this paper is never getting written

anonymous asked:

40, 32, 41 fanfic ask

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

I would say something like, moving from ideas to execution. One of the multi-chapter fics I’m working on at the moment is a freaking mess because I have thought of approximately 10,000 subplots I want to include and I know that is NOT POSSIBLE. Plus I have a couple of ideas for developing friendships and other relationships among characters and don’t want to shortchange anyone, but if those scenes don’t move forward the story…I’m realizing they shouldn’t be in there.

And then there is the whole just writing it thing. As in, these scenes do nobody any good while stuck up in my head, and while I know they’ll never sound quite as good as I envision when I actually get them on paper, they will actually be on paper. But I like the part where I get to reread things I’ve already written better. (Sadly, this does not magically make new sentences appear.)

32. Do you listen to music when you write or does music inspire you? If so, which band or genre of music does it for you?

I can’t listen to music when I’m actually putting words on paper because it distracts my brain too much, but music absolutely inspires me and is an important part of my writing process. Listening to music is the way I come up with or work out scenes I have in mind. It’s like music videos for my daydreams, which become scenes in my actual writing.

I cannot pick a particular band, honestly, but I listen to a lot of ‘80s pop and ‘90s alternative stuff, and a lot of female-fronted bands/artists, so those probably play into it. I also occasionally check out more current stuff via Spotify and often will something that speaks to me.

41. List and link to 5 fanfics you are currently reading:

Okay, these are five of the multi-chapter ones I’m currently reading…there are a lot of single-chapter fics that I’ve recently read that I would also recommend highly as well.

Separate Together by @inelegantprose

Eretraa by @knightedrogue

revenge of the empire. by @hanorganaas

The Foundling by @aidanstein (jedi_fish81)

Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns by @chancecraz

Thanks for the ask!

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.

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.

Sam’s Ultimate Failproof Guide to Packing

Extensive Packing List

Warning: This will seem like a lot, but it doesn’t once you get there, and you can use your own judgment as to whether or not you will need something. Also, this particular list is geared towards my specific univeristy

  1. Bedroom
    1. Bedding
      1. Duvet cover and insert or comforter
      2. Matching sham
      3. Sheets and pillow cases (I recommend two sets of cotton minimum, one set of flannel in addition is optional)
      4. Egg crate topper (super cheap but super comfy after the first few nights—you may want to get a second one towards the end of the school year)
      5. Mattress pad—holds the topper in place
      6. Mattress protector (as recommended by an Anon). Some universities have bed bug problems, and you never really know what happened on your bed before it was yours, and this will help ensure a little more help on the cleanliness front.
      7. Pillows
      8. Stuffed animals
    2. Desk Area
      1. Stapler
      2. printer, ink, and paper
      3. Three hole punch
      4. Binders and notebooks
        1. For some classes you’ll want to keep every piece of paper ever (things related to your major and math classes), so these will need to be in binders.
        2. Math and science classes lend themselves to hand-written notes, so you’ll want to use a binder with loose leaf paper or the notebook of your choosing for those.
          *note* My personal favorites are Mead Five Start Flex Hybrid Notebinders
      5. Pens, pencils, Sharpies (you will use black and silver frequently for labeling random things)
      6. Tape dispenser (can be a cheap $2 plastic one, or a heavy duty, belongs in the office of a CEO one)
      7. glue sticks (yes, you will use them)
      8. Headphones
      9. Phone and laptop
      10. Phone and laptop chargers
      11. HDMI cord (literally the most used item in my dorm room)
      12. Power strip
      13. Desk lamp
      14. Post Its, paperclips, extra staples, push pines
    3. Closet and Laundry
      1. Leave your high school shirts at home unless you want to use them as sleep shirts. You’ll get plenty of shirts from your college or university.
      2. Hangers. Mine are mismatched and plastic and came straight from my closet at my mother’s.
      3. Hamper. You can choose your preference here. I prefer sturdy plastic with handles, but my roommate loved her fabirc one. Walmart has one that rolls, which is cool. Maybe you just want a laundry bag.
      4. Detergent.
      5. Fabric softener and Downy balls
      6. Dryer sheets
    4. Other
      1. Fridge
      2. coffee mugs (can use for tea, coffee, soup, ice water, milk for cookies, Spaghetti-Os, literally anything you can think of)
      3. microwave if you don’t have one in the common area/common area is far away
      4. Small table lamp or floor lamp (put this somewhere across the room from the desk lamp because overhead lighting is the worst)
      5. Books and movies
      6. TV (optional, I use mine as a second monitor pretty frequently)
      7. Video game console, accessories, and games (if desired)
      8. Purse/wallet
      9. Trash bags
      10. ALL THE CLEANING SUPPLIES
      11. Canvases, posters, pictures, corkboards, etc
      12. Command strips (the Velcro kind of the absolute best) and sticky tack (Loc-Tite brand, it’s blue)
      13. Keurig or coffee pot (if you’re into that) and all the fixin’s
  2. Bathroom – some of these are included because I have a bathroom within my dorm room
    1. Trash can
    2. Shower curtain, liner, and rings
    3. Bathmat
    4. Toilet brush and cleaner
    5. Plunger. Plumbing on campuses can be iffy
    6. Lady supplies (if you need those sort of things)
    7. Toiletries and makeup
    8. Some sort of caddy if you’re living in traditional or you’re sharing your bathroom with multiple people and don’t want to clutter the counter
    9. Toothbrush holder
    10. Soap dispenser
    11. hand towels, bath towels, wash cloths
love letters ❥ peter parker

summary : peter, hopeless romantic that he is, has a cache of love letters, all addressed to you, hidden under his bed and expertly crafted. he never anticipated them being read, or the feelings he has for you being returned.

word count : 3.1k (holy fucking hell i’m sorry)

   Peter couldn’t help it, the way that he was. He was a romantic at a heart, though the awkwardness of him had a tendency to prevail rather than the confident, smooth talking, small part of him that had a desperate desire to reveal itself. Spider-man was as suave as a fifteen year old boy could be; Peter Parker was awkward, inept at participating in normal, human conversation and often incapable of forming coherent sentences more often than not. He wasn’t the best at talking to people besides Ned and Aunt May and- on occasion- Tony Stark. Especially not you. If there was one person that he turned into an absolute bumbling, ridiculous mess around, it was you. He loathed himself for it, sure that you thought that he was weird, annoying, the same way that anyone who didn’t know him assumed he was. 

   Ned, however, continuously insisted that you found Peter to be a sweetheart, like anyone who got to know him well enough did, and that you liked him very much- perhaps more than a friend, though Peter had immediately scoffed at the notion. It was out of the question, downright ludicrous. But, of course, Ned had implanted the idea in Peter’s head, and now the boy’s ever creative mind refused to stop constructing various scenarios in which you were Peter’s girlfriend and he was as happy as he had ever been. 

    While he had been a perfectly charming boyfriend in each and every one of those little dream sequences of his, he was hopelessly lost for words whenever you approached him, unable to even ask what class you had next, let alone reveal the pure adoration he had been holding on to ever since you had been placed beside him in Bio in your freshman year. You had always been the one to stick up for him and smile at him and treat him like a decent human being, and so of course he fell for you, and now he could barely look you in the eye without his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. So, he bottled his feelings and let them out in a way he had never known could help him.

    He wrote. 

    He wrote to you every single day and poured his heart out in every single letter and expressed every thought he knew, in his heart, he would never be able to say out loud. Writing what he felt was so much simpler than saying the words out loud. That was what he assumed, anyhow. He took his pen and placed it down on the paper, starting it the same way he always did. 

   Dear Y/N… As always, the words spilled over from his mind to the paper as if he wasn’t thinking, just writing and writing and writing until he had filled two pages without lifting his curly head from the paper once. When he finally finished, a yawn stretching across his mouth, he noticed Aunt May standing outside his door. He turned his chair around, raising his eyebrows at her. 

   “Writing to that pretty girl again?” She asked, hand on her hip but wearing a knowing, soft grin. Peter, not bothering to feign shock, nodded solemnly and placed his pen down the paper. “You should think about maybe, oh I don’t know, actually giving her one of the letters you’ve written?” 

    Adamantly, Peter shook his head. “May, I could never. You don’t get it.” He swiveled around in the chair, spinning it until he was dizzy. “These letters are embarrassing. They’re practically my whole heart and soul on a piece of paper. She’d scream and run away if she read how I felt about her.” He sighed, placing his elbow on the edge of the desk and resting his cheek in his hand. He stared up at his aunt, still craving her sage advice. May stared back at him thoughtfully. 

   “Well, in my personal experience,” she came over and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze, eyeing the letter that was signed with Peter’s name, “girls are suckers for love letters. And you Parker men write the best ones out there. Trust me.” 

   Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, sure, I’m not an awful writer. But, I still can’t give them to her. I just can’t.” Before she could say anything else, he was folding it up and placing it on top of the shelf on his desk next to his books for English. “Uncle Ben was different. He was charming. You know that.” 

    May smiled wistfully. “I do.” 

    “And that’s one thing that I didn’t get from him,” Peter finished, shrugging his shoulders as he stood up from his swivel chair. “It’s fine.” He waved it off. “I’m happy suffering in silence. I’m gonna go to bed. Big English project starts tomorrow. Love you,” he kissed May on the cheek as she left his bedroom, switching the light off in her departure. He stared at the wall once he was situated in bed, mulling the conversation over in his head. Maybe May’s right. Maybe telling Y/N wouldn’t be as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’m overreacting. Actually, never mind. She probably hates me. Ugh. Life sucks. 


    That morning, when he arrived in his English class, you were sitting in the seat that had been previously occupied by Ned pretty much every class since the beginning of the school year. Sucking in a breath, Peter took his first step into the classroom. He knew he was a little late to today’s lesson, but he hadn’t realized he was a full fifteen minutes behind schedule. Ned was in the back with Michelle, giving Peter an encouraging thumbs up when he noticed his best friend finally arrive on the scene. Peter gave him the finger. 

   “Mr. Parker, lovely for you to join us!” Ms. Matthews declared when he decided to shove himself through the door, his heart jackhammering away in his chest and making its way up to his throat. He kind of wanted to throw up. 

   “Um, yeah, well, you know, sleep and whatnot- overslept, haha,” he coughed out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. The teacher nodded with faux sympathy, though he could tell she didn’t care that much for his explanation. “I’ll just, um, sit. Down.” 

    “Next to Y/N, please,” She instructed, waving her hand in your direction. “Since you were late and unable to choose your own partner, surprising since usually Ned is so eager to work with you, Y/N offered to be your partner.” The teacher gave you a fond smile, as every teacher did. “She can explain the details of the assignment.” 

    Peter gave her a stiff nod before sliding into his chair, and you noticed how rigid he was as he turned toward you with a slight frown. He seemed extremely upset to be working with you, but you wouldn’t let that get in the way. You liked Peter. Really, truly liked him. He was a sweetie whenever he actually talked to and different than the rest of the guys at Midtown. He was genuine.  

    Giving him your full attention, you beamed at him. “Hey, Peter,” you said cheerfully. He gave you a small smile in return, wringing his hands under the desk. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. Your own smile dropped, which he noticed immediately and felt awful about. “Sorry you didn’t get paired up with Ned,” you continued, taking your books out of your shoulder bag. “I know you would’ve preferred it that way-” 

    “No!” He interrupted quickly, practically slamming his hands down on the desk so hard you jumped in your seat, eyes wide. “Sorry, sorry, I just, um,” he laughed a little, his cheeks burning, “I’m, um, happy to have you as a partner. Really, I am,” he added as an afterthought, just to make sure you knew. 

   Your shoulders relaxed as you looked at him. “You’re not just saying that, right? You seem awfully stiff,” you teased, poking his uncomfortably positioned arm as you quirked a brow. 

    “Do I?” He was practically sweating. 

     “I was just joking, Pete. It’s cute, anyway.” Peter’s eyes, a shade of brown that you had come to think of as warm as honey, went wide and he gaped at you, but you pretended not to notice. “So, for the assignment we have to write a short story based on one of the assigned reading books this year.” 

   She called me cute

   “Shit… I think I forgot all of mine,” you were mumbling, your head practically stuck in your bag. “Did your bring yours, Peter?” 

   Oh my god, she thinks I’m cute. She thinks I’m cute. I’m going to faint

   You snapped your fingers in front of his cherry red face, trying not to appear as amused as you felt. He blinked owlishly, an apologetic half smile, half grimace on his face. He was cute most of the time, but especially when he smiled, even if it was only a forced, awkward one. “Do you have your books, Peter?” You repeated kindly. 

    “Um, sorry, I’ll check,” he answered, embarrassed about his utterly obvious staring that had just occurred. He rummaged around in his backpack before realizing he had forgotten them, as well. He popped back up, curls in disarray as his head brushed against the fabric of his bag. “I forgot them, sorry,” he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. It was kind of adorable.

   “You need to stop apologizing for everything, Pete,” you laughed. “It’s fine. We can get started after school. My place or yours?” You were already packing your things, and before he could think about what he was about to do, he said, “Mine.”   

    “Cool,” you grinned again, a grin that made him want to smile for the rest of his life. “Which one of is doing the writing? Or do you want to split it?” 

    “You’re a, um, fantastic writer,” he told you, having read your submissions to the school newspaper more times than he could count. “If you wanna take over, you can. I can edit and stuff.” 

    “Aw, I’m not that good,” you shook your head abashedly, looking down at your lap. “But thank you, Peter. I’m sure you’re great, too, though. Are you sure you don’t wanna write some of it?”

    “I’m not much of a writer.”


    So, you were in Peter Parker’s room. He was having his third heart attack of the day, and was incredibly grateful that he had managed to keep his wits about him for majority of the day. He had only tripped over his words five times, tripped literally twice, and dropped his Metro card once, but it was fine. You helped him back each time he fell with your usual grace, barely acknowledging his multiple social faux pas and only laughing once because he fell over a small dog- which even he would admit was pretty funny. 

   Still, his palms were sweaty around you and he didn’t know how he was going to survive working so close to you for the next week while the English assignment was occurring. He lead you into his apartment and you noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he twisted the keys in the lock. You walked into the apartment, the first thing crossing your mind was how cozy and homelike it was. You liked it very much. 

   “It’s really cute in here,” you said, smiling around the room as Peter busied himself with a glass of water. He downed it quickly. “Where’s your aunt?” 

   “Work,” he replied, catching his breath after the gulping down of his water. “Here, let’s go to my room.” He placed his glass of water on the counter and motioned for you to follow him, opening the door to his room and wincing at the mess in there. “It’s a mess, sorry about that.”  

   You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Didn’t I say stop apologizing?” You entered his room as if you had been there many times before, taking your shoes off and setting them by the door. You threw your bag on his bed and took a seat in his swivel chair, and he liked how natural it seemed for you to be in his room. He liked how comfortable you were, sitting there. Something about it made him happy. 

   “Yeah, my bad,” he shrugged. You tilted your head, pointing your finger at him while he raised his hands defensively. “It wasn’t technically an apology!” He took a step out of the room. He was finally being normal around you, he realized delightedly. He would still need more water, though. He could feel his mouth getting dry. “I’m gonna get more water. Want anything?” You shook your head, spinning around in the chair as he left. 

   Your eyes scanned over his desk, taking in every inch of Peter Parker’s life. He had bad books stacked everywhere, his desk was a mess, there were clothes thrown about the room. Star Wars posters, Avengers posters, notes scattered across the desk. You admired the artful messiness of it all. You leaned up to where his English books were, spotting the one you were most interested in and yanking it off the shelf. As you did, a folded piece of paper fluttered down off the shelf, just when Peter was walking back into the room. 

   “I thought you said you weren’t a writer, Pete,” you raised your eyebrows at him, holding the letter in your hand and waving it at him. 

   He almost threw up right there. “Um, I’m not, please give that back,” he reached for it, but you jumped out of the chair, raising the letter high in the air. “Y/N!” He whined, grabbing for it again. “C’mon, please,” he pleaded desperately, pouting at you with such intensity it almost made you want to give it to him. 

    “Can’t I just read a sentence, Peter?” You pushed out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes at him. 

     He almost gave in. “No, Y/N. Seriously, give it back.” He sounded scared now, upset as well. You pursed your lips, handing it back to him. He was so anxious about you reading it that it dropped on the floor, opening far enough so that you could see your name scrawled across the top in Peter’s defining chicken scratch handwriting. 

    “That says my name, so now I have to read it.” You stood directly in front of Peter, hands pressed together in a pleading motion, the expression on your face so genuinely interested that he had to give it to you. He picked it back up with a lump in his throat and handed it over, scared as ever. But this was what May had advised. Maybe she’d be right. 

    “Dear Y/N,” you read aloud in a loud, terrible accent, glancing back up at Peter as you read the line after that. He was staring down at the floor, preparing himself for what you were going to say when you read the letter, read his heart. You sat in his chair, realizing it’d be better if you didn’t read it so publicly. He sat down on his bed, waiting. 

   Dear Y/N. This is maybe the tenth letter I’ve written to you, and each time I say the same thing, so if one day you are reading this in proper succession, I’m sorry for being so utterly repetitive. You’ll probably never read this, though. And that’s why it’s so easy for me to write. I think you’re the only person to ever truly be interested in me when I’m talking about science. Not even Ned has an attention span that long. But you do. And you don’t know how much I want to thank you for that. You make it really difficult to not like you, to not be in love with you. I think that’s what it is… love. And if I’m not in love with you yet, then I’m certainly falling for you. Who wouldn’t? You’re a wonderful person without trying, you’re a beautiful hurricane, a sunset on the horizon of my bleakest hours, and you make me feel as if I’ve been standing in the sunshine for my entire life. 

   You put the letter down, smoothing it over your lap. You didn’t need to read the rest. That was enough. Peter gazed at you now, the way you’ve yearned to be looked at before, and you shamed yourself for being so blind these past two years. He wasn’t simply just staring. He was looking. Admiring. You slid next to Peter, placing the letter behind you. He moved his hand, curling his fingers around yours tentative as ever. Your free hand grazed up the side of his face, toying with the hair on the back of his neck before resting on his cheek. He shut his eyes. When he opened them again, you were so close that he was able to count each individual eyelash that you had, every single fleck of pure beauty in your deep eyes. 

   “I like you very much, Peter Parker,” you murmured. He felt his heart soar, and then, he felt himself kiss you. It was an out of body experience. He was there, he was the one kissing you, the one who had initiated it, but it felt like he wasn’t. He was up in the clouds, too far lost in the way it felt to run his hands through your hair as he had always dreamed of to notice Aunt May sneaking past the door, overjoyed to see Peter finally with the girl he had been loving in silence for far too long. You pulled away from each other, eyes opening slowly and hesitantly and your lips practically still connected. 

   He wanted to tell her that he adored her, but Aunt May’s voice flowed from the kitchen too loud to overpower his thoughts. “You read her the letter, didn’t you? I told you it’d work! Worked for your Uncle Ben and I was right as I always am!”

   He jumped up from the bed, sticking his head out of the doorway and pressing his finger to his lips. “Maaaayyyy, you’re embarrassing me,” he whispered-yelled, practically whined. “You were right, okay? Thank you, let me go get a girlfriend now. The girlfriend.” She beamed at him, but no one’s smile could shine brighter than Peter’s. 

    He retreated back into the room, and you were clutching the letter in your hands. You looked up at him hopefully. “I was thinking that maybe you could read me the other nine letters. If you’re up for it.” 

    Peter couldn’t possibly say no, taking a page out of his Uncle Ben’s book the way he should have done in the first place as he found the hiding spot for the stack of letters he had been writing for the past few months, sliding them over to you and feeling confident for the first time in a long time.

husband highs — tom h.

Originally posted by tsseract

author’s note: GUYS IM SCREAMING because i hit 1k and wow i just wanted to thank you guys by posting something. i love YOU THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF and since i never leave a link to my masterlist i thought i should this time so here it is.  → masterlist


  • tom would be the most extra fiance ever like he wouldn’t ever not talk about how he’s engaged to the most beautiful girl ever
  • LOL WHO AM I KIDDING HE’D SAY YOU GUYS ARE MARRIED
  • especially in interviews like he’d be on press tour to promote his movie and the interviewer would slip in a congratulatory and tom would be like
    • “thank you, thank you so much, really. i’m happy, my wife is amazing”
  • and the interviewer would be like tf i thought this kid was engaged
    • “it says here you announced your engagement yester-”
    • “WE’RE MARRIED”
  • and you’d always tell tom that he couldn’t go around telling people you two were married when you two JUST GOT ENGAGED
  • it was sending mixed signals everywhere
  • especially since tom liked to wear a ring on his wedding finger
  • he’d just wanted everyone to know that he was taken because if you had a ring showing the entire world that you were his, why couldn’t he have one to show off he was yours???
  • it was the cutest thing ever and it never failed to make you smile whenever you saw his hand 
  • anyways since he had to finish filming a movie and do a press tour you guys decided that your wedding would be after he finished both
  • that’s probably one of the reasons he couldn’t shut up about you to everyone because he was SO EXCITED
  • while he was away he’d always facetime you
  • sometimes he’d be so hyper
    • “HI MY BEAUTIFUL GIRL GUESS WHAT TODAY IS??
    • “it’s the second-”
    • “THAT’S RIGHT WE GET MARRIED IN 184 DAYS”

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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.
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.

“And?”

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anonymous asked:

Mcgonagall doesn't abuse her children in class, but she abuses them outside of it. She lets the weasleys boo and heckle first years. She let the marauders reign terror on the entire school on general, edcalating to sexual assault and attempted murder in particular. She punished a neuroatypical child for having memory problems by locking him out at night with a mass murderer on the loose. Am i the only one she scares, the only one who has flashbacks from such a biased teacher??

McGonagall is strict, but I would not say that she’s biased or abusive toward her students. And I say this as someone who is not neurotypical.

When we meet McGonagall, she breaks down into tears over Harry’s parents’ deaths and is extremely concerned for his well-being at the Dursleys. 

And yet, she maintains an outward expression of complete neutrality.

There’s evidence to suggest that she has a soft spot for Harry, but she’s also not afraid to bawl him out when she believes he deserves it. She punishes him harshly for being out of bed after hours in PS, is “white-lipped and furious” over the troll incident, threatens to take additional points if they go anywhere near the Philosopher’s stone, rebukes them for the flying car incident, calls him out in Transfiguration class, and gives him detention for getting himself into trouble with Umbridge. This isn’t to say that she doesn’t stand up for Harry at times, but I believe she toes the line very well.

Was McGonagall’s punishment of Neville harsh? Perhaps. But from her perspective, Neville had foolishly written down the passwords and then lost the paper, making it almost laughably easy for a murderer to attack her students in their beds. Neither she nor Neville knew that Crookshanks had stolen the password list. 

It’s worth mentioning that McGonagall is never described as targeting Neville. She’s quick to intervene when when Malfoy takes his Remembrall, is angry at Harry for getting Neville into trouble over the dragon (“I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?“), and doesn’t draw attention to his mistakes in the classroom. Which certainly can’t be said for several of Neville’s other professors, most notably Snape.

To cast McGonagall’s relationship with Neville in such a negative light seems to almost willfully ignore the HBP scene in which McGonagall defends Neville in no uncertain terms:

“Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I’ve never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it." 

Neville looked miserable and muttered something about "my grandmother wants." 

"Hmph,” snorted Professor McGonagall. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have - particularly after what happened at the Ministry." 

Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before. 

"I’m sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charm however - why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?" 

"My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,” mumbled Neville. 

“Take Charms,” said Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.”

As for McGonagall letting the Weasleys harass first years or the marauders “reign terror,” I would take issue with both the characterizations of the marauders/Weasleys general behavior as well as McGonagall’s ability to control it. For whatever else she is, McGonagall is human, and cannot be everywhere at once.

book ends — p.p. au

summary : there’s a little bookstore on the corner of a street in manhattan, and when peter parker gets a job there he’s not really expecting to fall head over heels for the cashier in charge — you. just your typical bookstore au, where peter isn’t spider-man.

word count : 3.4k

author’s note : i love this so much i’m nUTTING this is literally my pride and joy i’m gonna weep okay i know it’s long but literally my favorite thing ever okay i love you

gif credit : @hllands (sorry for not including it before, was not aware you made it and i did not mean to discredit you work in any way)

   A piece of white copy paper, written on in bold red ink and stuck to the front of the antiquated bookshop’s front door, is gleaming in the streams of sunlight that beat down upon it as Peter Parker makes his way down the busy street. He’s not usually one to spend much time in the city itself, only because of the unruly train schedule and the way that May worries herself if Peter isn’t home at precisely the time he said he would be. With the trains, you can never be positive that you’ll be getting to where you need to be in the estimated amount of time it says on the google, so he tries to never linger in Manhattan for longer than he has to. 

   However, it’s a Saturday, and he’s trying to figure out who will hire him despite his somewhat young age of only fifteen and his minimal work experience- which is to say, no work experience. He’s not even sure how jobs work, to be quite honest, but he needs to start pulling his weight around the house even if May insists that she’s doing just fine on her own. He sees her stress about the bills nearly every week, sitting at the kitchen table with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose and her glasses slipping down her face as she punches numbers into a calculator with the other hand. He sees the little exasperated sighs and the worry lines that she’s far too young to have and so Peter decides that he’s going to get a proper part time job in order to help her out. 

   It’s the least he can do; she’s taken him into her little apartment and treated him the way a mother would a son. She pretty much was his mother. And if he had to get a job to repay her for everything she does for him, he would do so without complaints. Which led him here, standing in front of the little bookshop on the corner that seemed to be empty save for someone sitting atop the counter beside the register, from what he could see as he peers into the dusty, sun streaked window. 

   The aforementioned piece of paper that’s been strategically placed smack in the middle of the front door- you can’t miss it if you’re trying to enter the shop- has the words NOW HIRING: INQUIRE WITHIN scrawled on it in letters to bold to be ignored. Peter pretty much has to walk in, the quaint little store is calling to him and he turned down this particular street for a reason. He believes in the whole everything happens for a reason type of ideal, the coincidences and the little things in life that were such blatant, blaring signs that Peter would be a complete moron not to listen to them. So, he sweeps his gaze over the sign one final time and then pushes the door open, the tiny bell atop the door jingling in a quiet but melodious way as he enters. He shuts the door softly behind him, then takes a long look across the stores. 

    There are books stacked in irregular ways next to shelves and on windowsills and next to the front door. The ones placed among the main window like an enticing display are anachronistic, perfectly classic; weathered and yellowed from their ripe old age and collecting dust like there’s no tomorrow. Peter supposes that might be part of the charm of the store; to make everything look old so that the hipsters flock to it, bees to honey or birds to breadcrumbs. But really, it’s the emptiest store he’s ever been in aside from his nearest CVS Pharmacy at eleven o’clock at night to pick up gummy bears for May when she was craving them that one time last week. He walks further into the store and sweeps his hand along the row of the new releases, the ones he figures people would be the most interested in.  

   You tilt your head to the left curiously, watching the boy with the nicely side swept hair and the gray sweater examine shelf after shelf, and he’s all careful hands and scrutinizing eyes and he’s pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he reads the back of a novel from the newer shelves and runs his fingers along the smooth spine of it and you have to admit, there’s a quite real possibility that he is, in fact, one of the cutest boys you’ve ever seen. Rarer still, he’s pretty much the only undeniably attractive boy to walk into this bookshop; the others were well under the age of twelve and hadn’t come looking for books willingly, they had been dragged in by excited mothers and begrudging older sisters. You shift from your position on the counter, your thumb holding your place in your book as you lean froward to continue examining the brunette whose eyes were glued to the shelves in front of him. 

    You slide off the counter and your shoes land on the wooden floor with a soft thump that makes Peter’s gaze shoot up in surprise, the description on the back of the novel in his hand forgotten. The book he’s holding drops to the floor as you make your way over to him, weaving through the maze of shelves like you’ve been doing it all your life before coming to stand in front of him. 

   “I’m supposed to ask if you need help with something,” you explain, brushing your hair out of the way so you can tap on the name tag hanging from your shirt. Y/N. “But you look like you’re fine over here. Unless you do need help…” You trail off a bit, hopeful that he does indeed need your assistance today because no, you don’t really have to ask him if he needs anything, you just kind of want to. Peter nods vigorously, bending down to pick up the book he’s let fall to the floor and shoving it back into place. 

   “UH- yeah yeah no I need help,” he says quickly, placing his hands into his pockets and thinking to himself yeah Peter, help with your inept social ability is what you need. Damn it. “I’m, um, I’m Par- no, no, I’m Peter Parker, not Parker Peter. That wouldn’t sound right. I keep doing that, sorry,” his face goes red as he grows more and more flustered. You watch him with thinly veiled amusement before grinning and sticking your hand out for him to shake. 

   “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you, Peter Parker, not Parker Peter,” you press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He releases a little breath, shakes his head at himself, then matches your handshake. You turn toward the shelf he’s been staring at for the past seventeen minutes, and it’s your favorite section: young adult. “So… what’d ya need? I’m kind of an expert around these shelves,” you motion at the books. 

   Peter tries to ignore the sweaty feeling on his palms where he shook our hand. “Oh, well actually, I saw that you guys were hiring and I- I need, you know, a job thing. I can do whatever,” he adds, eyes widening when he realizes that he needs to sound more qualified than he does. “You know, I like, read and whatnot… I can count money? I know how to put things in alphabetical order…” 

   “So, uh, basic human skills then?” You tease, raising an eyebrow. He runs a hand through his hair, giving a nervous laugh. All right, so he was pretty fucking cute. You had to give him the job. You’d be mad not to. You pretend to think about this, then you take him by the sleeve of his sweater and lead him to the register as you slip behind the counter. “Kidding. Don’t look so nervous. I’m like the least intimidating person ever.” I beg to differ. Peter’s hands twist the hem of his shirt around. “You’re hired. Fill this out and you can start Monday. I’ll let the boss know.” You hand him an application form and smile at him, his nerves dissipating as quickly as they came when he saw you. Your fingers trace over the cover of your book out of habit, and his eyes follow the cover. 

   “You sure your boss will be okay with you hiring a kid with no work experience whatsoever and bad social skills?” He asks, grabbing a pen off the cup beside your register as you shrug. 

   “The boss is my mom so… I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine,” you lift yourself back onto the countertop so you can peer down at him as he begins filling out the application right then and there. “Benjamin. That’s nice. I like it.” You point to where he’s scrawled his middle name in terribly messy handwriting. 

   “Yeah? Thank you,” he smiles back at you, but it’s soft and it’s sad even though he knows you couldn’t possibly have any inclination as to who he was named after. Swift to change the subject, Peter lets his pen rest against the paper and grabs the book lying next to you on the counter. “The Night Circus. What’s this about? Any good?” 

    He flips it over so he can read the back of it, the cover a shining black and red that he can’t help but run his hand over because it’s smooth and surprisingly nice to touch. You can’t help the way you light up inside when he asks you about your book. People never took much interest in what you read, and your friends had a habit of teasing you about your intense reading habits since no one else enjoyed it quite as much as you did. “Yeah! Yeah I love it so far, it’s about magicians and stuff but… way more complicated than that. Really good though. It’s right over by where you were looking earlier.” You point in the vague direction, but Peter is aware of what section you’re referring to. “I kind of just grab the books off the shelf sometimes and take ‘em home. My mom doesn’t really notice and there’s not that many people who come in here anyway so I have a big collection at home.”

   “That’s awesome!” Peter genuinely grins at you, chin perched in his hand as he hands you back the book. “When you’re done, d’you think I could borrow it? So we can have something to talk about during work. Plus it sounds interesting.” The smile you give him, absolutely radiant, is indescribably beautiful in Peter’s eyes and he watches you disappear for a moment only to return with a shiny, new copy of the book sitting on the counter. 

   “Mom doesn’t check,” you say again, your face heating up when your fingers brush against his in the exchange of the book. “Gonna warn you, though, I’ll be done by the end of the weekend, so don’t expect me to have the same book come your first day of work.” 

   Peter opens the first page. “Whatcha gonna be reading on Monday, then?” 

   You meet his eyes for a split second. Warm, watchful, careful eyes. Eyes that you could definitely see yourself falling for. “I’ll let you know.” 


   He’s indubitably happy for the rest of the weekend. He bounces his knee whilst on the train ride home, he grins to himself alone in his room as he lies on his back and holds the book above him so he can read by lamplight, and when he sits down to dinner with May he keeps blushing for no apparent reason as he eats boxed macaroni and cheese that May insists she could make from scratch if she really tried. 

  “You’re awfully happy tonight,” she remarks, taking a bite of the Kraft dinner and surveying her nephew carefully. “Anything special happen today in the city?”

 Peter shrugs nonchalantly, trying to play it off as if it were nothing special, but he knows that you’re special, and he’s only known you for maybe an hour and he had forgotten to ask for your number like the clueless idiot he was more often than not. Didn’t matter, though, because he was sure that he could get it on Monday when he headed over at noon. Thank the Gods for summer vacation. “Oh, um, nothing really,” he says, trying, and failing, to contain his excitement. “I just got a job and I met a girl and I like her already and now we work together and we’re gonna talk about books all the time and I’m really excited because I start Monday and she gave me a book and we’re gonna talk about it and I might fall in love with her but I don’t know yet but there’s a very strong possibility of that happening and I’m really really happy right now but that’s it no big deal you know?” 

   May blinks. Peter often goes off on tangents when he’s overly enthusiastic, or when he’s nervous. But she reaches across the table and squeezes his hand tightly. “Let me know when you’re positive that you’re gonna fall in love with her, because I’d like to stamp my approval on this one. I’m happy for you Peter.” May pauses, then says, “Don’t even think about giving me your paycheck.” 

   “May!” 


    Every morning from Monday on consists of Peter arriving at work with a cup of coffee in his hand, iced coffee because it’s summertime and there’s a Dunkin Donuts on every corner of New York City, promptly at twelve to see you sitting in your usual position with a book in your hand. You read rather quickly, and Peter can hardly catch up with the five books you go through each week, but he tries since he needs to be able to talk to you about something. After sometime, though, you start talking about things other than books. There’s science, and math, art, and school, and your parents and his Uncle Ben, and May, and anything and everything you can think of. But your day always starts the same. 

   Peter, walking in with his coffee in hand and a lanyard slung around his neck, his little ID picture adorably dorky because he’s half blinking but still smiling. He slides another coffee across the counter toward you- he eventually received your number that same Monday morning he started working there and then texted you asking for your usual order. Sometimes he gets you a donut, too, if you ask him. Then, he starts sorting through the new orders that have just come in, stacking them alphabetically of course (it was one of his special skills, after all) and calls across the store, “Whatcha reading today, Y/N?” And you’ll yell back the answer, typically a different one every two days, as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and marks the title on a list of what he has to read. He refuses to read Game of Thrones, insisting the show was much easier for him to follow. You practically threw a fit when you found out he hadn’t finished the Harry Potter series, so that was at the very top of his list and he came in this particular morning with a copy of the third book sitting in his shoulder bag. 

   “Morning, Peter,” you call out happily, not looking up from the pages of The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater when the bell overhead the door sings out an announcement of his arrival. You hold out your hand for your drink, and it lands there without hesitation. 

   “Good morning,” he grins back, pushing up your hand to see the cover of your book properly. “Whatcha reading today?” He looks up at you expectantly, taking a sip of his drink. You place your bookmark in your book and hand it over to him, kicking your feet back and forth. “Should I add this one to the list, too?” 

   “Yes!” You exclaim, waiting for him to be finished with the first page. “But don’t you dare read anything on it before you read Harry Potter, got it, Parker?” The warning is so playful it makes Peter laugh before he nods, taking his spot behind the register this time. You have to write up the chalkboard signs for outside the store, and it’s been agreed that you have the prettier handwriting out of the two of you. “My mom thinks you’re doing a good job helping me out,” you mention casually after a few minutes of comfortable silence, your tongue between your lips as you slowly begin drawing a purple stack of books on the chalkboard stand. 

   “Really?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised in surprise. He didn’t do much around the store, to be quite honest, mostly because he never worked the register. Even if he did, the way you did every day, there weren’t many customers that came in. You received more online orders than anything else. “I’m not even really sure why you hired me in the first place, honestly. I wasn’t qualified, like, at all, Y/N.” He laughs again, he’s always laughing with you. 

   You purse your lips, the pink chalk in your hand hovering over the book you were attempting to illustrate properly. There were a lot of ways you could reply to this. There was the risky way. There was the safe way. There was the in between sort of way. After an internal debate, you say, “Well, what can I say? I have a penchant for looking at pretty things, and, um, you’re not bad to look at, Peter. For a boy, you’re kind of pretty.” You don’t look at him when you say it, but he’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before. It’s the look of a boy falling in love for the first time. You can feel it in the heat in your stomach when you finally turn around to face him, standing up and brushing chalk dust off your jeans as he contains to gaze at you with that soft air about him. “What?” You lightly shove his arm. 

   “Wh- what? I mean, um, nothing, uh, nothing.” Peter runs a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully gelled way he does his hair every morning for work. “Absolutely nothing.” His face is burning red, eyes trained on the register like it’s the only thing he can look at without fainting, and there’s a trace of a smile on his lips but he doesn’t want to show it just yet. 

    You lean against the counter. In his peripheral vision, he notices the tiny smirk playing at the corner of your mouth, a smirk bordering on something gentler and kinder than you desired it to. Arms folded across your chest, staring at him hard. Your smile is burning as bright as the spring sunshine in April after a particularly hard day of rain the day previously, but he’s still not looking at you, so you say, “Did we just reach the part in the young adult contemporary novel where you start falling in love with me?” You see his hand freeze atop the register, and he can feel the way his cheeks are glowing too red to be blamed on the heat of the summer. “You know, I bet we did.” You move to make your way to the front of the store, but Peter turns around just in time to grab your hand and pull you into him.  

   His fingers smoothly slip through yours. “If we did, that’d be okay, right? You wouldn’t mind your love interest being… all me-like?” The self doubt is always so clear with him, but you bring yourself closer still with a shake of your head. 

   “You’d make a great love interest,” you reply softly.  

    The taste of cold coffee from Dunkin Donuts lingers on his lips when he kisses you for the first time that day, the coffee that he dumps copious amounts of sugar packets into because he can’t stand the bitterness but wants to keep drinking it. The coffee he loves despite the odd looks he receives from passerby that can’t help but stare at the boy with messy hair and a lanyard around his neck and bright eyes who keeps ripping open packs of sugar at the counter and pouring them in. You’ve loved cold coffee already, but you love it a little more now that there’s a new way of tasting it, and the next day when he walks into your little bookshop you’re the one with mouth that tastes like his morning pick me up- and neither of you have ever been more grateful for books in your life. 

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Essays in Existentialism: Movies

Jake was a romantic at heart and a huge fan of old b+w movies, and he and Clarke went to the old local movie theatre every Sunday to watch them. So when Jake dies, Clarke carries on the Sunday tradition alone…til, one Sunday, she meets Lexa.

The funeral was at 1pm.

At six-thirty, with no will left for the rest of the people that crowded in her house, the only daughter left the wake without a single word. Wondered straight out off of the porch with no real thought at all, not even missed by anyone in particular. 

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wrapped around your finger. (m)

pairing: kim namjoon | reader
genre: graduate school au / fluff, smut
warnings: sub!namjoon, begging, a cock ring, and light bondage. 
word count: 7,180
description: 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.

cr.


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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5

This is the best I could get. The full board is never shown. What’s on the board is interesting though.

>There’s a picture of three people, but the top is burnt and you can’t see their faces. Maybe it’s Flug and his family?

>”Get Pizza”

>”Get More Pizza”

>”BH Please Love Me” (It’s signed but I can’t quite make out by who)

>”Return DVD at 8PM”

>”AAAAAAHHHHHH” and “HELP ME” (most likely written by Flug)

>some little drawings probably made by 5.0.5

>”Monthly Plane”; Black Hat must really like planes.

>Some blueprints are written on lined paper, made to build a rocket, and what looks like a robot and a jail cell

>A mustache is drawn on a pink note, which could be a Markiplier reference.

Feel free to add anything I missed.

anonymous asked:

Can i request RFA+ saeran accidentally reading mc's diary and finding a bunch of cute stuff written about them? Your blog is AMAZING by the way!!!

So cute! Thank you so much:) 


Zen:

  • He was cleaning while you were out of the house
  • A notebook fell off a shelf and he picked it up
  • He never saw it before, so he skimmed through it to see what it was
  • He started seeing things about himself in there and realized it was your diary
  • His narcissism came out in a moment of weakness and he kept reading
  • He started reading about your whole perspective about how you met
  • He sees something about your opinion on his ponytail, and he skips those few pages kind of scared of them
  • He sees more of the recent entries and how you talk about how he takes care of you
  • And how he makes you feel loved
  • He’s super touched by it and feels his chest twinge a bit
  • He’s too absorbed to see you in the doorway
  • You don’t look too happy, but however you make him pay for it, he’s fine because he keeps remembering what you wrote

Yoosung:

  • You two were studying together somewhere
  • You had gotten up to get you both drinks
  • Your backpack fell over and this notebook came tumbling out
  • Yoosung grabbed it and the pages were just open
  • He knew he shouldn’t have…but he did read it
  • He just didn’t expect so much of it to be written about him
  • You were writing about how hard-working he was recently…and even had a few encouragements that you never
  • He starts getting into some of the more romantic moments you recorded
  • When you come back, you see his face all red and his nose stuck inside a book

Jaehee:

  • You were moving some of your old boxes around
  • It fell out and Jaehee noticed it said it was your diary on top
  • She didn’t want to be intrusive, so she gave it back to you
  • But you could tell she was curious
  • You hadn’t written in it for over a year, so you told her to go ahead and read if she wanted
  • She tried to downplay how curious she was, so she waited until she was in bed and read a few entries every night
  • The diary started before you two met, so she was intrigued by your early life
  • But then she got to the stories about you and her
  • Seeing how you viewed her, something inside her shifted 
  • She started to see you more as family, and sometimes she got a bit more sentimental around you
  • She never believed it was possible that someone could think of her that way

Jumin:

  • You had a bad habit of sticking any loose piece of paper into your books as bookmarks
  • Well, you were writing in your diary, got called for something else, and stuck a small piece of paper inside
  • Jumin came looking for that paper later, having written a note on it
  • You told him to go get it out of your book
  • He finds it, but his eye catches his name on the page
  • He couldn’t help but finish reading the page
  • He can’t help but smile at all the nice things you wrote about him
  • There was even an entry where you were complaining about some of his bad habits
  • And yet, he still felt warm inside
  • He doesn’t say anything about it and just puts the book back on the shelf
  • It slips out much later that he read it
  • You wanted to be mad, but Jumin pointed out that you did let him look inside it…and you couldn’t argue


Seven:

  • He’s just nosy
  • And also you two were in a petty, domestic fight
  • Your diary was sitting on the table
  • So he just opened it and read it
  • At first, he was enjoying the nice stories from before you met
  • But then he started seeing his name throughout it
  • He was actually getting really gushy reading about what you had to say about him
  • It was your raw emotions coming through the page and it was hitting him hard
  • That was until he got to the most recent entry
  • You were venting about the most recent fight, and he was getting salty again
  • He grabs a pen and starts praising himself on the last page
  • You found it later, and you were so mad and frustrated but also laughing

Saeran:

  • “I don’t really care what’s in that book.”
  • That’s what he said when you hurriedly slapped it shut when he came behind you
  • You weren’t so sure though, so you test him
  • You leave it on the table and hide somewhere nearby
  • He knows what you’re upto so he casually scrolls through his phone
  • But his curiosity overwhelms him
  • He grabs a pair of nearby tongs and pries it open so he doesn’t leave fingerprints
  • How you would find those you didn’t even know he was so extra
  • You knew what was in there, so obviously you let him read it
  • Meanwhile, Saeran was in shock to see how much of your diary was about him
  • How you felt about him and how he made you feel
  • He could feel his heart race a bit
  • He was absorbed that he didn’t hear you come behind him and tackle him in a hug

Check out our other headcanons~ Masterlist

The boys get back to the moonbase and make Angus sign a written contract that he will never touch protein powder as long as he lives. They don’t explain why and the expression on their faces makes Angus not want to ask.

Once Angus signs the paper they each keep a copy. When Angus calls Taako to catch up, Taako keeps asking him about it. Angus is confused, but Angus is… often confused when it comes to those three.

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

Like a Princess » Jung Jaehyun

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summary: “could I request a Jaehyun scenario where you are best friends and you like him, but you think he doesn’t like you because you’re on the bigger side. You have a lot of insecurities about your body, and Jaehyun sees that. He ends up liking you and tells you that you’re perfect the way you are.”
words: 1824
category: jaehyun x chubby!reader, angst, fluff
a/n: literally i need to write more chubby!reader scenarios bc they’re always so cute and i’ve only written like two i need more

Originally posted by neotechs

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You sighed, staring at the piece of paper you had just pulled out of the mailbox. It was finally here, the dreaded invitation that you had been hoping would never come.

Your sister was getting married, and she wanted you to be the maid of honor. That was nice of her, of course, if only you didn’t have to wear a dress. Being maid of honor drew another concern, which was that you would have to stand up on the podium during the entire ceremony, practically begging to be ridiculed.

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K A I R O S | 01 |

 /ˈkīräs/ 

(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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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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