Ronan ranting about how “it’s the fucking system, man. Rigged bullshit, is all it is.” And don’t even get him started on the humiliating conversation with the Aglionby college counselor that followed) he still has to pay for the supplements for a few of them because Ivies are nothing if not completely ignorant to the concerns of people making below a yearly income of 200k.

Oh, and he’s not sleeping well. None of them are, he guesses, from the bags under their eyes when they gather around the table at Nino’s. It’s only been 55 days since…all that. And when Adam can find a few spare hours untouched by work and admission essays and calculus problems and Hamlet reading notes, he shuts his eyes and finds himself choking the life out of Ronan again, or seeing Aurora’s mangled corpse in a field of rotting trees, or watching Gansey fall lifeless into Blue’s arms again and again and again…

Shit.

This is his fault, isn’t it?

He wasn’t pissed at Ronan. He was pissed about everything else and Ronan just happened to be the target in front of him when he burst. And then he’d upped and stormed off like the biggest asshole in the world.

Adam was the problem right now. Adam was the shitty one.

If that didn’t make him feel so damn guilty, he’d relish this personal growth and newfound introspection.

Instead, he was lonely and annoyed. And regretful. And cold. And these calc problems were damn near impossible. And that stupid amatuer organist was so bad did they really think this hobby was worth continuing? And…

Oh, fuck it.

Adam grabs his sweater and barely remembers to lock the door. He bikes, fast and hard, ignoring the bitter wind as it makes his eyes water and nose burn. He almost eats dirt on the side of the road when he rounds a corner too fast, but he keeps going.

The wind is still howling when he drops his bike in the gravel driveway of the Barns and bangs on the door. It take him a minute, but Ronan eventually answers.

“Parrish?” he says, pushing open the screen door.

“I’m stressed about my SAT scores,” Adam blurts out, shoulders hunched and hands squeezed in the armpits of his sweater against the whipping winds. “And about needing to take these stupid subject tests. And about picking up all these extra shifts just to pay for them, and I need to get all these college apps in soon, but I have no idea what to write about for any of these stupid essays without making myself sound pathetic or pitiful and melodramatic. And I can’t sleep anymore, after what happened with…everything. I feel like I’m running on empty all the time, which, by the way,  my car is since I’m spending all of my money to take these dumb tests and buy transcripts, and did you know that teachers who write you recommendations expect a gift? Like what bullshit is that? So now I have to get these, too. And it’s just so much, Ronan. All the fucking time. And, shit, your mother fucking died in front of you. Like, my shit is so…stupid compared to what you’re dealing with and yet I’m the one being an asshole and taking my shit out on you and I’m just…” Adam breathes. And freezes.

Ronan had led him inside. Sat him on the couch. Draped a blanket around his shoulders. And Adam hadn’t realized.

Ronan sits on the coffee table, chewing his leather bands and avoiding Adam’s gaze. Their legs fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Ditto,” Ronan says around the leather. “‘Cept not the school shit. Obviously.”

He drops his wrist, leans his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers in circles along the faded denim stretched across Adam’s knee. “I just. Today was rough. I wanted…I needed someone else. Something to focus on, other than…”

He can’t finish. Adam doesn’t need him to.

Adam sighs with relief. “I’m sorry,” he says. It feels weird to say. Weird but good. Another step forward.

“Me too,” Ronan echoes.

They sit close, legs fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Okay, seriously though,” Ronan says suddenly. “Don’t bike at night again. You never know what sort of assholes are going to take those corners too sharp and flatten your ass into a pancake.”

“If the asshole in question is waiting for me at his house, then it shouldn’t be an issue,” Adam replies with a smirk.

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Just fucking call next time, loser.”

“Good to know you’ll still chauffeur even if we’re fighting.”

Ronan snorts. “That was barely a fight. You want to fight, I’ll show you a fucking fight.”

“Oh yeah?”

Ronan tackles him into the couch. Adam cries out with laughter.

This wasn’t their last fight. There would be more disagreements, more spats, more storming off and misunderstandings and cursing and regretted words. But they’d be okay. They would always be okay.

[i-am-a-green-rock]

Five’s a Storm - Part 2

Part 1

Lukas Bondevik is a freelance magicker with an uncommon affinity for the supernatural. He picks ups jobs that either pay well or interest him, if he even picks a job in the first place. He's just a grad student trying to work his way through his Master's, sometimes getting worried about his stepbrother when he comes home at some ungodly hour of night, sometimes finding his stepbrother not at all worried when he comes up at an ungodly hour of night, but between grinding through his homework and hiding his magicking from his brother, life is pretty good for Lukas.

Well, that is until he gets attacked on a job by a pesky troll. He should've used another spell, but instead, he gets rescued by a Romanian, annoying as hell frost magician.

"Whatever the hell is the Society of Troubles? It sounds just as bad, if not worse, that what's that one group's name- the Bad Touch Trio?" " . . . we're not that bad."

In which Norway is a passive-aggressive college student and magicker, Romania is really helpful, Iceland keeps secrets, Hong Kong's firecrackers are worse than firecrackers, and England is just done.

There were many instances where Lukas Bondevik regretted going for a Master’s in European history, and today was one of them. With two essays to write by Friday and at least one historical analysis to finish by Wednesday (today was Monday, so rest in pieces Lukas), Lukas was definitely not in the mood for actually doing the job he picked up last week for tonight. Sure, it was just troll hunting, which was searching for the pesky supernatural creatures in and around the city, but it took a lot of time just to find the leylines that the trolls loved to congregate around and put some traps that would automatically drop the trolls back into the troll farms that they live on. Lukas did have one unfair advantage in the troll hunting business, which was the fact that for some reason, trolls seemed to like him almost as much as they liked their leylines, but that only made the job just about as easy as taking an exam in his history classes. Basically, troll hunting, no matter how much you get paid or whatever unfair advantages you have over your competition, is a pain.

Actually, there was one particularly clingy “troll” (it wasn’t an actual troll, but Lukas called it one and it never objected) that always stuck around Lukas, no matter how hard he tried to repel it or even exorcise it, but Lukas eventually found that his “troll” friend was very helpful in cheating on his history exams. It was pretty funny when once, Lukas had allowed the troll to read his thoughts, and asked the troll to tell him the answer to a particularly difficult question. The troll was surprisingly knowledgeable on history, and it ended up blurting the answer to that question out to his class. His teacher, Professor Ludwig Beilschmidt, was not at all amused, but since he couldn’t find the culprit (trolls could only be seen by magickers and magicians), he simply dropped the question from the test.

Anyways, back to the job at hand.

A half moon shone from far away, just bright enough for the trolls to see, but just dark enough for them to vanish into the shadows should any wanted persons come to ruin their fun (including Lukas). The city was still lit by streetlights, but it would be in the unlit allies that the trolls would investigate for leylines first. Then, if they couldn’t find a proper leyline in the darkness, they would wait until midnight to roam the streets in search of leylines, with little risk of encountering humans. Light didn’t actually harm the supernatural creatures; they just preferred to limit their exposure to it. Trolls searched for leylines because that was simply part of their nature. Plus, they had little, if any, access to such strong sources of magic on their troll farms, so by the time they escaped, assuming they actually succeeded in escaping, the trolls would be starved of magic. Leylines were where magic flowed the strongest, and like drinking water from a raging current, trolls would satisfy their magic hunger at leylines.

Pity then, Lukas had already set traps at every major leyline in the city. Those trolls wouldn’t know what hit them before they realized that their short lived escape was already over, and there was no way that they could sense the trap. Lukas’ wind traps, his own creation, made sure of that.

Lukas specialized in wind magic; it was the easiest type of magic for him. One would think that with his Norwegian heritage, and therefore his Norwegian roots in magic, he would have a greater affinity for ice magic or snow and blizzard magic, and he did learn some ice magic and some snow magic, but it was in wind magic that Lukas really stood out. In fact, Lukas’ wind magic was so potent, he was expelled from one of his magic academies for blowing down the school office with a mini-hurricane-blizzard-hybrid thing.

Oh yeah, he got expelled from another school for bringing trolls to school once, but that’s a different story. He didn’t even know that he was bringing in trolls; they just kind of followed him into the school. Goes to show how much trolls liked him.

(That was also when he first met his “troll” friend too. His troll followed the troll crowd and just kind of decided that Lukas was an interesting human being to be around. At first, Lukas tried getting rid of it like how he had gotten rid of the rest of the other trolls, but since the troll decided it liked this strange human male, it endured the spells that the Norwegian cast at and on him and stuck by Lukas’ side. After it read up on some history, it found that the human would tolerate its existence slightly more than before.)

Lukas’ wind traps worked by carrying any troll that walked right into it trying to get to the leyline up, up, and away with the wind. Then, the wind would carry them over the city and back to the troll farms in the countryside, where they would be dropped off, and the wind would blow back to the leylines from which they came from. Only magickers and magicians could see the trolls, and the coolness from the wind would trigger the trolls to close their eyes as a reaction to stay warm. (Lukas had no idea why they learned to do that. It seemed like a useless reaction to wind, but again, he was a wind magician and he was definitely used to it. His troll friend didn’t know why they did that either, but hey, it made his job of troll hunting easier.) It was a simple idea, but very difficult for most magickers and magicians to actually execute because for most magic practitioners, even experienced magicians, just controlling the winds was difficult. Most winds seemed to have minds of their own, and creating winds was just as hard, if not harder, than controlling winds. Because of this, the field of wind magic was beyond the reach of almost all magic practitioners.

Really, maybe he should have realized that he was no ordinary magicker when he first found his talent in wind magic.

[madscientistjournal]

The Parts of Him That I Can Help With

An essay by Stephen L. Thayer, as provided by Gordon B. White Art by Errow Collins

My younger brother Cameron never understood what working from home meant, so when he called me at 2:30 pm, I was wrist-deep in a twitching half-cadaver. Normally I wouldn’t have answered, since I was practicing stitching a double set of lungs for an upcoming necromodding commission, but I’d been stymied by what to do next, and I also had to pick Dylan up from school by 3:30, so it was as good a stopping point as any. Besides, what is family for if not to answer your call?

I pulled my hands out of the writhing thoracic cavity and peeled off my surgical gloves. The talc inside always makes me squirm when I rub my fingers clean, so I grimaced beneath my paper filtration mask–which I never remove while in my garage laboratory–and swiped my cell phone to speaker.

“Cam,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I need your help, bro.”

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

He paused. “A little.”

A little was fine. We’re brothers, so how else were we supposed to talk?

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Do you remember my last serious relationship?”

I had to think back. I was pretty sure that was Brandon and that had been a year before? Two? Cam had never been good at relationships, but I’d forgotten how bad he was.

“Sure,” I said. “Tall, dark, possibly rheumatic.”

“You make him sound so sexy.”

“Not my type.”

“Anyway, I was out with Tyler.”

“Who?” I asked as I walked across the room, away from the twitching body and the faint burning smell rising from the wires in its cranium.

“Never mind with who,” Cam said, too quickly. “The point is that I ran into Brandon.”

“With your car, I hope?”

“Nice dad joke, bro.”

“Speaking of, I have to get Dylan soon.” An hour wasn’t really soon, but anything to give Cam a ticking clock. He’s the kind of guy who if you ask him what he did last night, he’ll end up telling you what he did this morning.

“Bro, this is serious,” he said. “Seeing Brandon reminded me of how terrible I am at everything.”

“What about this new guy?” I said, desperate to deflect the conversation. “Clearly you’re not completely unlovable.” Since launching my necromodding business, I’d had enough people calling me up for freebies that I was hoping to stem this off before it escalated. That double-lungs commission was the first paid job I’d had all month, although given how poorly it was going, I worried it might be the last, too.

“It isn’t going to work out,” Cam said. “I’m not good enough.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” I said, but I immediately regretted that brotherly sarcasm as I heard a glass hit the bar on Cam’s end. I could just about smell the booze through the phone. If I were there with him, maybe he could have seen on my face that I didn’t mean it, but what could I say?

“I need your help to get a boyfriend,” he said. “A serious one. A real one.”

“One who calls you back?”

“One who thinks I’m hot.”

“I don’t know any blind and deaf guys,” I said, unable to help ribbing him further. “Besides, I haven’t dated anyone in, well, forever. I really can’t help.”

My wife Cynthia and I had been together basically forever. We’d dated for almost a decade, been married for something like seven years, and Dylan was five, so contemporary hook-up culture or any online presence more than my freelance necromodding website were absolute mysteries. Despite the skills at my disposal and the bodies in my garage, I didn’t know what I could do to help Cam.

“Bro,” Cam said, “I don’t need your dating advice.”

Oh thank god, I thought, although I was also a little offended.

“Then what?” I asked.

“I need to be a different person.”

“Can’t help you,” I said. “Try therapy?”

“I mean, I need a new body.”

The half-cadaver twitched on the table, the crown of electrodes in its skull stimulating it into smearing its coagulating intestines across the metal gurney as its torn throat wheezed through the half-sewn double-set of lungs. Seeing how helpless it was, twitching there in the approximation of life, made me feel bad that I hadn’t had Cam over in a while.

“Fine,” I said. “Come by tonight after dinner. No earlier than seven.”

~

“Look who it is,” I said to Dylan as we opened the door.

“Uncle Cam!”

As Cam hoisted Dylan up, I took a moment to do my pre-clinical once over. Cam and I shared a party mix of the same genetics, so I didn’t think he’d been too let down, especially because if I’d received our parents’ brain Chex, he’d gotten the pretzel bits of good physique. Decent shoulders and long arms, a full head of hair that was mostly not gray as he pushed into his thirties. While beer had softened him up, his spare tire was a bike wheel at worst, not a full radial. I was noting that his glutes were adequate if not extraordinary when I realized that he was airplaning Dylan into the kitchen with Cynthia.

“Hey, Cindy,” he said, using a nickname she hates, perhaps accidentally.

“Hey, Ron,” she replied, purposefully using a nickname Cam hates. “Can you not steer my child into the Bolognese?”

“Into the Bolognese!” Dylan squealed, and I could envision the downward arc occurring in the other room. Suddenly, I was hit by the pungent tomato sauce simmering over the sweet fat of the beef. It’s funny how you don’t recognize some comforts until you’re just on their periphery.

“Ron,” Cynthia said.

“Cindy,” he said.

“Bolognese!” Dylan yelled.

I joined the family circle just in time and took Dylan from Cam’s outstretched arms. Dylan pouted, but Cam ruffled his hair and then turned to me.

“So, what’s for dinner?” Cam asked.

“Let’s talk in the lab,” I said, steering him towards the mudroom and the locked door to my lab in the garage. “We’ll give Cynthia some room.”

As Dylan latched onto Cynthia and I escorted Cam out, she gave me that look that asked “Are you really skipping dinner?” I shrugged in apology and hoped my eyebrows, wriggling like caterpillars on a hotplate, said “What else is family for, right?”

~

Out in the garage, the overwhelming smell of antiseptic spray is deceptive at first, but I offered a full respirator to Cam, which he wisely accepted. Whenever I open the storage drawers, the smell usually overwhelms the unprepared. It’s the primary reason that Cynthia made me spring for airtight locks, because while she’s fine with me being a stay-at-home dad doing freelance necromodder work, she doesn’t want to be known as that family.

“How’s business?” Cam asked, looking around at all the shiny equipment.

“Honestly, not great,” I said. “It’s really tough starting out. So far mostly just cranks and perverts.”

“But this is all so, so cool,” he said.

“Clients don’t trust necromodders without a deep portfolio.”

“I trust you, bro.”

“You have to say that,” I said, but I smiled beneath my paper mask. I didn’t know if Cam was being sincere or just trying to butter me up, but it was working.

“What’s that?” Cam asked, pointing to the halo of electrodes I’d been using to reanimate the half-cadaver with the double-stitched lungs. Cam had been in the lab enough to recognize new equipment, even though he didn’t know what any of it was.

“Sort of a test drive system for bodies so I can try new mods before putting them in living clients,” I told him. “The hope is to one day use it to amp up living brains, too, but that’s a long way off.” A very, very long way off, in fact, and not being able to get it to work stuck in my craw as yet another failure.

“No chance you can fix this then?” Cam thumped himself on the forehead.

“Nothing can fix that,” I said. “What’s Option B?”

“Bro,” he said, “I need a boyfriend.”

“Believe me,” I said, “that would make all of our lives easier.”

He ignored that comment, which was bigger of him than I expected. As the older brother, it was always both surprising and fulfilling to see sparks of maturity in Cam. Perhaps I sometimes pushed him too hard to find them–spraying his pants with water in middle school to teach him an ill-defined lesson about humility, for example–but whenever those moments emerged naturally, I could just about cry.

“I want someone to love me like Cynthia loves you,” he said.

I didn’t tell him that sometimes it takes a lot of work, but I was a sucker for romance. If I could help him, at least a little, wasn’t that my brotherly duty?

“So I need a new body,” he said.

“It’s expensive,” I said.

“It can be my birthday present.”

“It comes out of my pocket,” I said, but Cam looked pointedly at me, and I knew what he was being too nice to say about Cynthia in the other room. “Our pockets,” I corrected myself. “Do you really want to take the Bolognese out of your nephew’s mouth?”

“Birthday and Christmas.”

I stared at him.

“For two years,” he added.

I sighed. “And I can use pictures for my website.”

“Fine,” he said, “if I can also use them for my dating profile.”

“Fine,” I said. “I love–”

“Me?” Cam interrupted.

“A challenge,” I concluded. “So of course I will help you.”

There’s a sort of code that we necromodders undertake–whether it’s a full-time modder doing celebrity jobs in a fancy foreign clinic, or just a dedicated freelancer who left the hospital’s daily grind and whose wife supports him while he builds up a portfolio on low-paying commissions–that we’ll do our best to bring our clients’ visions to fruition, despite our own preferences. I’d seen plenty of things on the professional message boards–literal eyes in the back of heads, third arms in places arms don’t usually go–that I personally didn’t think looked good, but which somehow made the end users feel complete. Although I think of necromodding as an art, most clients see it as design, so far be it from me to deny anyone their aesthetic preferences. As a medical professional, however, I did have one other complicating factor.

“I’ll do it,” I said, “but as your doctor–” I trailed off, hoping to prompt him.

“Really?” Cam asked. “Again?” He knew what was coming, since I’d given him a new middle toe a year or so ago.

“Tell you what,” I said, as I punched in the codes to the cold storage. “If you can paraphrase the warning, I’ll consider that informed consent.”

“Let me see,” Cam began as he joined me to watch the various hunks and chunks of cadavers slide out of the freezer. “As my doctor, you have to warn me of potential health effects related to body modifications using deceased tissue.”

“And?”

“There’s no guarantee.”

“That?”

“That the process is effective or reversible.”

“And?” I asked.

“And what?” he asked

“You’re of sound mind to make decisions that could result in your death.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, bro.”

From inside the coolers, corpses and extra bits peered out. I didn’t keep a lot on hand, but I always had a few stock bodies–inoffensive types that were easy to cut and shape for after-market mods–so I could easily do a head swap, then touch Cam up afterwards. With our health care system, there was never a shortage of parts.

“Finally,” I added, “as your brother, and not your doctor, I think you’re great and have a great personality. Don’t fix a thing, blah blah.”

“I love you, too, bro,” he said.

“I never said that.”

~

I cut off Cam’s head and stitched it to the stock body that most closely matched his skin tone. He’d asked me about maybe trying out a different one, but that would just open up questions of bodily appropriation that I hadn’t the energy to parse with Cam. Nevertheless, we had gone over the alterations he wanted and, once his original body was safely wrapped and secured in Refrigerator B and his head was hooked up to the new one, I was ready to start.

He wanted bigger muscles, and although the stock body was fairly normal, Cam had picked out globs of the red ropey fibers for me to put in. The sizing was ridiculous, but the more I’d warned him, the more he resisted. Then he said it was okay if I didn’t know how to do it, which I’m pretty sure he did just to egg me on. Sure, a procedure of that level was just a smidge outside of my comfort zone, but I wasn’t going to give Cam the satisfaction of thinking he’d asked for something I couldn’t do, so I went to work snipping out the default tendons at the muscle heads and reattaching bigger ones. It was like trying to overstuff a batch of viscera dumplings, but I finally got it done.

When I finished, I brought him back out from sedation and rolled the full-sized mirror over to where he lay on the table. He grinned and flexed, and I worried that the glue in the skin wouldn’t hold, but although he bulged, he didn’t pop. I’d had my doubts, but seeing it finished, I swelled with pride, too.

“Isn’t this a little excessive?” I asked, even as I snapped a picture for the portfolio section of my website.

“You just don’t understand the male gaze,” he said and kissed his bicep.

“Come again?”

“Like, looking at stuff.” He paused. “Also, that’s what he said.”

“That’s so juvenile.”

“You’re the older brother,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be too mature.”

~

“I need to look more mature,” Cam said, back in my lab after less than a week. “I have a baby face.”

“You have a childish face,” I said. I was already twisting his face this way and that under the light, though, figuring out what I could do with the soft tissues. Normally I wouldn’t have been doing more work so soon after the first procedure, but working on Cam had really energized me. Prospective clients were contacting me, and in a spurt of inspiration, I’d finished the double-stitched lungs and even improved the corpse-animating electrode helmet. Besides, Cam seemed to enjoy coming over for the post-op check-ups, even sticking around to come with me to pick Dylan up from school.

“What do you want this time?” I asked.

“Thinner cheeks,” he said. “And maybe a beard.”

From Freezer A, I pulled out a box of frozen samples. Inside the compartments, little swatches of hair curled like sleeping gerbils in multiple hues of blonde, auburn, ginger, and black.

“You can have a beard of this, this, this, or this,” I said, pointing out some.

“What about that?”

“That’s a dog.”

“That?”

“Pubes.”

He considered it for a moment longer than I’d have liked, but then finally pointed to a nice normal brown swatch. “I’ll take that one,” he said.

“You sure?” I asked.

“Stop second guessing me.”

So I put Cam under again. I made incisions beneath the zygomatic bones, then slit all the way down the jaw and back around. I took extra time to stencil out around Cam’s lips before I peeled away his lower face, leaving him raw from closed eyes to throat. The yolk-colored globs of baby fat clung to his cheeks as I peeled them away, then laid them in the “Base” box to store in Freezer B alongside his original body. We were getting into alterations that weren’t as simple to undo as a head swap, but I’d given him the spiel and, since he’d used up his allotment of gifts already, he’d promised to pay in cash–just later, of course.

I unfurled the main roll of beard and skin, measured off a swatch, and then snipped it. The surface was itchy, and I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting it on their face or anywhere else, but according to the message boards, it was popular among other modders’ clients and, of course, the customer is always right. It was a pain to smooth down and arrange all the follicles the right way, but it felt good getting into the granular work again. The bliss of losing myself in the details reminded me why I’d fallen in love with necromodding in the first place.

Once everything was perfect, I woke Cam up and rolled the mirror over. “This is good,” he said, rubbing his new hirsute jawline while I took a picture for the site. “This is will be the one that does it.”

~

“The beard isn’t doing it,” Cam said at dinner. He’d shown up unannounced but had become a regular enough intrusion that Cynthia had a plate ready. He was still adjusting to his beard, though, and the egg from the fettuccine carbonara glistened in the hair.

“My problem is that I get too drunk,” he said as he took another swig of Primitivo. He was still adjusting to the muscles, too, and so all of his movements were outsized and reckless. “I need the alcohol to open up, but then it hits me too hard.”

“Drink less?” Cynthia recommended.

“Or he can give me a bigger liver,” Cam said.

“An enlarged liver isn’t healthy,” I said. “It’s pretty much the opposite.”

“I know that,” he said, although clearly he didn’t. “Then give me more livers.”

That might work and, if nothing else, would hopefully keep Cam away for a while. My work had been picking up recently–at first it was new clients looking for muscle and beard work after seeing Cam’s pictures, but referrals and repeats kept rolling in. Besides, I’d been working on my electrode helmet and was on the verge of a breakthrough. Cam just didn’t understand my need to work during the day or the importance of family time with Cynthia and Dylan afterwards. His continued interruptions at dinner and frequent calls just to chat during the day were reminders as to why I’d stopped hanging out with him so much.

“Fine,” I said to Cam. “Whatever you want.”

After dinner, I took Cam to the lab and sliced him open, then clamped the flesh apart to root around. I wasn’t shocked to see the paces he’d already put this current liver through. It looked scaled and pebbled, and oozed like a pickled beet. Even through my ventilator, the rich, briny smell hit me. Gagging, I took the extra livers–my Burke and Hare men had been coming through like gangbusters recently–and started wedging them in. The healthy organs were more pliant, but as I sutured them together, the knot of muscle got less and less manageable. In the end, I had to lean on them like I was packing a suitcase while I stapled the wound together. Despite being pleased with my innovation, this one wouldn’t get a picture on the website. Probably just a text description.

As I brought Cam back around, I told him, “Be careful.”

“I always am, bro.”

He sat up on the gurney, swaying under the new imbalance.

“Should we do shots to celebrate?” he asked.

~

Cam banged on the front door on a Thursday night at 12:30 am. Cynthia and I were in bed, with Dylan down the hall asleep, and she was none too pleased at the interruption.

“He needs to learn boundaries,” she said.

“I don’t disagree,” I said, but I was already out of bed and pulling on a robe. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but it’s hard to ignore family even when you want to. Besides, if I had to choose which one to deal with at that moment, Cam was probably the easiest.

Downstairs, I barely recognized Cam as I let him in. His body was getting strange; the muscles bulged in odd ways and all the livers seemed to be throwing him off balance. The beard hadn’t been trimmed in days.

“Do you know what time it is?” I asked, dragging him into the garage laboratory. At least the insulated walls would keep his disturbance to a minimum.

“I need one last one,” he said.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he responded. “So? You going to judge me for that, too?”

“Someone has to.”

“Too bad it isn’t someone who ever has something nice to say.”

That stung. It took me a moment to respond. “I can’t,” I finally said. “It’s too late.”

“Please, I need it. You sort of owe me.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer. “Just please. Do it and I’ll leave you alone. Forever.”

“Don’t be such a martyr,” I said.

“I just need you to make me taller, bro. Just an extra vertebra or three.”

“You dope,” I said. “It’s not your height. It’s not your muscles or your beard. It’s just you.”

“What do you mean?”

There are conversations that need to be had, and there are conversations that need to be had in a particular way. I knew this was the latter, but I was too tired. Besides, someone had to tell him, right?

“You’re a weirdo,” I said. “It’s not how you look or how big your liver is; you’re the kind of person who gets people’s names wrong. You don’t understand that you can’t show up late or that you talk a lot or ask too much.”

“Then fix that.”

“I can’t fix that,” I said. “That’s just you.”

“Zap me then.” He pointed at the electrode crown I’d been working on, the one that let me reanimate half-cadavers enough to test out mods before using them on paying clients. It had come a long way recently and I was sure it was going to launch me out of necromods and into actual biomodding, but it wasn’t ready to supercharge a living brain. Probably.

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I already agreed you’re not responsible if I die.”

“It’s untested,” I said.

“I believe in you,” he said.

“It’s not about believing.”

“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I already agreed you’re not responsible if I die.”

“You moron.” I’d reached my limit, too. “Of course I’m responsible. I’m always responsible for you.”

“Stop treating me like a child,” he said. “If I could do this any other way, don’t you think I would?”

What was there to say?

“Just zap me,” he said again.

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” he said. “Maybe if you didn’t leave me behind after you went to school, after you got married, I could have learned from you.”

“What was I supposed to do?” I asked.

“Help me,” he said.

“I didn’t leave you behind.”

“I feel like you did.”

“Fuck your feelings,” I said.

We didn’t talk as I put him under. Stewing, I drilled into his skull, then attached the headgear and pushed the little wire skewers in. That was it. If it killed him, well I’d warned him, right?

I pulled the lever, hard. Because he’d asked for it.

The lights dimmed like I expected as it warmed up; but then it hitched. The lights flickered, then everything surged, bathing us in the miasma of green and red LEDs. All the shifting colors made me nauseous and I shaded my eyes, squinting at Cam’s body under the waves of putrescent light.

Then it exploded.

Everything went black. As all the machines whirred to a stop, I couldn’t hear or see anything. I sat there, in the silent dark, wondering if I’d killed my brother. Wondering how I would explain it and wondering, afterwards, just how much worse it could feel.

Those were my first thoughts. My next was that the brain-charger was also an obvious failure. My equipment was a failure. My skills were a failure. Sitting there, unable to see anything, the whole necromodding pursuit felt like a vain delusion. I was a dinner theater actor, alone in the dark among the empty tables and the cold buffet.

Then the red emergency lights came on, but all the monitors were still dead. I wondered if Cam was, too. I couldn’t bring myself to check for life the old-fashioned hands-on way, so I waited by the machinery. Maybe by refusing to check for myself, I could wait and blame the instruments.

It was the longest thirty seconds of my life.

Then the backup generator kicked on. One by one the monitors popped back up, flickering open like eyes. They ran through their reboots. Cam’s heartbeat came up. His breathing levels stabilized. I brought him back around and he opened his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He looked around at the red room and then down across his body and all the changes we’d been making.

“I gotta go,” he said, sitting up. “I’m late.”

And that was it. I glanced at the emergency report printouts and data, but I was too tired to deal with any of it, so I sealed the lab and went back to bed.

~

For the first day that I didn’t hear from Cam, I was fine with it. I needed some space and figured he probably did, too. I took Dylan to the park after school and just avoided the lab all together. After the second day without hearing from Cam, though, and then a third, I was worried. He didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t text me to ask for additional procedures or anti-rejection drugs. The kinds of modifications we had been doing had a fairly a short active life without follow-ups.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Cam. I’d really failed him, and not just as a necromodder–although that blow-up had me wondering if I should just give up, sell everything, and get a regular job again. No, I’d also failed Cam as a brother. It wasn’t the things I’d said, since I stood by those, but that I’d said them in that way. That I’d made him feel that way. That he was willing to risk dying with my half-baked brain overcharger rather than have to deal with me as a brother any more. That I’d been too proud or too stubborn to stop him. It was a dark time.

So I did what I always do when I have serious doubts and questions about life.

“What’s going on?” Cynthia asked as she answered her cellphone. I’d expected her voicemail, but apparently I’d caught her in-between meetings.

“It’s Cam,” I said.

“Not Dylan?”

“No,” I said. “Cam.”

She didn’t hang up. She paused, though, but then continued, “What’s wrong with your brother?”

“I don’t quite know,” I said. “I mean, I know you don’t like him–”

“I like him,” she cut me off. “I think you two have issues, but he’s family.”

“Right,” I said.

“Your family,” she said.

“Right.”

We waited for a second there.

“What about him?” she broke the momentary silence.

“I’m worried,” I said. “He hasn’t called me since that last thing.”

“Maybe it worked?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Regardless, there are these anti-rejection drugs that he knows he needs.”

“Shit,” Cynthia said.

“I know,” I said. “What should I do?”

“Go find him, of course,” she said.

I shook my head, even though she obviously couldn’t see it. “He hasn’t asked for my help.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Cynthia said, softly, “What do you think all of this has been about, then?”

“I mean–” I began.

“Go help him!” Whatever pristine office halls she was in must have echoed, because the reverberation carried onto my end of the phone

“But he might–”

“He’s our family!”

She was right.

So I drove to Cam’s apartment complex on the other side of town. I’d been there a few times before to pick him up for family events or to visit someone in the hospital, but it took some poking around and checking mailboxes before I found his building again. The door to his unit was unlocked, yet even before I entered I could smell the rot.

Cam was sitting in the dark, sagging in the center of his rent-to-own couch. The putrescence seeping out from around his midsection was soaking into the fabric. The muscles I could see–biceps, triceps, traps, and pecs–were purple and mustard yellow clots beneath the skin. The edges of his beard were peeling down.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said. “Let’s get you back to the lab.”

“It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t start,” I said. “Not now.” I picked my way around empty silver tallboys swimming like fish on the stained blue carpet.

“I’ve just been thinking,” he said. “I can’t do anything but think after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said. I grabbed his arm and began to pull, but it was slack and, without his assistance, I worried my fingers would sink in and tear out big chunks.

“You broke my brain, bro,” he said and sunk down deeper. “All that zap did is made me depressed.”

“The machine didn’t do that, you dolt,” I said. It was true: when I’d reviewed the data that night, it was clear that the machine hadn’t worked. It had fried during the warm-up and although it blasted everything in the lab, there’d been no sign that it had any effect on Cam. “If you’re thinking about how shitty things are, then that’s on you.”

He had nothing to say to that.

I sighed. “And on me, too. I guess.”

Cam grunted.

“I’m sorry I said those things. For now, though,” I said, “as your doctor, I need to get you back to the lab before you have catastrophic organ failure.” I pulled again, but although he didn’t actively resist, he didn’t move his bulk to accommodate me either.

“What do you want from me?” I finally asked.

“You could tell me you love me.”

“Well, I won’t do that,” I said. “But, as your doctor–as your brother, I’d be pretty upset if you had caststrophic organ failure.”

~

The lab door is triple-sealed so that smells don’t seep into or out of the house, which is why it wasn’t until Cam and I opened the door that the wave of rot pushed out past us. The sweet and sick burst curled into my nostrils and even Cam–decaying from the neck down–winced at the ripe odor.

We stumbled into the lab, but I already knew what had happened. The power surge had blown the freezers and they hadn’t reset with the other equipment. When I opened Freezer B, as the smell had foreshadowed, everything was ruined. Cam’s original body was beyond salvage.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Somehow in this tragedy, Cam had found equanimity and so he shrugged, one of the seams around his neck popping loose and green pus oozing out. For a moment, I felt that swell of pride in how mature he was acting.

We moved over to the table and I sat him down. All of my lab equipment seemed to be working fine, but there was nothing in the freezers I could use. What a pair our mismatched reflections in the full-length mirror made–me standing there slicked with gore and my younger brother falling apart like a poutine. I was trying to be strong, holding it together, but then Cam had to go and get sentimental.

“It was really nice spending time with you,” Cam said. “But I feel like you’ll be better off without me.”

“I never wanted to lose you,” I said. “I just wanted, you know, less of you.”

“Well, you’re in luck. There isn’t much left.” He tried to laugh, gesturing to the pile of meat festering below his neck.

“Oh shit,” I said.

“What?”

“There might be a way.” Less of him. “It might be too complicated, though. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Bro,” he said, and flopped a mushy hand onto my shoulder. “I believe in you.”

“You kind of have to say that,” I said, wrestling the tears back as best I could.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I feel like you know it’s true.”

I sniffled, just once. “Fuck your feelings.”

Then I cut off Cam’s head.

~

“Swipe right,” Cam said.

“Don’t yell in my ear,” I said.

“I’m not yelling.”

“Well it sounds like it.”

That was because his head was attached to my shoulder, so his mouth was right next to my ear. Normally he didn’t get this excited, but while we were sitting at the dinner table with Dylan, waiting for Cynthia, Cam had decided he absolutely needed to show me this new dating app. I didn’t really want to see, but I’d been trying to be more supportive lately. It was his life, after all. Mostly.

Cam whispered, “Swipe right.”

“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not taking you on any dates. Wait until your replacement body gets in.”

“Then I’m not doing any more surgeries with you.”

That wasn’t okay. Ever since I’d posted about our successful head graft, the commissions were rolling in. Not only that, but with Cam by my side, I finally felt like a true professional.

“Fine,” I said. “But just one date. Make it count.”

“Fine,” he said. “Now swipe right.”

I swiped right, and the next image popped up. I gasped.

“Can I see?” Dylan asked from across the table.

“No!” Cam and I said in unison.

Cynthia came out of the kitchen, bringing out a bowl of salad. “No phones at the table,” she said.

“Sorry, Cynthia,” Cam said. Over the past week, he’d been making a real effort to get her name right and to be a better houseguest in general. For her part, Cynthia had been much more understanding about all of this than I’d had any right to expect. Of course, she rightly insisted that Cam and I sleep on the couch downstairs. It’s funny, but you never realize how much you might miss some people until you’re just on their periphery, I guess.

“Dinner time is family time,” Dylan chimed in.

“That’s right,” I said, but as I went to put the phone in my pocket it rang, playing “Sunshine of Your Love.”

“Whose ringtone is that?” Cynthia asked.

“Tyler,” I said, reading off the Caller ID.

“Who’s Tyler?” Dylan asked.

I suddenly felt light-headed as the blood from my body rushed to Cam’s face. He’d turned bright red, and I felt the heat of his ear next to mine. I worried for a moment that our sutures might spring a leak.

“Just some guy I was seeing before all this,” he said. He swallowed, and the movement of his esophagus shook my collarbone.

“Just some guy, Cam?” Cynthia said. “I’ve never seen you this flustered.”

“I’ll call him later,” Cam said. “Dinner time is family time.” I could feel him straining, though, as he looked at the phone. I admired his attempt at impulse control, but then I looked at Cynthia, and she smiled wearily.

“What else is family for?” she said.

“No really,” Cam said. “It’s okay, I–”

I swiped the phone open and held it to Cam’s ear. I rose from the table and as we walked out Cam began, adorably, to stutter a hello.

Cynthia was right: What else is family for, of course, if not to answer your calls?

Stephen L. Thayer is a freelance necromodder operating out of his home laboratory in a discrete, secure suburban neighborhood. After receiving his MBA and spending several years in corporate finance, Stephen left the rat race to follow his passion into the burgeoning field of functional and aesthetic bio-enhancement utilizing cadaverous tissues. Although he performs standard cosmetic, muscle, organ, and/or bone alterations, Stephen considers his necromodding a blend of art and science striving towards transcendence. He is always eager to discuss exotic and/or custom commissions. A representative portfolio and anonymous client testimonials are available upon request.

Gordon B. White has lived in North Carolina, New York, and the Pacific Northwest. He is a 2017 graduate of the Clarion West Writing Workshop, and his fiction has appeared in venues such as Daily Science Fiction, A Breath from the Sky: Unusual Stories of Possession, Nightscript Vol. 2, and the Bram Stoker Award® winning anthology Borderlands 6. Gordon also contributes reviews and interviews to various outlets. You can find him online at www.gordonbwhite.com or on Twitter at @GordonBWhite.

Errow is a comic artist and illustrator with a predilection towards mashing the surreal with the familiar. They pay their time to developing worlds not quite like our own with their fiancee and pushing the queer agenda. They probably left a candle burning somewhere. More of their work can be found at errowcollins.wix.com/portfolio.

“The Parts of Him That I Can Help With” is © 2018 Gordon White Art accompanying story is © 2018 Errow Collins

The Parts of Him That I Can Help With was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[flan-anon-blog]

Whiteout

Oof I’m so sorry this is really late and the anon who requested it probably gave up on me ever writing it. Also, thank you to @the-androgynous-student-anon for the help! I really appreciate it! TW: kinda ooc, Smut, SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, swearing ———— You sat at your desk, typing away at the keys on your computer. You had an essay due and you’re squip was totally slacking, which you didn’t even know he could do. You hadn’t seen him since you took a the first sip of your drink, which was about half an hour ago. As you pondered what the cause of this may be, your squip started to appear next to you. As he drifted into existence you couldn’t help but notice he look different. He looked frazzled, his face flushed and his hair messy. He wasn’t one to be flustered, and you had to say that this was quite the sight. “(Y/n), what are you drinking??” He asked urgently. That’s odd. “Just Mountain Dew-“ “What flavor??” You could tell by his voice that he was really off. ”Whiteout? Why? What’s wrong?” You ask worriedly. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a seat on your bed. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.” He groaned. “What? W-what’s wrong?” You looked at him, your face showing a mix of concern and confusion. He let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “You know how you can only activate a SQUIP with original Mountain Dew?” He asked. You nodded in response as he continued. “Well, other flavors take affect on me too. Voltage puts me in full control of the host, Throwback makes me act like I’m from the users favorite time period against my will-“ That’s when you stopped his informative lecture from going any further. “So what does Whiteout do?” You questioned. “Whiteout makes me feel human emotions. Not the same as what you, the user, would be feeling right now, but feelings that all humans experience, like sadness and anger. But since there’s no reason for me to feel either of those, I have to feel the third most human emotion...” “Which is?” You did a little hand movement, as if telling him to continue. “..lust.” His voice cracked as he choked up the word. You couldn’t help but blush. This wasn’t a conversation you’d ever think of having with anyone, especially your squip. “How long do the effects last?” You asked, still blushing. “Usually only for a few hours. Unless, in this case, it’s ‘taken care of’.” He tugged at his button up shirt, trying to manage his high temperature. The way he put it. ‘Taken care of’. It replayed in your head over and over. The warmth you felt in your cheeks was rising with every passing moment. The squip was clearly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar heat he was dealing with. He was not used to feeling temperature, and this for sure as hell was not his cup of tea. “Seriously have you never heard of a fucking air conditioner, (y/n)?” The Squip snapped suddenly, breaking the silence. You couldn’t help but laugh at his unusual conversation skills. “What’s so funny?” He growled, stomping over to you and pinning you against your desk chair. You quickly stopped your giggling. This was oddly turning you on. once realizing what he was doing, the Squip pushed himself away. “I-I’m sorry, I seem to be dealing with hormones.” He said quickly. “My sensitivity has been increased. I apologize for any of my future actions.” He sighed. You were thinking of how you could fix this, when you realized what the only option was. “No! Absolutely not!” Your squip hissed. You suddenly remember that he was in your brain, and knew exactly what you were thinking. “Well, I don’t know what else to do! You’re not giving me anything to work with and, might I remind you, I have homework!” You grumbled. He tapped his foot impatiently as you went back to typing. “This sucks. Do all humans really experience this?” “Yes, very much so. Now shut up.” Uncomfortable silence filled the room until he let out a groan. “Fine, we’ll go with your plan.” He didn’t expect your eyes to light up like they did. Sure, you were a horny teen, not to mention a virgin, but he didn’t think you were that desperate. You were very confused at how you were going to do this. “How do I touch you? Like, so my hands don’t just go right through you?” “Simple. I can manipulate your nerves and trick your mind into thinking we’re making contact.” He said as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “And you’ll feel it too?” You asked. “In the state I’m in, yes I will. And I would prefer you stop asking questions and get on with it.” You tried putting your newfound knowledge to the test by pushing him down onto your bed and smiling when he complied. You got on your knees, kneeling in front of him, and yanked his pants off, expecting them to just land anywhere when you threw them, but even more surprise when they just dissipated into thin air. You gazed upon his well shaped legs and claves. Perhaps for too long, judging by the way the Squip cleared his throat. You snapped back into your previous mind set, reaching for his boxers. He nodded, letting you know you were okay to take them off. You slid them off and stared at the sight before you. Of course he was a computer who only picked what you would like best, but damn, he was perfect. You reached for the base. Quickly glancing up, you looked at him for approval before doing anything else. He smiled, appreciating the gesture, but practically begging for you to continue. You licked the tip ever so gently, causing his back to arch. He was practically shaking, his hair messier than before and his body propped up on one arm with the other covering his mouth. “You don’t have to do that. I’m the only one who can hear you.” “It’s still embarrassing to let someone else hear you moa-AAan!” He couldn’t get out the full sentence. Your tongue running along the shaft of his member was far too distracting. His hand retreated into your hair, pushing your mouth impossibly closer against him. You pushed back slightly to take the rest of him in. His hips bucked against your mouth. The feeling was new and unfamiliar to him but he was enjoying it very much. He yanked your hair accidentally, earning a moan from you that vibrated against him. The pleasure sent shivers down his spine, prompting him to pull again, only this time harder. “(Y/n)..” he gasped. You knew what he was trying to tell you. You pulled away before he could reach his climax. He looked at you in confusion and disappointment. Without another word you sat on his lap, softly grinding against him while unbuttoning his shirt. You momentarily paused your current task and quickly began to strip yourself as well, pulling your shirt up and tossing it. All that remained was your bra and your jeans, which were quickly discarded as well. As soon as you were naked you went to take off the squips shirt and partially untied tie, only for him to grab your hands. “Leave them.” He growled. You’re face turned a nice shade of scarlet, earning a chuckle from the man underneath you. You cleared your throat, taking your hands back and sliding them up his bare sides. You pressed yourself against him, causing much desired friction between his length and your clit. Any and all stress from before was forgotten while you were lost in ecstasy. You pushed yourself up, lining him up with your entrance. You looked at him one last time, making sure this was ok. Rather than nodding or smiling like before, he pushed you down by your hips, ramming himself into you. You felt a pain that caused your eyes to water, but it was soon replaced with pools of pleasure. He bucked his hips into yours, pounding harder with each thrust. One of his thumbs traveled down to your clit, rubbing circular motions against it. You failed to hold in a moan, thanking everything that you were home alone. You’re hands travelled to his shoulders for more support as he continuously pounded into you. “Do-AAaah! Don’t stop!” You whimpered. He moved his hand up to your breast, the other remaining in your hip. Your nails dug uno his back as he moved his mouth to your soft skin, moving from your neck and down to your unattended breast. He bit down on one of your buds, making sure you felt every sensation. Your back arched, pushing your body closer to his. You grasped onto his blue button up shirt for dear life. “SqUIP!-“ you moaned. A soft gasp escaped his lips as your walls closed around him, causing him to finally climax, you following close behind. You flopped down next to him, your chest heaving. “Man, I’m so glad I drank that Mountain Dew.” You choked out.

[boredompaw]

Day 10

Oh dear it’s rather late today. Or early. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be up when the sun rises, oh well. Started off the day pretty chipper, feeling well rested and energized. Except for my legs. Yesterday I didn’t feel like journaling because I had a brickload of homework I needed to get through, to stay “on course” for the other classes’ homework that was assigned. I’m irritated a lot more because I guess, the teachers’ logic was to assign a shitload of work, because we have nothing to do at home right now. I guess there’s less test pressure now, but instead, it feels like hella work. Maybe a combination of distracting environments and good connection to the internet also makes the pile seem larger. 

Anyhow, it isn’t as fun and laid back as the last three weeks were. Going back to yesterday, I told my parents I would go walk/hike with them, but then they tricked me into going running. I purposefully chose the hilliest route to be spiteful, and it was hard for me, but probably worse for them, because they had to try to keep up to my pace, to ensure my safety. One thing I noticed, though, was how many times I rolled my ankle. A record six times during a run, when I usually only roll it 3 times per. On the topic of safety, sometimes I feel that my mother is so paranoid that she demonizes basically all men outside the family. I can understand, very well, where her fear stems from, but personally, I feel like that mindset only furthers the hate in some other men, who may hold already negative views of us. I’m not saying to conform and please them, but I feel that it’s better to approach everyone as having good or neutral intentions. Most people are moralistic, especially since I live in an area that’s well off or fortunate, to say the least. In those circumstances, people tend to be more kind. Usually. Anyways, my point is to defer judgement, unless they’re suuupppper suss. I had the two hour SAT course today at 3, and again, it was really boring. I spent a lot of the time I had working on the chemH lab, and scanning my english essay. Later in the evening, I was buckling down and getting my english essay prepped for peer review, but then I was distracted by the tempting iPad pro and autodesk sketchbook. Since I feel into the habit of creating, during the 3 week break thing, I have been itching to resume, but remote learning and its schoolwork/homework hasn’t left too much time for me to create. While I drew and worked on Sansa Stark (help! color theory is hard, and shading skin is hardd), I did part of my world history homework, although I still have a major chunk of it left. On top of that, I have to get done 2 CS assignments, 1 crap ton of French work, a Macbeth analysis worksheet, two quizzes- no three quizzes, and a club meeting thing to work on, all due by tomorrow (technically today (Thursday)) or Friday. The grind is real. I also had to get done some of Sports PE homework, which is to use Sworkit and “work out.” The super irritating thing is they won’t allow running or biking or any of those activities to count. Only the core/strength/cardio/HIIT stuff is allowed. Like c’mon! I p̶r̶o̶b̶a̶b̶l̶y̶  burn more calories running than... that stuff... But I guess a change is good for me, and I can get something resembling a core. I have no core. lmao. Recently, the news has been focusing on Cali, because the governor is detailing a plan to release people back into the workforce, and OhMyGodIJustWantToGoOutAndMeetUpWithFriendsAgainPlease. So when shelter in place is lifted on May 4th, I will go out and buy more paints and books and starbucks (maybe) and all purpose flour and-- Yeah. First world problems. I also would like to say

GA TECH  let me in PLZ I want to be the class of ‘27 there please

lololol

I’m just high on “almost 5 o’clock in the morning juice”

more shitposts guaranteed later today. 

--

also I’ve been listening to too much

Lauv

Alec Benjamin

Jeremy Zucker

Halsey

and HARRY STYLE SUCKS ok

[sxfiyxplz]

(Best Behaviour) Jeff Atkins X Reader

A/n:so this is my first ever fic on tumblr! I only ever write on Wattpad but I thought why not. Been meaning to post this for so long but it's finally here! Enjoy 😉 Warnings: swearing Spring break. Boy was you happy for it arrive. You and your best friend Jeff had made a pact to be on your best behaviour this semester, not skipping classes, slacking in tests and actually attempting the homework set in bio. You didn't want to admit it, but you was a slacker, way too laid back in school for your own good, having friends like Zach to help you with bio and Sheri to help with history, you didn't really put in effort. It wasn't until Jeff found your test scores screwed up in the corner of your room he knew he needed to help. If it wasn't for his annoyingly charming smile and bright eyes staring into your soul as he swore you to promise him you would "try a little harder" you would have said no. But this was Atkins, you couldn't say no. So you did, you actually took notes in bio, listened in English, attended history and your grades did start to improve. "I told you things would get better if you actually behaved in school" Jeff said handing you your B+ you got on your history essay, smirking at you . "Ok ok so maybe Mr motivator over here had a point!" You said pushing him playfully. "My grades improved so now it's time to celebrate. Still picking me up for the spring break party at Bryces?" "Of course your majesty, I'll be there at 8" he replied sending you his signature wink which for some reason always made you turn jelloid . You stood there for a second until you noticed jess and Justin staring at you with shit eating grins plastered on their face as they saw you looking a little too flustered by Jeffs exit. You just laughed it off jumping into the back of the car. "You're definitely coming back to mine to get ready if you wanna impress Atkins y/n" Jess smirked as she looked at you through the wing mirror. You began to blush as you did have a crush on Jeff Atkins, who coincidentally was your best friend, who was best friends with Justin like you was best friends with jess. It basically made things very tricky to handle when you had feelings for the guy. "I'll have to wear your clothes then Jess I haven't brought anything with me" you said hoping you could borrow a hot dress for the party. Jess nodded in agreement which meant you was going to look perfect.This wasn't just one of Bryces usual drink ups. This was something you knew was going to be epic. A party to remember. As Justin pulled up to Jessica's house you jumped out just to be called back by him. "Hey y/n nows your chance to get Atkins. He's been waiting so long for a girl like you to come his way" Justin said in a slight whisper. You looked at him with suspicious eyes not knowing whether he was being genuine about Jeff or if jess had blurted out how you felt or if Justin was just fucking with you as per. His smirk soon snapped you back to reality that he was just playing, which made you turn on your heels flipping him off walking inside with Jess. "He's gonna be waiting for you l/n, you gotta look hot!" Justin shouted back before starting his engine "Fuck you Foley fuck you." You replied letting out a small chuckle before plonking your bags on the floor. Jess had already made her way upstairs to get ready calling you to come up and look for something to wear. If you was honest with yourself you wanted anything which would get the guys attention. You knew that once monty and Zach saw you looking good Jeff would be soon to follow suit. As you looked through Jess's wardrobe you pulled out a little black lace dress. It was the one. You stripped quickly, pulling the dress with fit your figure perfectly. You let your hair down leaving it in its natural state. You was admiring yourself in the mirror when Jess walked in looking at you with a smirk. "Well don't you look hot" she chirped "Jeff is definitely gonna fall for you looking like that" she smirked raising her brows. You turned to her giving her a fake laugh with only made her smirk more at the fact she could see straight through your facade "Come on I know you like him" she admitted "I know you do. And maybe tonight might be the night everything happens, maybe not, so shall we just get ready and see" you replied with a bite. "Ok" Jess sighed rolling her eyes at your delusion of the situation between you and Jeff " you best text him that you're coming with me to the party to surprise him how good you'll look" * Jess finally made it to Bryce's parking up outside where there were dozens of cars surrounding the house. You stepped out with Jess making your way to the front door when you felt all eyes on you as you walked in. The house was packed. The alcohol was flowing like crazy, people were dancing drinking partying making out everywhere and you was loving it. Jess grabbed your hand making your way to the kitchen to grab a drink when you saw Justin Zach Monty and Bryce all stud with beer. Jess ran into Justin's arms, kissing his neck as she clearly had missed his touch. You saw the guys turn to you, there eyes all widening as they saw you. "Well someone's planning on getting laid tonight " Zach joked pulling you in for a hug. Monty handed you a beer as you rested on the counter surrounded by everyone "So..." monty dragged out "who you looking hot for y/n?Gotta have someone in mind" asked raising his brow You shrugged your shoulders lying blatantly knocking back the beer. "I'm just planning on getting wasted" you smiled "If you wanna get wasted with me, you know where to find me sweet cheeks" Bryce pipped up sending you a smirked which instantly made your eyes roll. "In your dreams Bryce " you laughed flipping him off going off with Jess to find Sheri. As the night went on more people began to dance with their cups high in the air, swaying and dancing to whatever was blasting through the speakers. You hadn't seen Jeff yet and you had a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach that he had bailed. You and Sheri was sat by the pool, drinks in hand listening to what was another of Jess and Justin's fall outs when you began to day dream and wonder where the hell Jeff was. You couldn't wait to see him, dance with him and take it back to his place where you could finally f- "So what the fuck should I do y/n? You and Justin are close what would he want" Jess asked completely throwing you off guard. You squinted your eyes at her trying to figure out what she was talking about but you honestly had no clue. You wanted to open your mouth to say something but you was stopped thankfully by a pair of hands grabbing your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. You turned around to see the one and only Jeff crouching next to you with a beaming smile. You gave him a tight hug silently thanking him for saving your ass. "I've literally been looking for you everywhere man!" He chuckled, finally content that he'd found you "you look great by the way, really hot" he winked making your cheeks burn "Oh Atkins you are a cute one" you responded trying to keep your cool "So anyway you know because you're such a great person I was wondering if you would play beer pong and be on my team" Jeff went of to say, making you frown a little "Justin said I should ask you as he said your really good" You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the pathetic attempt of Justin getting you and Jeff together. You was shit at beer pong and you definitely didn't want Jeff to see how bad. "I would say yes but that would just result in Justin rubbing it in my face he's better then me" you pouted "sorry Atkins" "It's ok babe, I'll ask monty." He winked " I'll come find you later" and with that he was off into back into the house,your eyes finally loosing him in the crowd.Both girls turned to you, mouths hung open. "What the fuck was that about then huh?" Jess asked, eyes wife pushing your shoulder. "Thought you and Atkins were just 'friends'" "Didn't look like it to me" Sheri sang making Jess laugh uncontrollably "Oh my God come on guys it's what we do we are always like this" You shrugged like what happened wasn't a big deal "Bullshit!" Jess blurted making you frown "She's right!" Sheri added "we all can see you both want each other. He's looking hot, you're looking like a snack, you're both destined for each other" she went on "You find his ass now!" Jess demanded making you laugh but she was serious. She pulled a "why the fuck are you still here" face at you making you get up from the pool side. "Fine I'm going to get a drink and I will find him" you huffed pulling a fake smile waving goodbye with your empty cup. "Go get him" you heard the two of them shouted making you smile. You made your way to the kitchen where you grabbed yourself your 4th vodka and tequila concoction as you began to sway along to the music sipping your drink. You didn't dare to find Jeff yet. If you was going to make a move you would need a whole lot more drinks down you. You carried on drinking, taking shots to quicken the process. You was finally feeling a buzz so you took your drink and followed the beat of the music. As you got into the song, dancing with the crowd of school kids you felt to hands grip your hips instantly guiding you as your hips glided along with the music grinding next to an unknown waist. The grip soon tightened and you was span round to see the face of Jeff, sending you his contagious grin. His blue eyes hit you and you looked away biting your lip, trying not to show your drunken state was totally falling for his sweet charming looks. "I gotta admit" Jeff began speaking in your ear as so you could hear him "you were looking extremely hot dancing over here alone I had to come join you" Your cheeks burned from his words as jeffs compliment meant more then all the boys stares at the party. " you just look really really stunning tonight y/n, like wow" he began to slur as his body grew closer to yours, his ands roaming your back. "Are you drunk Atkins" you looked at him trying not to laugh at how waved he really was "I am not drunk" Jeff protested " I'm just here wondering whether my little miss perfect here is finally ready to let her hair down and have a little fun." His voice deeper and eyes full of lust " I mean you've been on your best behaviour baby let's have some fun." And with that, the mix of alcohol and stream of dopamine flowing through your body you smiled linking your hands round jeffs neck passionately connecting lips. The warm sensation from his lips made you want him more as your kisses became hungrier, kissing his soft lips over and over. Realisation then hit you that you finally was kissing the boy who had been your crush, your best friend, the guy you wanted to be with. You couldn't help but smile through the kiss which suddenly made you giggle uncontrollably making your lips part. "What's so funny" Jeff asked, pressing his forehead to yours, dying for the taste of your lips again. "It's nothing" you said, smiling with embarrassment, but Jeff soon cupped your face, kissing you passionately again. "Tell me what's so funny" he said between kisses. You looked him dead in the eye, chewing corner of your bottom lip as you were about to confess how you felt to Jeff. "It's just funny because I've wanted this for so long Jeff. Because" you paused as his smile slowly started to grow as though he knew what you was about to say " fuck because I fucking like you Jeff" you finally admitted, literally face palming as Jeff's eyes widened and he pulled his annoying cute grins. Fuck you had no idea whether he was feeling the same way or it was just him laughing that you confessed you liked him and looked like a damn idiot. He slowly took hold of your hand, pulling it away from your face, looking at you will his grin still plastered on his face. "I'm glad you find it funny. Because I like you too" he said pulling your body closer together feeling his breath on your skin "how about we get out of here and see what the night brings us" You smiled as Jeff bit his bottom lip as you both were on the same wave length with ditching the party for the rest of the night. You knew you both were about to have a lot more fun. You pecked his lips and took his hand ready to leave. "Definitely."

[staycute1234]

Hi Kay! I was just wondering if you have any worries you have right now? I saw Sally answer this question and I thought of you lmao! If you want to share them of course. I just care.

Oh anonnie

Well, since college is lots of fun, I have a 8 page essay to write that’s due tonight and i’ve been doing off and on cause I can’t focus. On top of that i’m going to have to present my paper to the class on Tuesday and I haven’t started my slide show. I also have to do my math homework and I need to study for a test coming up! And then my teacher dropped 4 different homework assignments all do by the end of the week and let me tell you that those are not short. I have an exam coming up, my best friend is preggo, my other friend is going to be going into surgery, my tax return is acting dumb and to top it all off I worked myself into a sexual frustrated mess cause i’m so bored of this essay but my 2 booty calls are as busy as I am and the third one won't do anything till after work and he is a bartender (so like 2:00 am) Then I have CM where I have hit another dead end cause I really wanted this chapter to be about ji.kook developing with lots of sex and shit but some how it became action and I hit another writers block thanks to everything else. Oh, and my brakes are grinding.

Plus side is, my manager gave me today off cause she is a G and the semester is almost over :D SUMMER BREAK CAN’T COME SOON ENOUGH