and just doodle stuff in on the bus or in waiting rooms

What I Like

Originally posted by sugutie

Excited chatter fills the room as students trickle in for the first day of class. Spirits are high, outfits are cute, hair is neat and makeup is perfect; you give it a few weeks until everyone is miserable and dressing in sweatpants with messy hair and no makeup. But until then you’re stuck at the front of the room, quietly waiting for the professor to enter and bring some semblance of order to the chaos.

You have no interest in public speaking and you don’t plan on going into the business field but you have a social science slot to fill and you heard from your business major friend that this class is an easy A. However, she failed to mention exactly what was required of the class and the moment the professor passes around the stack of syllabi, you’re only a few seconds away from getting up and leaving.

“I’m sure that many of you have heard that this course is an easy A,” the professor laughs as he takes his place at the front of the room, “and I’ll concede that this is true. If you are capable of working with another person.” There’s a mix of groans, cheers, and noncommittal hums before the professor motions for silence. “I know,” he laughs, “some of you are incredibly excited while others are incredibly annoyed. Either way, if you stay in this class then you have to work together. The last day to drop is next Friday. If you’re going to drop, I ask that you do it sooner rather than later. I’m going to announce your pairs today and if your partner happens to drop, we’ll figure something out. And you did hear me correctly. I will assign the partners, I want you to get to know a stranger. If you’ve met your partner before, that’s fine. If you’re best friends and have known each other for years, let me know and changes will be made. I’ll call roll and then we’ll get started.”

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anonymous asked:

um, if prompts are still open? high school AU, stiles was going to ask derek to prom, turns out he's already going with someone else so stiles keeps his feelings to himself, sulks at home with ice cream. this is kind of what happened to me so im hoping someone can thing of happy ending?

Someone is throwing stones at Stiles’ bedroom window. Stiles determinedly ignores it. Digs his spoon back into his chocolate brownie flavored ice cream, and turns up the television. There’s another loud crack from the glass, and Stiles jerks his head up to check Scott hasn’t actually broken the glass. 

“Go back to prom, Scotty,” he yells, loud enough for even the neighbours to hear. “I’m not sitting alone like some chump while everyone else gets their freak on.”

Stupid, dumb prom. Stiles had been psyched, originally. He thought it’d finally be his chance to try and be more than friends with Derek. To purvey his feelings. To shower Derek with all the fucking flowers in the universe and slow dance with him to Whitney Houston. Except, when he’d casually slash dramatically thrown himself in front of Derek’s locker, and declared they should go— For fun! As friends! Without Derek being aware of all the glorious, romantic surprises Stiles had planned, obviously— Derek’s face had scrunched up in apology. 

“Can’t,” he’d said shortly. “Someone already asked.”

“And, you— you said yes?”

Derek had shrugged, slammed his locker shut, “No one else asked.”

“But, I’m asking! Right now!”

“I can’t tell him no,” Derek had given him a strange look, “Besides, it’s not a big deal, right? We can hang out there, still do all the stuff you suggested.”

Stiles had been going to suggest awkward, first time, deeply romantic make outs behind the bleachers. He’s not sure that’d go down well considering Derek is actually going with a date. A date. 

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So, someone shared this post with me yesterday and yeah, this happens. Sorry?

On a warm and sunny Saturday morning (ahem, afternoon) Zayn wakes up and there is a little sad face in the inside of his wrist ;


It looks like it’s tattooed on him and he can’t really remove or wash it. Zayn freaks out a little because, he doesn’t remember drawing that on his skin. He doesn’t really understand why it’s there either. 

Almost magically, It just goes away after dinner, like nothing ever happened. 

He asks his mother and she tells him it’s a soulmate thing. Whenever his soulmate writes or draws something on their skin, it’s gonna appear on his own as well, “It some ways for you two to communicate, to find each other.”

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Love is Weird - Peter Parker x OC
A/N: I don’t even know what to say. I should not be up this late. BUT I DO IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL.


Request: This was requested by an anon. The anon asked that I used their OC (Juliana), so I did. We messaged, it’s all good. (hey wassup girl idk if y’all are reading this)

Prompts ( 1 , 2 ): “When you love someone, you just don’t stop. Ever. Even when people roll their eyes or call you crazy… even then. Especially then!” “Run away with me,” and “I didn’t think love existed until I started loving you.”

Warnings: Idk, asshole teacher, pissed mom, running away (attempt?)

Words: I don’t fucking know I’m not paid to do this (1378)

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Thorns and Needles (Ch5)

Chapter 5: I want to try 

As they were climbing into the van that afternoon after visiting and giving flowers to each person, Mark had a sudden realization: He felt oddly comfortable with Jack. Comfortable enough to let him see him smile and laugh. Comfortable enough to sit in silence with him and it not be weird or awkward.

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anonymous asked:

prompts :- “i’ve had a crush on you since kindergarten and we’re working on a science project together at my house but when i leave the room you dig through my stuff and find a box dedicated to you under my bed and no those aren’t the valentines day cards you gave me in the 2nd grade” au or “you kissed me on the playground the day before you moved away in the 4th grade and now your dorm is right across the hall from mine” au

If anybody asked him, Bellamy would say he hasn’t thought about Clarke Griffin in years. Years, actually. Not since she moved out of town the summer before high school. Not since she got drunk at her own goodbye party and ran off to the local playground they used to meet up at. When they were kids, they’d spend hours going up and down the slides as Octavia dominated the monkey bars. They’d pretend the whole thing was a castle, and the sandbox was a desert, while the spongy cork board platform was a minefield lying in wait.

As they got older, they still hung out on the lot, but they were too old for imaginary castles and moats. Instead, they’d camp out under the slide and play fuck marry kill, or sit on the swings and twist the chains, so they could spin around so fast it made their heads hurt.

At thirteen, Clarke was probably too old for that, too. At fourteen and a half, Bellamy was definitely too old, but that’s where he found her anyway, in the middle of the night, so drunk she kept nearly falling backwards off the swing. She was turning slowly, absently, and kept untwisting after just two spins. Bellamy took the swing beside her.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered, like she was telling him some secret. Like it wasn’t really obvious, with how much she and her mom had been screaming at each other lately, or how she’d downed half a bottle of some fancy champagne and then run out of her own party.

“It might be fun,” he said, but the words fell short because it was clear that he didn’t want her to go either. She was his best friend, one of his only friends really, and they’d been planning out their high school years for a while, now. Her moving away just after eighth grade didn’t factor into the plan one bit.

“It won’t,” Clarke said, firm, and then spun around a little so she was facing him. He turned and hooked their ankles together, so they could stay in place. “I’ll miss you,” she added, and then surged forward to kiss him.

It wasn’t a great kiss; it was obvious she’d never done it before, and she was drunk so it was a little sloppy, and she tasted like sticky strawberries, but she was also warm and soft and Clarke, so Bellamy kissed her back until she had to pull away to breathe.

“Now I’ll really miss you,” she grinned, and he laughed. And then she threw up on their shoes.

And then she moved away, and Bellamy has definitely not thought about her since. 

Which is why it’s such a shock, when he literally runs into her in the hallway, on the way to his dorm.

“Shit, sorry,” he starts, reaching out to keep the girl from falling. She’s a mess of textbooks and curly blonde hair, the kind of hair he hasn’t seen in a while. And she’s cute, and he’s seriously trying to figure out how to turn this into a pick-up, until she finally looks at him.

“Oh my god, Bellamy?” she says, and he knows pretty much instantly who she is. The mole above her lip’s kind of a dead giveaway. 

“Princess,” he says, because he’s an idiot. It’s probably creepy, that he even remembers some lame nickname from ten years ago. It’s definitely at least weird.

But Clarke just flushes a little, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, like it’s a nervous habit. “You got tall,” she says, a little awkward. 

Bellamy grins. The last time she’d seen him, they were roughly the same height, with her maybe a little taller. She was taller than most of the boys in her class, but it looks like she hasn’t actually grown at all since then, while Bellamy managed to shoot up another five inches. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You got,” he falters a little, because all of the things he wants to say–cute, gorgeous, hot, beautiful–might make her uncomfortable and god, that might actually be the worst thing ever. He just got his childhood crush back in his life, he’s not about to fuck it up by hitting on her. “Fashionable,” he decides, waving a hand at her paint-stained jean capris and those expensive canvas shoes rich people like to buy. Hers are falling apart. 

Clarke raises a brow, like she knows that’s complete bullshit, but at least she doesn’t call him out on it. “So you go to school here?”

“Yeah,” he says, thankful for the topic change. School is easy, he knows how to talk about school. He’s been doing the what’s your major talk for three years, now. “I’m a junior. Classics major. Actually, I’m this floor’s RA.”

“Oh,” Clarke blinks a little, surprised. She’s still so fucking cute, except now they’re both past puberty and even though he’s pointedly not looking at her boobs he can still tell they’re there, and the thought of that is slowly beginning to kill him. “I just transferred over from UCLA.”

“What are you studying? Last time I saw you, you wanted to be a vet.”

Clarke laughs, and the shock of her slowly starts to fade away. They can do this, he’s pretty sure. They can be friends, hang out. It doesn’t have to be weird. Their twelve-year-old selves laid all the groundwork for them. “Well, now I want to be a designer.”

“Cool,” Bellamy nods, wracking his brain. He always knew Clarke liked drawing, but he doesn’t actually know that much about art. “Like, clothes? Or HGTV stuff?”

Clarke shrugs. “Either, both, I’m not sure. There are just so many, and I like them all.” She smiles a little helplessly, and it shouldn’t be this easy, really, slipping right back into their friendship, but. It’s almost like she never left.

Bellamy starts walking her to her dorm, just two doors down from his, which will either be incredibly convenient, or dangerous, depending. “You’ll figure it out,” he assures her. “You’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” she grins, reaching up to peck him on the cheek when they reach her door. She slips inside, and Bellamy heads to his room in a daze.

Definitely dangerous, he decides, and pulls out his phone.

Guess who I just ran into? 

He only has to wait two seconds for a reply, because even though Octavia’s supposed to be in her chemistry class, she never lets a text go more than five minutes without responding.

carrie fisher

Obviously not, I would have just texted you a selfie with her, to make you jealous.

this is why u’ll never be a jedi bell. ur too cruel

I can live with that. Clarke Griffin just transferred here.

ur middle school gf??

She was never my girlfriend.

whatever did u get her number??

Why would I need her number? She lives in my hall.

omg !!!

Octavia what have I told you about punctuation?

fuck u bell 1st amendment go make out w ur gf or smth

Why do you have to type like that?

efficiency. so at least u kno when i kill u it’ll be quick <3

Bellamy’s sort of expecting to have to run into Clarke again, to see her. Or maybe seek her out under some pretense of RA duties, or something. He’s certainly not expecting her to show up at his door that night, with a bottle of cheap ABC store whiskey, and a construction paper card.

“I figured–it’s my first night here, so you owe me a welcoming party,” she grins, shaking the bottle at him.

Bellamy moves to let her in, and she presses the card into his hands as she passes. “You’re twenty,” he points out, and she makes a face at him.

“What, are you going to bust me?”

“I am the RA,” he says, serious, and it’s hard not to laugh at how quickly Clarke’s face drops.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, you could lose your job and I–”

“Clarke,” Bellamy takes the bottle from her hands with a smile. “Relax. I’m not gonna bust you.” He grabs a pair of solo cups from the stack he keeps on his desk, and pours them each a drink. 

He hands hers off before he looks at the card, grinning stupidly in spite of himself. “I’m glad you still make these.” She used to cut out pictures from magazines or coloring books and tape them to construction paper, making cards for every occasion. She made one for him once because his goldfish died. 

This one is a lot more sophisticated than the ones she made when they were kids. It looks like something he could buy from one of those boho art stores downtown. There are pressed flowers in the cardstock, and little pearly buttons sewn along the seam. In curly inked cursive it says I’m glad I’ve found you. And on the inside, there’s a little doodle of two kids on a swing set. It’s a moment before Bellamy can speak again, and when he looks up, he finds Clarke looking nervous, lip pulled in between her teeth like she used to do when they were younger.

“I’m glad I’ve found you too,” he says, and she beams up at him, flushed and perfect. And before he can really stop himself, he blurts out “I kept every single one of these you gave me,” and flops the card in her face.

Clarke blinks up at him in surprise. “What, really?” She looks a little skeptical, which Bellamy obviously takes as a challenge, so he downs the whiskey–only grimacing a little, because, god that is horrible and he will really need to start helping her get better alcohol. For her own good, clearly–and goes over to the tiny plywood dresser where he keeps all the shit that wouldn’t fit under the bed.

He pulls out one of the beaten up Converse shoe boxes from a drawer, and nods for her to follow him down to the floor. There’s a really soft navy blue carpet he bought from Home Depot, so it’s not actually that uncomfortable, and Clarke criss-crosses her legs and sits right up against him, leaning over to watch as he opens the box.

They’re all there, of course; he wouldn’t lie about that. He’s thought about throwing them out, or at least some of them, every time he goes through one of his spring cleaning phases where he has to get rid of all his clutter before it kills him in his sleep. But something’s always held him back.

It was the last bit of Clarke he had, and maybe it was stupid or sentimental, but. It felt important, to him.

And Clarke seems to agree, sifting through the piles, looking delighted each time she finds a valentine from second grade, covered in Sleeping Beauty stickers, because that was his favorite princess.

“You always really liked her and I never knew why,” Clarke laughs, rubbing at where one of the stickers has peeled away and curled in on itself, from age.

“She looked like you,” he says, because no matter how awful the whiskey is, it’s still whiskey and it does its job right. And because if he doesn’t tell her now, he probably never will, and honestly if nothing else she at least deserves to know.

Clarke’s head snaps up to stare at him, mouth puckered out in an o. It’s a little nerve-wracking but mostly hilarious–everyone knew about his crush on her. The other eighth graders used to make fun of him for it.

He smiles down at her, so she knows that he’s alright with it, he’s not pressuring her or looking for anything else. He just wanted her to know. He’d always sort of wondered what might have happened, if he’d told her when they were kids, still figuring shit like that out. He’d always sort of regretted not finding out.

“Aladdin was my favorite,” Clarke blurts, sounding a little helpless. “Because he reminded me of you.”

Bellamy’s not really sure who moves first, but suddenly she’s scrambling into his lap, and he’s pulling her in against him, and her mouth is hot and insistent on his, moving in time with her hips as she grinds down on him.

“You’ve gotten better at this,” he says, breath jagged, as Clarke moves to trail wet kisses down his neck. 

“I’ve had practice,” she says, and he can feel the flash of her teeth when she grins against his skin. His hands flirt with the hem of her shirt, until she just moves back to pull it off herself, and then he’s not sure if anything else happens because for the next few moments he can really only stare at her chest.

Eventually, he comes back to himself, glancing up with a shaky smile. “Sorry,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss her, softer and slower, so she knows he means it.

“Don’t be,” she says, more of a whimper, curling her hands into his hair. “So, what’s the policy on RA’s dating their sophomores?” She pulls back with a hopeful smile.

“It’s not, like, against the rules or anything, but they don’t like it.” He leans in to run his mouth over her throat until she moans again.

“Awesome,” she gasps when his hand rubs up her thigh. “I’ve always wanted to sneak around with a secret boyfriend.”

“College is when you’re supposed to rebel,” he agrees, and she laughs into his mouth.

Bellamy moves to press his face against her hair, breathing her in. She smells like paint and shampoo and peppermint toothpaste, and he is never letting go.

“I’m really glad I found you,” he sighs, and she throws her arms around him, hugging him just as tight.

“Me too,” she says, and it’s basically the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Bellamy wakes up with Clarke half on top of him in his tiny dorm bed, back bare and hair tangled, and marks running down her throat and chest, that he put there. He takes a moment to take it all in, before he has to reach over her to snatch his phone up, when it goes off.

Clarke makes a little unhappy noise in her sleep and rolls towards him, sighing happily once she’s on top of his chest. He has to spit out her hair and hold his phone above her head, to type, but he doesn’t even care.

Queen O, Empress Extraordinaire: did u get her number yet??

Bellamy bites back a grin and types No, because it’s technically true.

u r a disappointment bell

He almost debates not telling her. But Octavia is newly sixteen, and if she finds out he kept something like a long-lost secret girlfriend from her, she actually might kill him. 

But she is my girlfriend now, so there’s that. 

The next few texts from his sister are nothing but a lot of exclamation marks and some emoji’s he doesn’t understand. 

Then finally she sends, u both should have just done this sooner and saved urself like 7yrs of pathetic

Bellamy looks over at where Clarke’s buried her face in his side. He can see the curve of her smile, and she keeps snuffling a little in her sleep, like her nose might be stuffed. He reaches down to smooth the snarled hair from her face, and she sighs, leaning into his hand.

Yeah, he texts, But we got there eventually. 

ghtlovesthg  asked:

2. childhood best friends au. Everlark :D

I hope you like it!!!! this ties in with what i’m already working on for S2SL, so this could be considered back story… but its cute back story. so you will get to read more of it next month? 


“Pass the glitter.”

“You have enough glitter.”

“But Daddy needs more. He always says that the cupcakes I put the most glitter on are the best tasting ones. So, he needs more glitter on his tine’s day card.” Six year old Peeta says.

“Fine,” she huffs. She looks at the card she made for her Daddy. Katniss picks up the glue and carefully draws a heart with it. Then oh so gently, not at all like Delly who is dumping glitter all over the place, she sprinkles pink and purple glitter. She shakes it so it will spread out like how Peeta is doing it.

She sets it aside so it can dry and starts to watch Peeta. He has his little scissors, snips away at several different colors of construction paper. With a flurry of tape, glue and more glitter, he assembles a very colorful bird. He gently set it aside to dry, and Katniss picks up another card to decorate for Mama. She is busy working, but continues to watch Peeta, and she wonders who the bird is for. She knows that it’s not for his Mama, she left last year and her Mama said that she wasn’t coming back, ever.

Katniss finishes up the cards for Mama and Daddy. She even makes one for Prim and makes one for Peeta. She will wait until she gets home to write his name on it so he won’t know that it’s for him. Soon Mrs. Trinket is telling them to finish up, it’s time to go home. Katniss tucks her cards into her backpack and walks out to get on the bus with Peeta.


A couple of days later its Valentine’s Day. Peeta brings cupcakes for everyone, while Katniss brings chocolate. Everyone is busy putting the cards they have for their classmates into the shoe boxes they decorated last week. Impatiently they try to get their all of their work done. Mrs. Trinket has been a teacher long enough to know that they are too excited to do too much, so classwork is full of coloring and word searches.

Soon, it’s time to open valentines. Katniss grabs her box and goes back to her desk. As soon as she has it open, she sees the bird that Peeta spent so much time on the other day. She holds it up to her heart, and looks across the table to where he is looking at her. He has the card that she made just for him, pressed up against his heart. They both smile at each other.


Seventh grade

Katniss fixes the strap of her messenger bag and scowls at the hundreds of vases that fill the middle school lobby. Balloons almost reach the ceiling and not to mention the stuffed animals everywhere. It looks more like a florist than a school. Valentine’s Day is ridiculous, Katniss thinks to herself. Asking parents to send flowers to stupid middle school boyfriends and girlfriends. It’s like they are going to grow up and get married or anything like that. Besides, she knows that since Daddy died, she won’t be getting any flowers this year like she did last year. Besides, she could buy groceries for her and Prim for six months or longer with the amount of money those flowers represented.

She can’t stop the pang of jealously that makes her stomach hurt.

She continues on to her last class. Its art with Mr. Cinna and it’s her favorite. She adores Mr. Cinna and it doesn’t hurt that Peeta is taking the class too. As soon as she walks in, the many worries of her young life just fade away for the fifty minutes she is in there. She slides into her seat, with Peeta following right behind her. They both produce their sketch pads.  Mr. Cinna wants them to use the first ten minutes of their class to doodle whatever is on their minds as a way to get that stuff out of the way so they can listen. Before she realizes it, Katniss’ paper is full of roses and balloons. She quickly turns the page before anyone sees.

She knows that Peeta saw what she is doing. He never misses anything about her. Why would he miss that?

She feels Peeta’s eyes on her book and before he can say anything, Mrs. Corbin is on the PA. “Attention everyone. This is a list of people who have received flowers today. Teachers we ask that you allow your students to come and pick up their things now.”

Katniss only halfway pays attention and it’s actually Peeta who pokes her in the side when her name is called. She doesn’t miss the blush that spreads over his cheeks when his name is called too.

They walk out together with a nod from Mr. Cinna. They walk down the hall towards the lobby.
“Who sent you flowers?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I have no idea. Who sent you flowers? Clove?”

“Oh, I hope not! I’m hoping that it is Dad.”

“Oh, yeah. Is she still saying that she sent you something?

Peeta blushes. “She is. I’ll throw it away if it is.”

It’s a mad house in the lobby, with so many different kids in there getting their flowers. Katniss starts to walk along the tables, and has to do a double take when the biggest bear with a couple of balloons has her name on it. She blinks fast because it looks like something her dad would have picked out to send. She retrieves the card, and in perfect typed letters, it simply says, “from someone who loves you more than you know.”

She grabs the bear, like it’s a life preserver and she is drowning. Peeta comes back with his small bear and balloons and nudges her side. “Who sent those?” he asks.

She shrugs and shows him the card. He knows not to say anything when he sees the look on her face. Instead, he throws his arm around her shoulders and they walk back to Mr. Cinna’s room together.