okay time to get started on my essay

late night kiss pt. 2

A/N: Ahhh, thank you all so much for the wonderful love that ‘late night kiss’ has gotten! I appreciate every single one of you, and all the love is what motivates me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this part as much as you did the first.

Also, I might make this into a series with more than just two parts, but let me know if you’d be interested in a part 3….

summary: After the Spider-Man incident, you decide you need to tell your best friend, Peter Parker. It has some unforeseen, yet good, consequences.

pairing: peter parker x reader

01 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

You rushed into your algebra class, slamming your stuff down onto your desk, right beside Peter. He startled and looked at you with wide eyes. His cheeks were dusted with pink, but you chose to ignore it.

“I have to tell you something,” you said, looking at him intently.

“Wh-what—what—what is it?” he stuttered, rubbing his neck with one hand and then crossing his arms.

You raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior and then peeked at the clock. Your teacher was already setting up for class.

“You won’t believe what happened to me last night,” you told him. He raised his eyebrows in a gesture to continue, though his cheeks were starting to get a little darker. “Freaking Spider-Man showed up in my room,” you whispered, leaning in close.

Peter’s eyes darted down to your lips, but you didn’t notice. He laughed stiffly. “Oh?”

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When you’re feeling worthless and they try to cheer you up

I did alter this just a tad to keep it from becoming redundant.  I hope you don’t mind.  If you want me to rewrite it let me know!

Originally posted by yixingofficial


Junmyeon is a softie at heart, to be honest.  He’s such a gentle soul.  Seeing you so stressed over a project and just so frustrated with both your work and yourself makes him really sad.  He doesn’t want you to ever feel like you’re worthless.  That’s the absolute LAST thing he wants.  I see him as the type to make you get up and walk away from your project.  He’ll take you to lunch or for ice cream, then a peaceful walk through the shopping district.  He’ll distract you with cute plush toys and by making you try on literally everything that he deems cute.  By the time you both get back home, your shoulders are loose and the tension between your eyebrows is gone.  Instead, you feel a little more revitalized.  Junmyeon would kiss your temple and tell you not to stress so much.  “If you start feeling that way about yourself again, just remember to get up and walk away.  It’s better to clear your mind and come back refreshed than to sit there and beat yourself up.  I can’t have my jagi thinking so poorly of herself, okay?”

Originally posted by minseoxual


Minseok strikes me as someone who powers through tough times, but in a calm manner.  So say you’ve been trying to write this stupid essay for the past few hours and there’s still nothing but a blinking cursor on the screen.  You’re super frustrated and you just want to throw your hands in the air and give up.  Minseok is probably going to bring you some water, rub your shoulders a bit, and tell you it’s okay.  If you start berating yourself by saying you’re stupid or something, Minseok is going to turn your chair around and firmly tell you to stop.  ‘Just breathe’ he’ll say.  When you’ve calmed down a bit, he’ll have you explain the essay to him.  He’ll walk you through it in such a way that by the time you two are done talking, you’ll probably have a good, general idea of what you want to say.  I can totally see him sitting beside you the whole time, too.  Like, he won’t leave until you’re finished.  “See, baby?  I told you it wasn’t impossible.  You just have to remember to breathe and organize your thoughts.  Besides, I’m always here if you need someone to bounce ideas off of.” (cue affectionate bop to your nose)

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OGJKDSJKG OMG I JUST REMEMBERED SOMETHING WILD FROM COLLEGE  omg okay so every wednesday I had a 3 hour elective humanities class and the semester started getting so hectic I realized I wouldn’t be able to waste 3 hours every wednesday in the fucking class 

so I had a friend that had a 4 hour break during that wednesday that was friends with one of my other friends in class. and generally she would just sleep during those 4 hours MY FRIEND STARTED GOING TO MY FUCKING CLASS FOR ME SO MY ATTENDANCE WOULD BE THERE AND WOULD LITERALLY PARTICIPATE IN GROUP DISCUSSION AND OR SLEEP THE ENTIRE TIME AND ALL I DID WAS WRITE MY ESSAYS AND GO IN ONCE IN A WHILE FOR A TEST ON WORK I NEVER WAS EVEN IN CLASS FOR 


timdrakemockingjay  asked:

Hey Bren I think I remember a time in which Tim Drake nearly died, not in the event of being shot, stabbed or smushed under something but that one time that the power went out at Wayne Manor and Tim barely had any internet (some on his phone but that's no good without a computer) and it was out for a couple of hours and it was a good thing that Bruce came back from the other side of town to turn on the generator because Tim could have died that night. And I think you should tell that story. :)

I shall tell this story for you, dear friend.


Once upon a time, a rather horrid storm blew into the city of Gotham. Rain came down in torrents from dark clouds, making everything horribly slick and quite hazardous to our resident vigilantes.

With the rains and harsh winds, there was little crime to speak of, thankfully, so most of said heroes stayed in their homes, snug and warm while the weather raged outside.

And Tim, he was certainly glad that he did not have to run after small-time crooks or the rampaging villain of the week, but instead he was curled around a warm cup of hot tea, reclining in his favorite leather chair as he typed out the essay due tomorrow with his free hand. He was positively comfortable and cozy.

Until, that is, there was a exceptionally loud crack of thunder, and suddenly the room was eveloped in complete darkness. Tim froze, looking away from the glow of his computer screen and towards the window, where he caught glimpses of the rain pounding against the pane with every flash of lightning.

“Please no,” he whispered, glancing quickly down at the now-blinking battery symbol on the status bar of his screen. The power was dangerously low and Tim resisted the urge to smack his forehead. “I knew I should’ve charged it earlier.”

There was no way to know how long this would last, and the generator was downstairs but Bruce had forbidden Tim from going down there because he knew Tim would probably try to work on something and he was supposed to have a night off which was ruined now



Bruce really wanted to go home already. It was getting late, and he was tired. The chair he had been sitting in for the past five hours, which had at first felt amazingly plush and comfy, now felt hard and unforgiving against his back. But, he had promised Lucius that he would finally finish the stack of paperwork that had been waiting for him to go over.

Poker Face then suddenly began playing rather loudly in the room, and Bruce fumbled for his cellphone, mentally berating Tim for changing his damn ringtone yet again.

“Hello?” He answered quickly, not bothering to check caller ID in an attempt to stop the awful music.

Bruce you have to come home right now immediately,” came Tim’s breathless voice, and Bruce tensed at the barely concealed panic in his son’s tone.

“What is it, Tiger?” He asked hurriedly, unconsciously pushing away from the desk and standing. He heard Tim take a breath, before:

“The power went out, B. And my laptop is dying, my cell is only at half battery, and you hid my tablet– Which, that was super rude. I know I’m grounded but, still. Also I have that essay due tomorrow and I can’t write it while my computer is drawing its last breath as we speak and–”

Bruce sank slowly back into his seat, relief washing over him in waves, now that he knew there was no real danger. Tim paused, probably to draw a breath, so Bruce seized the opportunity to speak. “Tim,” he said as calmly as he could, fighting down the urge to just- Start cracking up. Honestly, this kid. “Tim, you’ll have to wait until I get home to start up the generator. Let me just wrap up some things and then I’ll be on my way, okay?”

“Okay but hurry. I would like to finish this essay by tonight and by tonight I don’t mean like, one in the morning, as that’s what seems to always happen. Even when I start early, it’s like time speeds up because the universe hates me and I end up rushing to get it done but–”

“Breathe, Tim,” Bruce interjected, swallowing back a laugh. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”


Tim. Calm.
what the fuck is this

Thinking about Bravely Default OTPs (my SW OTPs are boriiiing). This has spoilers.

And I was going to make it about ALL my OTPs but this was mostly Rindea …whoops. This is SOOOO rambling. I have Feelings and Thoughts on Rindea that are hard to explain.

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Nerd (C.H.)

In which you are a ‘nerd’.

This is sappier than a pine tree leave me alone


“Nice to meet you! My name is Y/N!” You gush excitedly,  walking into the classroom your teacher had told you to go to. This is your first time tutoring, and for unexplainable reasons, you’re ecstatic.

“Uh, Calum.”

“Okay, let’s get started. This is going to be so fun!” You’re not usually this cheery, you swear. It’s just… For some reason today you’re feeling good. Like, happy. Weird.

“Ummmm… sure. I’m not so good at, like, writing.” You nod, eyebrows creased. You immediately start to recall every writing technique you’ve ever learned, mentally ordering them form most to least useful.

“Okay, creative writing, or essays?”

“Both, I guess?”

“Hm… okay. How about you write up something real quick, short story, poem, research compilation, whatever, and I’ll proof read it. Sound good?”


An hour later Calum has finished his piece and you’ve proofed it once, twice, three times. He wrote a poem, and while it didn’t rhyme perfectly, and the cadence was a little off, and his grammar and spelling weren’t fabulous, the creativity is there. You can see that if he continues to work at his writing, he has amazing potential.

God, you sound like a teacher.


You’ve been tutoring Calum for three weeks now, and his writing has drastically improved. You helped him write an essay for class, and during your sessions he’s completed seven poems and three short stories. Today you’re sitting waiting for Calum in the usual classroom, at the usual time, but he hasn’t shown up yet. Cal hasn’t been late yet. You wait one, two, three minutes. you watch the seconds tick by. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen minutes. After thirty minutes, you decide to leave. Jeez, you really must be dumb. You actually thought the two of you were friends. God, what an imbecile.

As you stroll out the door, head down, stuffing papers into your bag, you run into Calum. Literally. Papers go flying every direction, fluttering down on the two of you lying on the floor.

“Shit, Cal. What on earth?”

“Sorry, I was, er, printing something.”

“What could you possibly need to print?” You ask, retrieving your papers. Calum opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him before he begins, “It doesn’t matter. You’re late, and I need to be home in half an hour. We should get started.” Cal nods dejectedly, and you feel a little guilty. But not guilty enough to apologize.


Half an hour later, you’re standing to leave, even though Calum hasn’t finished his story. Your nearly out the door when you hear Calum call your name.

“What is it, Cal? I really do need to get home.”

“I… I was printing off a song.”

“You write… songs?”

“Well, I didn’t before I met you. At least, not good ones.” You let out a soft chuckle at that, a small grin sneaking onto your face. “It’s for you.” At that, your heart drops to your stomach. Calum wrote a song for you. You sort of want to cry.

“Calum!” You run towards him, enveloping him in a hug. “That’s so sweet! Thank you.”

“I haven’t even sung it yet!” he protests.

“Well then, why don’t you sing?”

“Don’t you have to be home?”

“I may or may not have made that up.” Calum looks appalled. “Hey, I was angry!”

“No need to lie.”

“You’re such a drama queen, Cal.”


“My point.”

Calum begins to strum his guitar and sing, and in this moment with his smooth-as-honey voice filling your ears, you feel even happier than you had been that day you came bounding into this very classroom, completely unaware that you were about to meet the love of your life.


deer-of-light  asked:

When their kid enters school the thiefdads get a phone call from a teacher who's concerned because the kid won't shut up about how 'no really one of my dads is 3000 years old' and keeps interrupting history classes like 'that's not true, my dad lived then and he said the pharaoh was a poopy'. Bakura is confused because where is the lie???

My HC was that the kid only gets bare details of Marik and Bakura’s past. So the kid entirely accepts that his dad is a three thousand year old spirit without any further explanation. “What, your dad isnt?!”

“I’m concerned about your child. They keep saying that you were alive during ancient times?”

“Yeah, so?”

“They’re lying.”

“No they’re not–” Marik yanks the phone away from Bakura.

“Sorry about that! We’ll have a little chat about it tonight!”

MY dad said that the Pharaohs were all pointy-haired jackasses!”

“Remember, we don’t use bad words at school!”

Needless to say, the thiefs get A LOT of calls home for language in the classroom.

By the time high school comes around, the kid has to start writing essays on Ancient Egypt.

“Okay so the Millennium Items were created by Akhenaden”




anonymous asked:

HOW IN THE WORLD DOES MMB DO IT?! Scrolling through 6A portraits and then BAM! CAROL! I don't get it; she wasn't in a sexualized outfit, wasn't posing provocatively, wasn't urgently toting a big weapon. In fact, her pose was relatively quiet/non-showy and her weapon nearly inconspicuous, but I s2g I felt real fear for a second at her stare. There's just so much power behind it, so much awareness. Not even Rick's made me feel that way. Man, I almost feel sorry the Wolves once Carol gets to them.

Anon, you know I must like your ask when I let Rick on my blog;-) OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY, HOW DOES SHE DO IT? Yeah I legit have no idea, but I’m 100% with you in wondering how she can convey all of those emotions and evoke all of those feelings with one stare. I would be absolutely terrified to be on the wrong side of Carol, and I say that as one of the biggest Carol stans in existence. She’s the most loving person in the entire world, but the flip side of that is that if you’re going to hurt someone she loves … well. Good luck with that.

I cannot wait to have her back on my screen again. At work this past Sunday I realized it was only four weeks away and I was like … *taps fingers*. Every day I’m just so happy that Frank Darabont called MMB’s agent and offered MMB the role of Carol, that she accepted it, that she fought so passionately for Carol’s life and story, and that she has played every second of it so beautifully that she now gets promo material with the heaviest hitters, every damn time. It’s all my fangirl dreams come true, seriously. (And don’t even get me started on representation, because then this will turn into an essay and I’ll be late for work.)



[.gif by memoriesinatrunk]

Preference: He's Your Teacher

Harry: “Good morning, Mr. Styles,” You politely say as you drop your bag onto the floor and slide into your seat at the front of the room. “Morning, Miss (Y/N),” He says to you as he lifts his eyes from the paper in his hands and smiles warmly at you. “How are you this morning?” He asks, dropping the paper from his hands and pulling his glasses off of his face. He runs his fingers through his curls, inadvertently making your heart race. “F-fine,” You stutter, feeling a heat rise to your face. Mr. Styles chuckles and says to you, “I must admit, my day always gets better when you walk into my classroom.”

Liam: You groan and crumple your paper up, adding it to the growing pile. You’ve made attempt after attempt at starting this essay, and each one seems worse than the last. “Everything okay over there, (Y/N)?” Mr. Payne asks as he crosses the room to you. He towers over you, and you look up at him. “I’m not getting anywhere with this essay. No matter how many times I try,” You explain, frustration clear in your voice. With his eyebrows furrowed, Mr. Payne takes the seat next to you and says, “I know you better than that. You’re my best student, if anyone can write this essay, you can.”

Niall: You lift your gaze from the ground when you suddenly bump into a strong figure. Your eyes slowly trail upward, scanning over Mr. Horan’s body as he places his hands on your sides to stabilize you. You freeze as your eyes land on his. A soft smile spreads across his face and he says, “You alright, darlin’?” You don’t trust your voice just yet, so you simply nod in response. Mr. Horan’s hands linger on your waist a little longer than you expected, but you can’t complain. His eyes continue to study your face and the smile remains on his lips. Another student clears his throat, and that’s what seems to pull both you and Mr. Horan back into reality.

Louis: You bite your lip and slide through the door, hoping to sneak into your seat without Mr. Tomlinson noticing your tardiness. You quickly walk along the side of the classroom, and you’re almost at your seat when you hear your name. “(Y/N)!” Mr. Tomlinson squeaks. You spin on your heels and look at him with a guilty expression on your face. You swallow the lump in your throat as he says, “You’re almost ten minutes late! Good thing I like you, because otherwise you’d get a detention for that. However, I would like to see you after class.” You nod and just before you look away, you swear you notice a smirk on your teacher’s lips.

Zayn: “We’re playing basketball today,” Mr. Malik announces as he stands in front of the class, balancing a basketball on his hip. “For anyone that hasn’t played before, I’m gonna show you how to shoot,” He adds. He takes the ball into his hands and dribbles it at his side while saying, “(Y/N), can you please come up here and help me demonstrate?” You obediently stand and cross the small gym to Mr. Malik. He gives you the basketball, and gently places his hands on your hips as he shows you how to stand. With your back pressed against his chest, he says just above a whisper, “Good job, love. Now bend your knees just a little.”

I’m thinking about writing a dirty version of this one ;) Should I?