this paper is never getting written

some quick ideas based off @pepplemint ‘s soulmate name tattoos au where Allura has a soulmate tattoo that says “Takashi”:

1. The tattoo is written in Altean symbols, and Shiro catches sight of it one day when they’re training. They’ve all learned a bit of Altean by that point and Shiro thinks he can sorta read it, but it looks like it says ‘takashi’ but he’s not sure? So he thinks it must be an Altean word with similar pronunciation and he casually asks Allura what the word is and what it means. He’s thinking this is gonna be fun and hilarious, she’ll tell him what the word means and he’ll tell her how much it sounds like his name, it’ll be cute maybe he’ll tease her a lil bit about having his name tattooed on her arm…

But when he asks Allura gets all sad and shy and eventually tells him: “It says Takashi. It’s the name of my soulmate. All Alteans have their soulmate’s true name tattooed on their skin, but of course my soulmate must have died with Altea… Shiro are you alright?” becauSE SHIRO.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING does he tell her? should he say something? does she even want him as her soulmate?

Bonus: Shiro tries to think of a way to tell her that doesn’t come across as creepy or forward and he can’t think of anything and after about three days of agonising he just blurts out in front of the whole team “My name is Takashi Shirogane!” and everyone’s like ‘dude…… what?’ and now ALLURA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING because SHE SECRETLY SORTA HOPED

2. The tattoo is written in kanji, and Allura obviously can’t read it, so she just assumes her soulmate is an alien of some kind. When she meets the Paladins and Shiro, she ~secretly hopes~ he’s the one but nope, they all speak English and Pidge’s laptop is in English (she checked) and she’s never seen any other language from Earth so OH WELL GUESS THAT’S THAT

Then one night she’s sitting up late with Shiro and they get to talking about different Earth languages, and it’s news to Allura that Earth still has SO MANY languages, and Shiro starts talking to her about Japanese. And about learning English and Japanese as a child, and how Japanese sounds and how it’s written. He starts telling her about Japanese writing systems and how it’s written downwards and she’s so cute and fascinated that he just picks up a scrap of paper and goes “here, i’ll show you” and writes his name in kanji. And he shows her and says “that’s my full name, Takashi Shirogane”.

And Allura’s looking at it like… this looks HAUNTINGLY FAMILIAR. So she takes the scrap of paper and asks really shyly: “can i keep this?”. Shiro just thinks it’s adorable of course and says ‘yeah keep it’ and that night Allura goes back to her room and lifts up her sleeve and with shaking fingers holds the scrap of paper up to her tattoo and IT’S THE SAME.

A Lesson in Love (The Confrontation)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you’re assigned to write a story about romance, a subject you know nothing about, and Bucky, a hopeless romantic, offers you his assistance.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3,036

A/N: The tag list for this story is officially CLOSED. Also, this one is for Matt, the most fabulous resident I know, and all the other amazing residents who might be reading this.

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - thank you for everything, always

Originally posted by sebjpeg

You sit in silence, nibbling on your bottom lip and tapping your foot against the carpeted floor. You’ve taken your fair share of difficult classes throughout the years, but nothing compares to the discomfort that comes with someone reading something that you’ve written. It’s as if all of your thoughts have been placed under a microscope, leaving every single imperfection out in the open for anyone to see. After taking this writing class, you have a newfound respect for all the authors who are willing to put their work out there.

“I must admit, I was a little apprehensive when you said that you were planning to scrap your initial idea and start afresh,” T’Challa says, carefully lowering your laptop onto the coffee table. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and propping his chin in his hand.


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shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

wrapped around your finger. (m)

↳  Sub!BTS collab

pairing: kim namjoon | reader
genre: fluff, smut
warnings: sub!namjoon, begging, a cock ring, and light bondage.
word count: 7,180
in which a night of grading papers about robots becomes a night where you get your payback against rival grad student, kim namjoon. 
author’s note: this is a very, very, very late christmas gift to @jungnoir but better late than never amirite? anyway, enjoy this piece! also, this is probably the dirtiest thing i’ve ever written so… just let me live…. rip.


For many graduate-level students, there is only one day that truly means the world to them. It’s a day where they’ll be chosen to either teach a classroom or assist said person. In your university, pairs are created for these courses. Many of which are targeted toward impressionable first years but anyone’s welcome to partake in the experimental class. The department of any major -in this case, Philosophy- hears back on your progress at the end of the term, then from there even biggers decisions are made. The research component of any subject is easy, but being able to convey it to a large crowd is what the department heads look for. In all essence, it will make or break you as an aspiring teacher.

Your anticipation only proliferates as the red marks shrink the previous days to the forthcoming circle for the upcoming Winter quarter. And today is finally that day.

With a buzzing all-time high, you find yourself among the select eight in your graduate program. Many of whom are just as excited as you are, even Namjoon but you opt to ignore the silver-haired man just to keep your own buzz going. With some luck you won’t have to deal with him anymore. Hell, maybe you’ll even have Hani as a partner. Or Minhyuk.

Soon enough, Professor Lim enters, and everyone immediately sits straight and leans forward.

The salt and pepper-haired man laughs, “It’s good to see everyone looking so alive today.” Meeting each and every one of your wide eyes as he takes a seat at the head of the crudely formed circle of chairs by Namjoon, he asks, “Is everyone ready to hear the pairs for this year’s Introductory Philosophy class?”

There are nods and murmurs in response. Of course, they’re ready. They’ve been preparing for this since the start of the program.

His eyes twinkle beneath the mediocre fluorescent lighting before he gives a nod, “Alright, well, let’s get down to it then, yeah?” He receives a chorus of affirmations, earning another hearty laugh of his, “The following pairs shall be Namjoon and Y/N…” But the moment he says yours and Namjoon’s name, you can’t seem to register anything else.

Fuck… Out of everyone in the room, it had to be him.

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Escape {MYG}

Part 1 | Part 2

Description: You’re Min Yoongi’s professor. Min Yoongi doesn’t seem to care about that.

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 2,593

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Author: Admin Xiufairy

Just being a teacher was hard, but being his teacher was harder. He was Min Yoongi, a boy in his last year of college with you as his music professor. This kid had a passion, you’d give him that, despite the age gap not being that big.

The day he walked in with his hair dyed mint green, you knew it was over for you. He liked rap, more than the average rapper really did, and not only that, but he was good at it. Good was probably an understatement, you’d say he was one of the best rappers you’d ever heard, celebrity or not.

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1) Learn to put on your bracelets and zip up your dresses by yourself. There will be times when you will be alone.
2) Get on a long plane ride. Look out the window. Understand the immensity of our world. Understand your insignificance. Understand your absolute importance.
3) Press the send button. If you don’t say it now, you never will.
4) Do not sneer at happiness or roll your eyes at sadness. Be aware that apathy is not healthy.
5) You are more than the amount of people who want to have sex with you.
6) That pit in your stomach when he doesn’t text you back, it shouldn’t be there. No one should be able to control you like that.
7) Shopping is cathartic. Buy the shoes and deal with one-ply toilet paper for a while.
8) It will get better, but it will never be perfect. Learn to live through the small moments of happiness. When they disappear, remember they will resurface.
9) I promise that cookie will not change anything (except that it will make you smile).
10) Please, please, take care of yourself. You are everything to somebody. You are everything to your self. That alone is enough.
—  things to remember, -n.m.

“I have come to make you better,
I have come to take you away.”

Anon request: Stevie talking about her fans.

“For your own knowledge, if you ever think that you don’t matter, I want to tell you something. To me, you’re the only thing in the whole world that matters.” - US Festival, 1983.

“So this is like for me a very special time, because I feel wild, I’m very wild and so is my audience and there is that incredible … We are all in love, everybody’s in love and I feel it when I walk out on stage and they feel it… And its like, you know, it’s really deep and very much all consuming for me. I said a long time ago, I would not hedge. If I was going to be a writer I was going to write down the truth. I wasn’t going to name names and be unkind, but I was going to tell the truth. I don’t have any reason to not, and if I am going to write and I going to make these songs experiences that I know everyone of you have had, that when you have that experience and you hear that song, you’ll click into it and you will know exactly what I am talking about. And, those are the only people I care about, the people that understand that, if you read between my lines. No one knows unless you really look. That’s the people I write for, because someone needs to write about what is happening to all of us.” - MTV Interview, 1983.

“I would just like them to know how much I care about them. And to know that it’s not hard to give up the rest of my life for them because it’s what I want and I just want them to be happy and feel good. And I wanna enhance their life a little bit..” - MTV Interview, 1983.   

“I am in love with the people that I write songs for. My love is donated and dedicated completely to my audience. It’s very difficult for me to give. You know when I walk out on the stage it’s like that’s when I’m really me. When I walk home and go back into my hotel room, I don’t even want to talk about anything else, you know. In my heart, the love that I have for the people that I play for and write songs for, those kids that I jump off the stage and attack security… That they matter so much to me that’s it’s difficult for anything else to matter to me. I’m not willing to compromise. Anything that comes into my life is a compromise to me. I don’t even, I can’t go to the dentist or the doctor or anything because I have no time. So anything that comes into my life is a compromise, except my singing and my being there for rehearsal and my being there on Monday morning for that airplane and I am into the sea Tuesday night. You know that’s that Jim. That’s it. That’s the end. - Jim Ladd Interview, 1983.

“The people who listen to me sing, the kids in Australia, the kids in the United States, the kids in Europe, anybody… My friends, you, anybody who wants me to sit down and sing for them. That makes it worth it.” - The Meldrum Tapes Interview, 1986.

“When I look at the audience out there, it’s like I’m looking at my children.” - Record Mirror, May, 1989.

“Sometimes I’ll be sitting in an airport or someplace, waiting, absolutely exhausted, maybe I’m late for a rehearsal or something, and all I really want to do is be alone at home reading in a bubble bath. I’ll be just about to completely lose it when some shy person will carefully approach me and tell me about how much a certain song of mine helped them though a crisis or a time in their own life… That’s exactly what makes it all worth it. It’s all about love, and trust, and acceptance, and it is completely priceless.” 1994

“Well, you know, let’s see what is my relationship the fans? It’s everything, it is everything for me you know to know that people love my music, is like you know… It completes my life, it gives my life closure and makes me understand what all this has been for.“ - WMGK Radio, July, 1998

"Once I write a song that connects with people, they don’t ever forget that connection. So I think a lot of connections were made in the very, very beginning that made it last through now. Because those were such strong ties that were made then, that they just were never broken.” - VH1 Behind The Music, 1998.

“I just want to affect people, I just wanna get… And I get little notes and they’re all in my journals, you know, just like what you just said, a little note written on a paper that’s just signed “love, Amber”, and I never get to see Amber or talk with her in person but I have that little note that says “there were times in my life where I just thought I wasn’t gonna make it. It was dark; it was a dark place…” I think I get the things I’m supposed to get, of course I don’t get everything but I’ll go into my room and my assistant will have laid out like five or six things on my bed and I’ll sit there when I’m gone to bed, and I’ll sit there cross-legged and I’ll read these things. And then I’ll stick them into my journal so my journals are big anyway, but then they are like full because I have lots of things that I want to leave right where they were when I got them. I want them to be on September 19th, 2012. I wanna have them there always. I get the things I’m supposed to get and I talk to the people I’m supposed to talk to. That’s how I look at it. We are the chess pieces and somebody up there, the spirits are moving us all around and moving us together. And I’m not going away, I’m going to continue to write these poems for you as long as I can.” - Mill Valey Film Festival, October, 2012.

“I’m not married, I don’t have kids, I have a tiny little crazy dog who’s 14. I have my music that I love and what I do is I write stuff for you, that’s what I do.“ - Mill Valey Film Festival, October, 2012.

“We are not making this (In Your Dreams documentary) for us, we’re making this for you. (…) We are very, very aware as writers that you are going through the relationships that we are talking about, right along with us. It’s happening at this very moment to all of you here also, we understand that. You’re not a songwriter, we’ll write the songs for you. And we’re making you into songwriters and we’re making you experience your life also (through the songs) and that’s what a writer does. If this little movie does just a little bit of that, just reaches out and makes each one of you you sit at the desk with a pen, hopefully a pen and a piece of paper, this beautiful stationary, and writes down what happens to you and you’re doing what we are trying to do to make you do that.” - Hamptons Film Festival, October, 2012.

"We just bounce off of each other. I throw the dreams out there and you throw them back at me and that’s how we make this together. This is not anything that’s done by one person. It happens because we’re a team. And you are my team. You are. And I mean it.” - Canadian Premiere of In Your Dreams, April, 2013.

“You guys need music as much as I need to make music for you. I’m tired, but I’ll never be tired of this or of you.” - 24 Karat Gold Tour, 2016.

K A I R O S | 01 |


(n.) the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement

An arranged marriage AU. 

Paring: OT7.
Genre: fluff, angst, a lot of suggestive parts and eventual smut.
Word count: 3 352

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“But mom, I’m not going to live with a bunch of strangers-!”

“I had the maids pack your things last night, your bags are outside.”


Cliche is underrated. 

Especially when you just got kicked out of your own house by your ever so loving parents to stay with seven boys you’ve only heard notorious things about.

Oh, and you’re supposed to pick one to marry by the end of next month.

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Get this. Books that are still on tree stuff but not paper. Like the words grow inside the tree. And u have to cut down the tree and make it into paper to have the book. Theres no way of telling what genre a tree is and. How much is written. if u cut it down too soon the book will never be finished. What animals live in it affect the font.
Only pear trees make blank paper for humans to write on

Thicker than Water - Part 3

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)


Bucky x Reader series

Summary: Inspired by this post (x)
Being born and raised in a HYDRA family means you must be a devoted member to the organisation, carrying out orders with blind obedience. But after being assigned the suicide mission of being the Winter Soldier’s handler, you slowly start to question where your loyalties truly lie.

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mentions of nakedness

Word Count: 3171

A.N: BUCKLE UP KIDS! this is only getting started

Originally posted by ofallingstar

February 2004
0428 hours

“I can’t believe you’re working in the lab,” said Daniel as he inserted a new magazine into his gun, tossing his old one somewhere on the floor of the shooting range.

You were sitting behind him, feet propped over the small table while you leaned behind on a chair you had dragged all the way to the cubicle, smirking.

“I mean-” -he went on, gesturing with both hands but stopping once realized he was holding a loaded gun in one of them “sorry- it’s just- you’re probably the best shooter we’ve had and they’re making you waste your abilities.”

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i want to write about you.
i want to write beautiful poems about you that tell you how extraordinary you are through my eyes.

there are so many sheets of paper on my bed from trying and trying to write about you.

but i can’t write about you,
for you are so much greater than any comparison, any adjective, or any metaphor that i can think of.

i wanted to compare the brilliance in your eyes to the stars, but i can’t.
because your eyes shine at any time of day.
and they are so much brighter than any constellation.

i tried to compare your laughter to my favorite song.
but eventually i will get tired of hearing even the most beautifully composed songs.

not once will i get sick of hearing you laugh.
your happiness holds more beauty than any lyrics anyone has ever written.

i want everyone to know that you are unforgettable.
you truly are incomparable.
you are far more wondrous and amazing and breath-taking than anything this world has to offer.

you are everything i’ve ever wanted.
exactly what i needed,
but nothing i deserved.

so i try and try to bring out everything
that i adore about you with my pen and paper.
but just like everything else,
it just doesn’t do you justice.
it never will.

—  why i can’t write about you // s.d

Fandom: Marvel’s Avengers

Summary: Snippets of Y/N and Steve, starting with the first time they meet.

Words: 3,146

Paring/Characters: StevexReader, Tony, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky.

Warning: None?

Author’s Note: So, I wrote this because inspiration struck and somehow I got carried away. I’ve kind of gotten into this short snippet thing since I’ve been short on time. I’d love to hear what you all think.

Originally posted by steviebarnesrogers

“Hi,” he greeted firmly, his voice deep and strong with a certain heaviness. His lips parted into a small, but still dazzling, smile. You could tell even then that didn’t happen often, that Steve Rogers kept focused. Yet, a funny thing happened, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, his seriousness faltered as you looked back at him. For just a moment his eyes relaxed as they looked back at you.

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the poet doesn’t get to move on.

paper burns, my love,
but my hands dont forget what was written.

i still have aches from two years ago
in my collarbones,
the ones you never asked about.

you two had a lot in common,
but i never showed you those poems
because they never left my pen.

and paper burns, my love
but there’s no way to burn my head.

I boxed in my apologies and shipped them off to you. But, the wind blew, the seas roared, the storm soared, the lighting struck- the box washed ashore. I wanted to cry and get a pen and paper out and write you a letter. I wanted to tell you that I sent you my apologies and hoped you’d hear my sincerity through my voice. You could always hear my voice, even through my written words. But, I’m glad my “I’m sorry” never truly reached you, even though I was. I realized I was sorry for a mistake I made, but not so much for how it all went awry. Your unforgiving nature and stance on your decision would have crushed the box with my apologies had it reached its destination. I don’t regret my decision to ask for clarity and it seems you don’t regret yours- to walk away in vanity. Whoever finds my box and opens it wide, will find sorrow between sorry. I hope they can find a way to ship it back, because I need to apologize to myself now for letting all this bring me down for so long.
this is how we broke up: 6 P.M. (Anthony x Reader)

Word Count: 1,602

Warnings: Super cheesy fluff at first.

Authors Note: this is a new Anthony series I’m starting so, if you’re into that… here ya go! this is kinda like a prequel if you will… (Alsoooo this is a high school au lol) 

Summary: this is how you broke up at 6 PM

this is how we broke up: 6 P.M. (part 1)

this is how we broke up: Missed Calls (part 2)

this is why we broke up: Scared to Receive (part 3)

this is why we broke up: Scared to Give (part 4)

this is why we broke up: Scared to Break (part 5)


May was your favorite month. Summer was just around the corner and the anticipation was bubbling in your gut. This year, however, was different. The relief you felt in the previous years was twisted into a ball of anxiety that seemed to scratch it’s way up your throat. You couldn’t bear looking at a calendar scared of what the next day could lead to. And of course. You set everything off till the last minute. Your worries all lay in front of you now as you shut your locker for the last time.

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Valentine's Day Drabbles: Red Roses

Originally posted by strongerbloger

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader
Warnings: [N/A]
Fandom: Harry Potter

“Morning” you greeted your house mates with a yawn as you sat down at your house table. Hardly any of them had seemed to of heard you. Everyone was chatting away about… Valentine’s Day. You had almost forgotten. Not that it really matter since you didn’t have a significant other.

Sighing you grabbed a piece of toast from the middle of the table and began to nibble one it. What a cursed holiday. Of course you thought this because you didn’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend to spend the day with or to shower you with gifts. This whole thing was just a reminder about how you were one of the few people in your year that wasn’t dating anyone yet.

The sound of wings pulled you out of your thoughts. The post, great… this is the part where everyone gets chocolates and flowers and you get a whole lot of nothing. Everything at first went just as you had suspected. Everyone around you started to have gifts drop in front of them. You were just about to leave because you couldn’t stand watching this anymore but to your great surprise just as you stood up and bunch of roses were dropped right in front of you. You felt several eyes on you and for a second you didn’t react.

“Who’s it from” a girl sitting next to you asked snapping you out of your daze. You checked the card that came with the flowers but all it said was.

From: your secret admirer

“I don’t know…” you finally replied in a small voice. What you didn’t know was this was only a start to a wild Valentine’s Day.

You couldn’t pay attention to a thing Professor Snape was saying. Your mind was on the flowers. Who could of sent those to you? You’ve never had a secret admirer before.

Out of nowhere a white dove landed on your desk. You jumped but no one seemed to notice the bird but you. Soon you realized it was made of paper and you unfolded it and revealed a message that was written upon the paper.

Meet me in the Astronomy Tower after supper

You looked around to see if you could guess who sent you the message but no one was paying you any attention. You guessed you’d just have to wait and see.

After supper you practically pushed past several students so you could get the Astronomy Tower. You’ve hardly been able to think of anything but this moment all day.

No one was there when you arrived so you decided to just stare out into the sky. It was actually a nice evening. There was a slight chill in the air but other than that the sky was absolutely breath taking.

About ten minutes past than you heard foot steps. You heart skipped a beat but the person who you saw wasn’t at all who you had expected it to be.


He shot you that signature smirk of his.
“Did you like the roses”.

Part of you felt a bit uneasy about this. You weren’t a hundred percent sure this wasn’t some sort of joke.
“You sent them?”.

“Well obviously”.

It wasn’t like you and Malfoy had a great relationship. You couldn’t deny the fact that you thought he was handsome but he was the last person you would have guessed sent you flowers.

Draco sighed “well isn’t it obvious? I thought you would have caught on by now” he paused and studied your face. Taking in all your features.
“I’ve fancied you for a little while now. Thought this would be a good way to do it. Was it?”.

A slow smile crept across your face.
“Yes, yes it was. Thank you”.
With that you walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek.
“But next time do leave your name so I know who the gist is from immediately”.

Draco smiled back “noted. Does this mean you’ll agree to a date?”.

“Oh a suppose Malfoy” you replied with a giggle.

It was only the next morning and somehow everyone had found out about you and Draco’s date. It seemed the best gossip at the moment and many people where asking you questions. You ignored most of them and told everyone they should just mind their own business.

Sitting down at your table you were shocked when an owl appeared and dropped to box of chocolates on your lap.

“I thought Valentine’s day was yesterday” someone snickered making you roll your eyes. Opening the card that was attached the box you couldn’t help but smile when you read the note.

From: Draco (see I remembered)

It's exam week at Starfleet Academy!

Where can all of our nerds be found?

Bones is asleep on a textbook at his dorm room desk with a half-drunk cup of coffee by his elbow. His lamp is still on from when he turned it on at 11 last night. It’s now 7 AM and he’s on call in an hour. He doesn’t know it, but the door chime is about to sound with a delivery from InsomniaStudent containing a venti mocha and three pieces of peach pie. Bones will later deny that he cried a little when he opened the box, but Jim totally had a hidden camera in the corner.

Nyota is up in a tree, laying in the crook of a limb while she tries to read <i>Gulliver’s Travels</i> to de-stress. It’s early afternoon and there’s a nice light breeze that carries some faint spring bird calls. She’s doing a good job of denying her immense stress right out of existence. (It’s okay, she has plenty of time to cry if she wants to when she’s alone and drilling away in the sensor lab tonight.)

Scotty? He’s buried in one of the workshops with seven rolling whiteboards and a partly-reassembled and heavily modified transporter laying around, knocking back three sandwiches and seltzer water. It is 2:47 AM. Time has no meaning. Life has no meaning. Where the hell did his PADD go? Is that a…beagle?

Gaila’s a whirling blaze of energy in the corner workshop in the engineering building. She’s almost perfected her project—a beautiful shining mini-warp core, a work of art. Gaila never regretted dual-tracking in engineering and conceptual architectural design. It’s 4 PM and after five solids weeks of work her baby was almost finished. It’s absolutely the right time to have some happy music on to dance to while she does the finishing touches. After all, these rooms are soundproof. Who’ll ever even know?

Chekov is peacefully asleep. His books are neatly stacked next to his bed, with his pad of notes and practice exams perched on top of the stack. He’s been working ahead in all of his classes for a few weeks now, and has almost no worries about the exams he’s got left. He knows he’ll do fine. He’s currently dreaming about the snow-covered hills of his home in Russia, where he used to build little armies of snowmen once upon a time.

Across from him, Sulu’s arm is dangling off his own bed, stylus having just recently fallen out from between his fingers. He’s muttering in his sleep. (Probably a nightmare about his upper atmosphere navigation practical scheduled for tomorrow.) He may be an amazing pilot, but he’s only human. He has every right to be worried about the flight test—it’s not every day you have other people’s lives literally in your two hands, hovering above the surface of a world in the narrow bridge between Earth and outer space.

It’s 12:32 AM and Christine is slumped back in her chair at a library table, staring with dead eyes at her pharmacology notes spread all over the surface in front of her. Her exam is in less than eight hours. Time has lost all meaning. Words have lost all meaning. Sleep is now an abstract concept for alien races. (Did she say that out loud?) Maybe she should go lie down on a bench—just for a few minutes, Carol suggests. Maybe you can go take your aerodynamics diagrams and die in a hole, Carol, Christine mumbles back.

Carol is also in the library at that ungodly hour of the night. She, however, is a night owl and feeling fine, unlike Christine. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered heading for bed just to get some distance from the possibly-homicidal Christine, who had been up for two days straight now and looked ready to commit grand arson against the textbooks or possibly a chemistry lab.

Spock is in his room, working diligently to finalize his graduate thesis. He is almost finished, and though he knows it is logical to get rest—that he will mentally perform better for his oral board review in the afternoon—he still finds himself awake late at night today, trying to find any single mistake in his calculations or errors in his rhetoric or grammar. With just the slightest shift of his chair, he gives a soft almost-sigh and reaches for his bottle of water. There will be time to rest when his work is complete.

It is 9:30 PM and the class buildings are mostly abandoned and empty, which is just how Jim likes it. He haunts the basement level of the oldest one, cross-legged on one of the the random sofa-benches lining the hallway. He’s got a PADD on his lap and thirty-two pages of research notes written in the last two hours (plus a message from Bones yelling at him to get his ass to bed before he passes out, that sleep is important and Bones is a worried about him). There are two papers already under his belt, one more to go, and two exams tomorrow that he’s knows he’ll do well on. But he never can actually make himself believe it, and so he’ll still be here, at 2 AM, trying to read about principles of leadership and warp core structural support while the words blur and dance in and out of focus. There’ll be time to celebrate and sleep when he’s finished exams and regained control over his twitching left eyelid.

dannymay day seven

This is a bit late (for me, at least), but it exists now. 

ao3 link here:

prompt: language/weather

Danny had never been good at English, even before the accident. Science was his strong suit, not writing essays and vocabulary. So it wasn’t a surprise that when Danny’s grades tanked, English tanked even harder than all the other subjects. Plus Mr. Lancer presented the subject in a way Danny couldn’t understand well. His parents got mad with him about it, but they didn’t really understand why it didn’t just… Click for him. But they were geniuses, and Danny may be good at astronomy and math (sometimes), but Danny was no genius. Which is why he never noticed that the language he wrote his English papers in changed.

Keep reading


Prompt #6 if you don’t ask her out. I’m going to do it for you + #362. “You have the most amazing eyes.” 

Warnings none, pure fluff

Pairing  Derek hale x reader

Y/n =your name. Y/h/s+c = your hair style and color. Y/e/c = your eye colour.

story -

Scott was leaving school with Lydia and stiles, when his phone buzzes. It was a text.

Derek: meeting, @ the coffee shop 5pm.

Stiles looked at his best mate with frowned eyebrows, “why is he always holding meetings in the coffee shop?” asked but Scott didn’t know too. “it’s like the 4th one in two weeks” he stated.

Lydia laughed, “your both clueless” stiles looks at her pleading to know but all she says is “no, if you don’t already know I’m not telling you” “I don’t care as long as he’s buying us cakes ” Scott answered.


You was having a busy day, the morning rush was double then normal. And now it was the turn of the after work rush. You had only been working here a few week but was good you remembered faces and orders the names of cups. Your new cakes where selling like crazy.

You looked at the time waiting for the tall dark haired man who’s name you had never gotten to come in. Over the past 3 weeks Mr Green eyes as you have secretly named him, Had come in twice a day. Everyday it was no lie you had developed a small crush on the hot mysterious man.

Today was no different 4:55pm like clock work Mr Green eyes walks in walks to your counter giving you a sexy smile that makes your knees weak. “you with your friends today?” you ask knowing lately he had a group of teenagers meet him some evenings. “yes” he simply answered his voice was smooth and melting. “2 coffees and two caramel hot chocolates coming up cutie” you replied. He went a little pink but chucked every time you said it. He was infectious the bright green eyes the wide grin made you smile even more.

You watch as he sat in the table near the back. Minutes after his friends walk in.


Derek handed out the group there drinks. After talking about new training ideas stiles was curious about Derek’s new meeting place. “Why do we always come here now, not saying don’t like it but what’s wrong with the loft?” He asked blowing the hot drink in his hand.

Derek didn’t answer but instead involuntary looked over at y/n the girl behind the small cake counter. That’s when it hit stiles. “NO you have a crush on her ” he shouted a little to loud. Derek kicked him under the table.

But Derek couldn’t deny it. He walked into the shop over 3 weeks ago to get cakes for Cora. That’s when he saw y/n for the first time. The was the sun hit y/h/s+c making it shine. She was smiling busy making an order for a snotty guy. He had told her the order so fast she missed out a cup of coffee when she repeated it. The guy sighed “no its 7 coffees 4 black 2 with sugar 2 white none with sugar 1 white with sugar and cream and an ice tea stupid girl don’t you listen”

Derek was about to say something to the man when the she looked at him “look if you spoke slower I would have heard and before you start some dumb-assed attempt to mock me, remember I make the drinks and I know what one is yours don’t test me darling” her voice was threatening mixed with bitchy sass as she spoke she smiled. The man waited with his head down. Muttering.

Derek was impressed with the she handled herself, something about her made his heart beat faster “what can I get you cutie ” y/n asked him. He smiled hearing her heart quicken similar to what his had done. After that Derek found himself coming into the shop twice a day just to see her. Trying to make small talk when he saw the chance.

“if you like her ask her out” Scott told Derek. He gave him a glare like he’d just said the worst thing ever. Lydia got up to get the refills as stiles and Scott talked Derek into asking the girl out.

Lydia came back with the tray of paper cups each one y/n had written each name. When they looked on Derek’s his name wasn’t there it was labeled ’ Mr green eyes ’ Derek smiled at the words. Thinking he never told her his name when she first took the order for the pack.

“coffee for Lydia hot chocolates Scott and stiles” she repeated slow as she wrote on the cups “and the other coffee” y/n had asked. Derek took the cup drinking out of it “that’s mine I don’t need my name one it” winking as he said it.

Stiles voice brought Derek out of his memory / daydream. “Derek…. if you don’t ask her out. I’m going to do it for you stiles said. "stop being a sourwolf” Derek froze as he heard a heartbeat behind him and a fimilar sent. Y/n was stood behind him.

“what’s a sour wolf? and what’s he gotta do” she asked. Derek clenched his jaw, looking at stiles ready to kill him. “sour wolf is a nickname for Derek” stiles explains to you. Laughing you take the empty cups. They teens all looked wide eyed at Derek to encourage him to say something. Lydia rolled her eyes “speaking of nicknames why do you label his cup Mr Green eyes” she asked y/n

You looked deep into Derek’s eyes answering her question but talking to Derek, know you knee his name making a mental note to give stiles extra chocolate and cream next time. “You have the most amazing eyes.” you said then face the rest of the group I didn’t know his name so he became Mr Green eyes” you smirk walking away.

Derek jumped out his seat grabbing your arm “y/n would you like to go out one day maybe for a cof” Derek stopped himself thinking a girl who works in a coffee shop wouldn’t want a date in a coffee shop “for something to eat.. Erm with me” he shyly said rubbing the back of his neck.

Your face went flushed “it’s a date” you smile back “yes a date definitely” he said back before going back to his table to face a overly excited stiles and giddy Lydia “sour wolf is in love” they said. Derek just smiled knowing they was right.