ring out the old ring in the new

Pictures of Love (Peter Parker)

Originally posted by tomhollandhollaatme

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warning: None

Summary: Peter and Y/N have been friends since they were children and as kids, used to childishly flirt with one another all the time until one day, Peter stopped and so did Y/n. Y/N doesn’t realize it until one day looking through old home movies with Aunt May.

Author: Dizzy

A/N: This is just a fluffy little fic I thought up. I hope you like it!

Masterlist Request Any Of These


“Aw, May! I can’t believe you found these!” You cried as you held the old VHS tapes in your hands, each one labeled with a different point in Peter’s life, some titles including your own name. “We have to watch some of these.”

“I was thinking since you’re staying over, you, Peter and I could watch the ones you’re in. You know, reminisce​ in the old days.”

“May, I would love that." You replied, running your finger along the edge on the tapes, bringing back memories of Peter’s aunt and uncle running around with the camera following you two. "Peter! Hurry up, you slow poke!”

“Okay, okay! I’m coming! Jeez, Y/n, you can’t rush perfection.” Peter stated, waltzing into the room with a bowl of popcorn in hand.

He set the bowl down in front of you and May, who quickly took pieces of the snack as if they’d waited an eternity to eat.

“So much for perfection,” You said. “it’s a little too salty.”

May laughed. “Agreed. Now, Y/n, would you like to do the honors and pick out a video?”

“Gladly!” You chirped, leaning forward and finding a tape that caught your eye when you looked through them earlier.

You picked out the tape marked “Peter and Y/n at the park, age 4” and rose from your seat to put the tape into the player before sitting back down, leaning into Peter, who wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close.

“Mr. Ben!” Your little voice rang from the tv speakers as your childish grin appeared on the screen. “Watch me do a sumsault!”

Ben’s laughter erupted from the speaker as he focused the camera to show your whole body. “It’s called a somersault, honey. But, I’m watching you, okay?”

“Okay!” You cried before you got down in the grass and did a somersault. “Mr. Ben, where’s Peter?”

The camera changed focus from you to the surrounding areas, in search of little Peter. It finally found him sitting in a patch of grass surrounded by flowers as he picked a bright purple one.

Peter rose from his spot on the ground, the flower in his little grip as he carefully walked around the other flowers and towards you.

The camera then followed Peter on his walk from the patch he sat in to you while you sat in the grass, watching him approach you.

Peter threw his arm before him, pushing the flower into your face.

“Pretty!” you said cheerfully as Peter waddled uncomfortably.

“It’s for you!” Little Peter cried, pushing the flower into your face further.

You plucked the flower from his hand and gave him a confused look as he giggled.

“I’ll get you more!” He shouted before running off as you looked into the camera before the picture cut out.

“Aw!” May squealed. “You two were so cute!”

“I’m pretty sure Y/n was cuter.” Peter stated, smiling over at you.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you released yourself from his hold and changed the tape. Your heart swelled as your mind replayed Peter’s compliment and his gift giving in the video.

You had always has a crush on Peter, even back then when you didn’t really know what a crush was, or how one would show that they had one.

And Peter, well, Peter had a crush on you too. He always had. Even when you hesitated to accept his flowers or the compliments he’d throw your way. Even as children, he was head over heels for his best friend.

“I was such a dork. I know I was literally four, but man, I was a little weirdo.”

You had to admit, Peter with his little flowers was the cutest thing you’d seen in a long time. You thought it was sweet that he had tried to impress your little self with plants.

It was undeniable, from the very start, it seemed as though you and Peter were made for one another.

But, it seemed like all a cruel joke to you since Peter always seemed to be thinking about your friend, Liz. Always a boy with his head in the clouds as he talked to Ned about the girl he thought was beautiful.

“Peter!” You little voice called out for your best friend.

“What, bug?! I’m standing right next to you!”

You and Peter were about six years old, in costumes of your favorite super heroes. You, being Captain America and Peter being Iron Man.

You laughed as you watched the two of you on the tv screen before you glanced over at Peter, who’s arm was up around your shoulders again as he chuckled at the sight of you two.

“Peter, why do you call Y/n bug?” May’ s voice came through the speakers, dripping of kindness as sweet as honey while Ben focused the camera on Peter.

“Be-because Y/n l-likes lady bugs and she likes pretty flowers and s-she is my best friend! A-and she’s pretty like lady bugs and you, Aunt May!” Peter stammered as he spit out the thought out explanation, like it was a secret he didn’t want to tell.

It was then that you made a small squeaking sound and threw your arm’s around Peter’s neck, catching the little boy off guard.

“Thank you, Peter!” You cried out shaking the boy as you hugged him and placed a kiss on his cheek with a quiet smack.

Peter let out an audible gasp before pushing you away from him.

“Bug! That’s gross! You have cooties!” Peter cried out, wiping off the wet spot on his face as May scolded him for being rude.

That’s when the screen went out before it showed you and Peter tucked in Peter’s bed, holding one another as you slept soundly with light snores echoing the room. The screen went black once again.

You looked over at Aunt May, who had fallen asleep on the edge of the couch as you gazed up at Peter, your arm draped over his waist and his arm around yours. You didn’t hesitate as you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Peter tensed as he froze for a moment. His cheeks heated up as he bit back a smile before looking at you.

“I would yell that you have cooties, but I’ll refrain from doing so.” He whispered into your ear.

The close proximity of Peter’s warm breath on your cold neck and his words set your skin on fire as you playfully pushed him in an attempt to ease the tension you felt.

“Just go put another tape in.” You muttered.

“As you wish.” Peter replied before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and got up from next to you.

Peter, in all the time you’d been friends, had never kissed you on the cheek. Nor, had he ever crossed the line between platonic action and romantic difference.

It was an odd and new sensation you felt giddy about.

Yes, you had been kissed on the cheek by other boys, but it hadn’t felt the same as Peter’s kiss had. It was different, new and it made you feel as though you were on cloud nine.

Peter plopped down on the seat next to you as you changed position and laid your legs on him as you leaned back on the arm of the chair. Peter ran his fingers along the lining of your pajama pants as the screen came to life.

“Here, bug!” Little Peter cried, holding a ring pop out to your six year old self.

“A ring pop?! Thank you, Peter!”

You took the ring pop from him and placed it on your ring finger, admiring the blue candy jewel that sat on yellow plastic.

“We’re married now!” Peter hollered before looking at the camera. “That was an epic wedding, right, Uncle Ben?”

“The most epic, Peter.” Ben chuckled. “But Y/n is supposed to know when you’re going to be married. You have to ask if she wants to be.”

Peter then turned to you and smiled before speaking up. “Bug, do you wanna be married to me?”

You titled your head in confusion as you tugged at your “Save Ferris” t shirt.

“What does that mean, Peter?”

“What does what mean? Married?”

“Yeah!”

Peter looked at the camera, or the man behind the camera in an unsure manner before he let his eyes gaze back at you.

“Well, i-it it means th-that we share out candy and then w-we hold hands when it’s c-cold!”

“Then, I wanna be married!” You announced before you threw your arms around him and hugged him tight.

The camera went out before it unleashed a picture of you and Peter in your playhouse.

“What are you guys doing?” It was May behind the camera now as she bent down and watched you two play.

“We’re playing house!” You announced, your ring pop no longer had a jewel on it, but a bit of a slobbering mess.

“Uh huh!” Peter agreed. “Bug is the mommy and I’m the daddy.”

“And these are our babies.” You held up two of your dolls. “Nikin and Luke!”

“It’s Anakin, bug.” Peter corrected. “I named them, Aunt May.”

“Yeah, Ms. May, Peter named them after the guys in Star Wars.”

“It was better than the names bug wanted.” Peter added.

“What did you want to name them, sweetie?” May asked you.

“Ferris and Ducky! Like those people in the movies my mom and I watch.” You explained. “But, I let Peter name the babies cause I like him. But it’s a secret Ms. May, so shh.”

You pressed a finger to your lips as you shushed May.

“I can hear you, bug.” Peter said, not looking up from the play kitchen.

“No you can’t!” You snapped. “Cause I didn’t say anything!”

Then the screen went out and the tape was over.

You took a glance at the clock and then at Peter before you rose from your seat.

“We should probably go to bed. It’s late.” You stated as you turned on your heel and started to walk to Peter’s room.

“I’ll meet you in the room. I’ve got to get Aunt May to bed.”

You signed as you closed the door behind you and leaned up against it. Your mind was going crazy with all the memories of you and Peter and all the feelings you’ve felt for him being recorded in home videos.

It wasn’t until now that you realized Peter has feelings for you when you were kids, but there was no way he liked you now. Every time Peter’s eyes started to wander the lunch room, they weren’t looking for you, they were looking at your friend, Liz.

You took a seat on the bed as Peter walked in, his camera in hand.

“What’s with the camera?” You asked.

“I thought we could add some new memories to the home movies.”

“So you want to video tape me going to bed?” You asked, the camera capturing the confused look on your face.

“No, there was something else I wanted to tape.” Peter said. “Do you want to go out with me?”

“What? Are you messing with me?”

“Um, no? Bug, I love you. I always have. I just want you to know that and I want you to be my girlfriend because you’ve always been there for me from the start.”

“Oh, Peter. Of course I’ll go out with you.” You stated as Peter turned the camera tho face him.

You got up and stood before him as he positioned the camera to face the two of you. You looked into the lens. “You probably don’t want to see this.” You said before covering the lens with your hand and kissing Peter with as much passion as he had when he picked that people flower so long ago.

Flufflet #1 for @lifeinahole27, to help reward her for writing her CSBB story!

First up, some wedding (reception) related fluff–


Emma had initially been opposed to having a redo wedding reception, but once it became clear that the whole town viewed it as the opportunity to have a really baller victory party, there was very little she could do to argue against it. 

So everyone all got dressed up again, went back to the rooftop, and enjoyed the wedding reception that should have happened a week earlier. And Emma had to admit, it was kind of a blast, eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing the whole night.

Her feet were killing her as they pulled up to the house once the party ended. Snow and Regina had both objected pretty vehemently to Emma being the one to drive, but Killian was still learning how to drive stick, so what else were they supposed to do? Besides, they had to drive home; Henry had decorated the Bug with streamers and cans and a “Just Married (Last Week)” sign.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian said as they climbed up the front steps.

“What?”

“Let’s do this properly.” He reached down and lifted her up in a bridal carry.

“Killian, we did this already.” They had; right after the final battle, he’d carried her over the threshold, insisting that this was going to be their wedding night, come hell or high water.

“Well, now we’re doing it again. Don’t argue with me.” And over the threshold they went.

“I need something to drink,” she said, before he could carry her up the stairs. “Come on, we’ll do the whole wedding night thing, I just want some time to breathe, okay?” God, how did couples go right to wedding night sex after their wedding receptions? All she wanted to do right now was sit and watch TV. Was that normal?

He set her down and wandered into the living room while she busied herself in the kitchen. “Want anything?”

“Perhaps some water–with a little lemon juice in it.”

“Oh, good idea.” She grabbed and extra glass and grabbed the bottle of lemon juice from the fridge. Killian hated it, preferring to use real lemons all the time, but she liked the convenience.

He was smiling at her, almost like he was dazed, as she sat down beside him and handed him his glass. He took a quick gulp and then settled his left arm around her. “I had a lovely time tonight.”

“Me, too.” Mmm, yeah, the lemon had been a good idea. “I’m just glad Gold didn’t kill you on the spot when you offered to shake his hand. Did you hit your head or something?”

“Inviting him and Belle was your idea.”

“Yeah, because Belle’s one of your close friends. We had to invite Gold because we invited her.”

He snorted. “Are you truly upset that I’m trying to put the past behind me and make peace with him?”

“No, just … I’m surprised, I guess. I just thought maybe you’d settle for not murdering each other.”

“He’s a father again, and he’s trying to make things work with Belle. I suppose the best way to keep him from relapsing is to ensure he has the same safety net that I have.”

“Noble.” She sipped her water.

“I try.” She let out a long sigh without thinking. “Something wrong?”

“No, just … I’m glad we got to have our wedding. I didn’t get to really appreciate just how fantastic you look in that tux.”

He grinned. “Aye, and now I can tell you just how beautiful you are in your gown. You look like a swan.”

“No,” she said, her face hot.

“Well, perhaps more so when you wore your veil.” She’d taken it off halfway through the night, and if she was being honest, she had no idea where it went. Oops. “But I stand by my comment.”

“Swans are vicious,” she reminded him.

“And elegant.” He gave her a strange look. “Those earrings look familiar.”

She blushed. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Where have I seen them before?”

“Our first date.”

The look of wonder on his face was enough to make her want to melt. “Really?” She nodded. “Well, they’re lovely.”

“And that date was lovely,” she said. “Your own issues aside.”

“Oy, I think I’ve suffered enough for that one.”

They sat quietly for a bit as they sipped their water. When he finished his, he set it down on the coffee table (on a coaster of course), and took her free hand in his. “I can’t believe we’re married.”

“We’ve been married for a week,” she reminded him. She began to toy with his rings.

“Aye, and in a week, I’ll still wake up and think about how strange it is that we’re married.”

“Bad strange?”

“Never.”

“I know what you mean.” She still felt almost giddy that she had a husband.

She wished little kid Emma could see this–that she’d grow up to be a literal princess who was married to the hottest man to ever walk the earth. Hell, she wished twenty-eight-year-old Emma Swan could see this; it would have been way more mind-blowing than the son she gave up for adoption showing up to tell her fairy tales were real. Or at least equally unbelievable.

Something felt different. “Whoa.”

“What?”

“Your rings.”

“Well, I had to remove it to wear my wedding ring.”

“No, I know. I meant the other two.”

“What about them?”

“They’re different.”

“Aye. Swan, you’re very astute.”

“Killian,” she said firmly. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, and you’ve always worn the same three rings. What gives?”

He sighed. “I’ll never entirely be free of my past,” he said quietly. “I can’t erase the harm I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, the destruction I’ve caused. But I want our future together to be a happy one. I want to spend my days building something with you, with our family. It’s why I’m trying to make peace with the Crocodile.”

“If you’re trying to make peace with him, you might want to stop calling him that,” she interjected. He glared at her. “Sorry.”

“As I was saying, my darling wife.” His irritation was fond, at least. “Those rings were always reminders of the man I was. For a long time, I assumed I would always wear them, as a way of never letting myself forget to stay on the right path. But I had to part with one of them so I could wear my wedding ring, and it made me realize …” He took a deep breath. “My ring symbolizes all that now. I look at it, and I think of you and our life together. I don’t need the other reminders anymore. And so I decided it was time to find some new rings.”

“I think that’s great.” She lifted his hand up and kissed each ring, ending on the wedding band. She loved seeing it on his hand; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of it. “I do like the new rings a lot.”

“I’m glad. Your family helped pick them out.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, mostly your mother and Regina,” he admitted. “But your father and Henry approved the final choices.”

She looked down at his hand again. She’d grown so familiar with his old rings that the new ones had felt all wrong. But now? They weren’t wrong anymore.

God, she loved him too much. And now he was her husband.

“Killian?”

“Aye?”

“Let’s go have our wedding night.”

Power Rangers as members of different Lantern Corps AU

(Because I love DC and Power Rangers and I was bored so… This also became a lesson on a few Lantern Corps)

Jason- Green Lantern (powered by will) 

Billy- Blue Lantern (powered by hope)

Kimberly- From Star Sapphire (powered by love and rage) to Blue Lantern (powered by hope)

Trini- From Red Lantern (powered by rage) to Green Lantern (powered by will)

Zack- From Yellow Lantern (powered by fear) to Green Lantern (powered by will)

(this is longer than expected, it could’ve been a fic but I’m lazy)

Keep reading

The stranger in white

(A/N): THIS IS MY FIRST DOCTOR WHO REQUEST AND I’M SO FRIGGIN EXCITED

Request: May I request a Doctor Who x reader? Where the reader comes from the 1920’s, and she runs into the Doctor while he’s trying to solve a mystery. Somehow she’s brought into it and later on he wants her to travel with him.

Warnings: none 


Originally posted by doctorsherlockwinchester25

   “New York,” The Doctor states matter of factually, twirling around a bit on the spot as he takes in the old city. He hums to himself, appreciating how great the city looked back in the day before he’s bustling off again, a bit too excited about this new mystery he was attempting to solve. Things from all over the world from a range of time periods were suddenly showing up in the newer age, leaving the normal world rather confused and scared. And who better than the doctor himself to solve this mystery. 

   He walked along the streets, admiring the sky and buildings, not really paying attention to anywhere he placed his feet, ultimately causing him to end up in this situation. He’d misplaced his foot, atop someone else’s foot, causing the both of them to trip and nearly fall. 

    “Oh!’ The doctor chirped, quickly taking a step back from the person he’s just ran into.  “I’m so sorry-” The Doctor stops short when the person he ran into stands up straight, brushing off and dust or dirt from their white shirt. Immediately the Doctor felt captivated, pulled in by whoever this stranger was. 

    “It’s really okay,” Their sweet voice pulls the doctor back into reality. “I guess I should watch where I’m going next time,” The give him a polite smile before they stoop over, collecting the books the Doctor hadn’t even realized they’d been carrying. He then too, stooped down to help collect the books. His hand stopped however, a few inches above one of them. 

     “Where did you get this book?” The doctor questions, holding up some leather bound book with the title ‘Lord of the Rings’ printed along it. As far as the Doctor could recollect Lord of the Rings wasn’t crafted until the mid 1950′s so what was it doing in the streets of New York 1922? 

    “I found it-” The person whispers as they reach out to grab it, their fingers nearly brushing along the Doctors. “Some old bookshop…why do you ask?” 

    “May I see the first page?” The Doctor avoids their question, smiling warmly at the stranger. Despite the strange look they were giving him they nodded, ever so careful handing the book back over. Without a moment to lose he flipped to the publishing page, searching for the date. 1954. “1954,” The Doctor whispers, humming thoughtfully. 

    “Excuse me?” The stranger cocks their head to the side, a confused little expression overtaking their features. 

    “This book,” The Doctor continues on, paying no mind to (Y/N)’s little expression, no matter how cute it was. “Was printed in 1954 and we’re in 1922, don’t you find that just a tad bit strange?” The stranger looks at him with wide eyes, sparkling with curiosity. 

    “Well, I suppose it is,” The stranger merely smiles, as if the words the Doctor spoke were completely normal. “Do you care to explain exactly how a book printed 32 years from now ended up in my hands?” The Doctor smiles a bit, as he hands the book back to the stranger, his interests having drifted elsewhere. 

     “Well, I could tell you-” He perks his head up, his eyes glinting with a mischievous kind of excitement. “Or I could show you,” 

anonymous asked:

How do you headcanon Yuri will propose? Will it be smth planned or he'll just wake up one day and think it's the day? Will he be nervous? Which language will he speak? Will Otabek suspect that the proposal is coming? Ugh i have so many questions sorry

I have a little of this written out, but its on my other laptop which is getting put back together rn. I basically believe that Yuri will tell Nikolai that he wants to ask Otabek to marry him while they both go for a visit. Maybe it just so coincides with them finishing the restoration on the motorbike in Nikolai’s shed. 

After a long night of drinking and playing cards for spare roubles and Otabek has gone to bed early, Yuri pours Nikolai one more drink. He tells him that he wants to propose. 

After a discussion about the issue, Nikolai retrieves a jelwery box of Yuri’s moms old rings. There’s all kind of rings in there. Cocktail rings, her wedding band, maybe even some of his moms’ moms’ stuff. 

Yuri takes the box under his arm into his bedroom and tries to hide it from sleeping Otabek. Except Otabek is wide awake, sitting quietly with the lamp on. It becomes very clear to Yuri that Otabek has heard everything. 

So they dig through the rings together trying to find something they can pull stones from and make something new. 

Otabek points out that Yuri hasn’t really asked anything yet.

So Yuri asks, and Otabek agrees if only they can retire in Almaty someday. 

Yuri of course agrees. 

Jay-Z talked about old niggas speaking on Tupac when he had a nose ring. Shit is funny cuz a lot of these old niggas would come out saying that Tupac wouldn’t tolerate these new “soft” niggas in the rap game. They have this image of Tupac as some sort of hyper masculine icon or some shit when the nigga was rockin nose rings, corsets, and posed nude in a tub with gold on his dick and all that shit is 100% acceptable so to criticize the new niggas for their supposed effeminate characteristics and saying Tupac wouldn’t fuck with them is fucking stupid. And even if in the past he may have been less tolerant of that shit, who is to say if he was alive that he wouldn’t change his tune?

A long story about the glory of resteraunt work.

So a few days ago I was at work (im a flex manager at a restaurant and basically that just means decent pay but all the busy work and bs the actual managers don’t want to do). Basically all I was doing that day was training a new employee. So basically I was standing at the host stand with the new hire explaining to her her duties and yada yada when this lady starts doing that panic wave that people seem to do when they have the most minor issue.
But I sadly made the dreaded no return eye contact with her so I walked over.

With panic and anger on her face she proceeded to hollar across the room at me as I was walking over “this is ridiculous and I have never been more upset!” Of course I come over with a smile and frankly I was concerned when I finally make it over to her she proceeded to take her plate and shove it in my face “do you see this burger?!” She barked at me. And obviously I do it’s now in my face. I ask what is wrong with it and she says in a little calmer of a voice “this is undercooked!! It’s raw!!” I look at the burger and she is right the middle is heavily pink and I ask “well how did you ask for it to be cooked?”
She dead ass looked me in the eyes and said “I ordered my burger rare! I wanted my burger rare not raw!” (Now at this point I had to hold back a grin because apparently she doesn’t understand that rare is raw. So to prevent an issue with someone who clearly has no clue what is going on I apologise and I tell her we will bring her a new one. She calms down a little and I ask if she wants it cooked rare again and she says yes, so I find the server for that table to tell her to ring in a new burger and I’ll take the old one off her bill. The server rings in a new burger but sneaky her she rang it in as medium hoping that is actually what this lady wants.
Burger came out relatively fast took about 8minutes maybe 10 to actually get it to her. I bring it to her and apologies again and walk away. Not 5 seconds later she yells at my back “are you fucking kidding me do your cooks even know what they are doing in there?!” I stop and now in getting angry because now she is really starting to be rude. I turn around and she is literally standing behind me with this fuckin cut in half burger. She doesn’t say anything she just holds the plate to my face like a child and I examine the burger. Perfect medium cook. I look at her and ask “what’s wrong with this one?” “Raw!” She barks shoving her finger into the pink part of the burger. “how do you not see how raw this is?! My husband works in the resteraunt industry so I understand how busy Thursday nights can be. But how inept are your cooks that they don’t even know how to cook a rare burger?!”
At this point in starting to loose my customer service cool and im about to flip out on her about how dare she come in here asking for a rare burger when she clearly wants well done and wasting my time, my cooks time and the server’s time. Not to mention the two plates of food that are now going to be thrown out. But my general manager showed up to save the day and told her if she is going to make a scene and curse at a manager then she is going to have to leave. Well she didn’t like that very much and decided to scream and yell while we had to escort her from the building. She was going on and on about how corporate will be hearing from her. I really hope she sends something cuz I would love to post it. But long story short after she left I went to her table to apologise for everything and was shocked to discover they all work at a local children’s hospital. Maybe she was having a rough day. Idk. But my god I’ve never been more confused and angry at the same time.
Sorry for the long story. But I had to share it. Blew my mind.

shadeofazmeinya  asked:

to add more to the jackeoff sweet farmer boys (bc i love it so fucking much): after dating for a long time, they move in together/combine farms. Jack helps Geoff build a huge chicken pen, bigger than his old one. Geoff helps out picking corn and tending the fields. They adopt a dog, maybe two. just live happy lives on their farms. lazy days sitting out on their porch, cuddling close to each other, geoff reading as jack presses kisses to his hair and a big, fluffy dog is curled at their feet.

(heres what started all of this)

ring ring hello yes shade? im gonna need another 20k, times new roman single spaced essay of sweet domestic farming old men in Love please by next monday

okay but also? imagine them fishing!! 

“itll be so relaxing, jack, you’ll love it!” cue two miserable hours where geoff’s line NEVER bobs once (”you bought the wrong bait asshole!” “geoff im literally using the same bait as you” “WHY ISNT MINE WORKING THEN”), jacks line ALWAYS BREAKS (”GOD. FUCKING. DAMNIT I HATE FISHING” geoff sipping lemonade and watching his unmoving rod with the most dead inside look on his face, “what’d i tell ya? relaxing.”)

and jeremy. fucking. dooley. down the road happens by for two seconds and scoops a fish out with his bare hands (”look at the size of this thing! i think its gotta be 15 pounds, at least! how many have u guys caught?” “jeremy, if u dont leave right now im gonna punch u in the mouth.”) jack and geoff seethe for twenty whole minutes and vow never to go again

Scan - Friar Park

On 14 January 1970, George Harrison purchased the by-then fairly rundown property (apparently with 38 acres of gardens) in Henley-on-Thames, for £100,000.

“It’s a Victorian house, and when I bought it, it was about to be demolished, so I got it i its roughest state. Over the year’s I’ve fixed it up and it’s a fabulous place, a treasure of Victorian artifacts, even though a lot of things originally made for the house had been sold before I  bought it. But there are inscriptions all over the place: some in Latin, some in Old English, many of them poetry of obscure authorship.
‘Ding Dong,’ which I wrote in five minutes, came from some Tennyson carved over either side of the fireplace with little bells: 'Ring out the old/ ring in the new/ ring out the false/ ring in the true.’ Outside in the building where the gardener’s sheds are, carved over one window is: 'Yesterday - today - was tomorrow.’ The adjacent window has: 'Tomorrow - today - will be yesterday.’ And those parts became the middle eight of 'Ding Dong.’
The quote above the entrance hall says: 'Scan not a friend with microscopic glass/ you know his faults now let his foibles pass.’ Opposite, it reads: 'Life is one long enigma true my friend/ read on, read on, the answer’s at the end.’” - George Harrison, Musician, November 1987

Klaus Voormann about visiting and Eric Idle’s recollections of Friar Park.

Fight me- chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys! I’m still relatively new to this fanfiction thing, so all feedback is welcome! I decided to go with a reader insert, but these aren’t my strong point, so please be gentle. Sorry this chapter is so short, the next one will be juicier.
ENJOY!

Summary: Dean is fighting for money and meets someone interesting
Pairing: Dean x reader
Words: 870 (sorry it’s short) 

Originally posted by mylife-in--color

Dean Winchester had done a lot of stupid things for money. He’d snuck into bars to hustle men twice his age out of their hard earned cash. He’d taken dodgy jobs from dodgier people. And if Sammy was really hungry, he wouldn’t shy away from shop lifting. But this, this took the cake. But as Dean walked confidently towards the improvised ring, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

This was Dean’s first time at the sordid ‘fight club’ and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last. Run by the town’s local gang, the ‘club’ was a cesspool of the worst of society. Drug dealers, gang members, prostitutes, and errant teens like himself filled the space. All of them anxious for the violence to begin, impatient to see if their gambling paid off. Dean was agitated, the adrenalin already pumping through his body. He wanted to hit something. Luckily for him, he’d soon have the opportunity to.

He’d made it to the semi-finals of the night, winning his three previous fights with minimal effort. None of the guys had thought much of the pretty looking seventeen year old, until he had them pinned to the ground. Already having made a tidy sum of two hundred dollars, he knew he should pull out and not risk losing it, but his eyes were set on the grand prize of FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS. For once, he might be able to buy Sammy something new for his birthday.

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anonymous asked:

💗,🌹 for Merlin, please!

Would your muse prefer a large, public proposal, or do they prefer a small, private one?

If Merlin could have his way, he’d do it like this:

He’d sweep you off to his parents farm for the annual family Christmas party. Later that night, he’d ask you to go for a walk with Tessie, his parent’s old German Pointer who loves you. Of course the grumpy old mutt would have the ring on her collar, because the Tessie/Merlin duo is a complicated but loving one (she bites him a lot). He’d make some joke about Tessie’s new bling, and while you looked, he’d get down on one knee in the snow and ask.

When you got back to the house, his entire family would go nuts when they spotted the ring while you clutched a glass of champagne looking as happy as ever beside him…

Huh… It’s almost like he’s got it planned out or something.

How would your muse react to romantic gestures, expected or not?

He takes whatever he can get – but the sweet, small ones get him the most. Remembering how much he loves raspberry danishes, getting his coffee order right, buying him his favorite aftershave when he’s almost out, little sticky notes wishing him a good day slapped to his desktop monitor… 

He loves it, and you.

Akuma Island

So, I’ve been listening to way too much Descendants 2 music, and the idea of a Descendants AU wouldn’t get out of my mind, so I accidentally plotted a fic with @megatraven and thought I’d bullet fic it, since I can’t even finish the things I’ve started, much less hope to finish another story that would almost certainly be a multichapter fic.

Adding a read more, because this wound up being longer than I expected.

  • Okay, so Marinette and Adrien are prince and princess of two neighboring kingdoms in a fairy tale sort of environment. Things are great.
  • Then, Hawkmoth shows up and akumatizes someone.
  • They can’t figure out how to stop it, and they don’t know what the akumatized victims want, besides chaos and destruction, so the queens and kings agree to send their akumatized citizens to Akuma Island, where they won’t be able to use their powers or hurt anyone.

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onceuponadisneypotter  asked:

listen I am always a wreck for Remus & Sirius making up for lost time after Azkaban so i mean which headcanons do you have

OH GOD. I HAVE SO MANY HEADCANONS. ALL THE HEADCANONS.

- Remus is aware of how Sirius was treated in Azkaban, so he does everything he can to pamper him. Aka he buys him soft clothes, runs him baths, gets him the expensive awesome smelling laundry detergent, etc.
- He also gets Sirius dog toys, because why not? Padfoot gets far too excited, but it makes Remus smile so that’s okay.
- Sirius doesn’t know how to make up for it, except by being close to Remus. He probably hovers. He puts pictures of himself in all of Remus’s cloaks and he writes personal notes on the back, small little things that he appreciates about Remus like “I love the way you smile when you get tired” or “waking up next to you is the best feeling in the world and I love you” (hint: all the notes contain the word love at least once).

- Sirius runs his hands over Remus’ scars and he kisses every single one of them, taking extra care of the ones that are new. He remembers all the old ones.
- They sleep together. Sleep-sleep, with fluffy blankets piled up high and Remus’ arms comforting around Sirius’ waist to remind him that he’s not in Azkaban and he’s being kept safe.
- Sirius might have a bunch of new soft clothes given to him by Remus, but he mostly just steals Remus’s things. They smell of him, they make him feel better than anything could.
- They have rings made for each other, although they don’t know that they’ve done the same thing until Sirius gives his ring to Remus and Remus barks out a laugh. Molly calls them an old married couple, and they easily agree–because it’s true.
- They talk until deep into the night, but not about the bad&sad. It’s all about the good things, Remus tells Sirius everything he can about Harry and the nice things he’s done and he shows Sirius photographs. At some point they even get Dumbledore to bring them a small pensieve so Sirius can experience it. Remus makes sure to mention he was sad Sirius couldn’t be there during every story; Sirius twines their fingers together and kisses him, saying “I am here now”. 
- Sirius makes full moon care-packages for Remus. It’s hard to gather everything together especially when he can’t leave 12 Grimmauld Place but he finds his ways. There is chocolate, muggle hot and cold packs, sage ointment that he knows calms down Remus’s mind as well as the red welds the wolf on his skin, and as per usual, a note detailing everything he loves about Remus (and occasionally, what he would love to do to Remus).
- I also like the idea of them not speaking much at all at times, just enjoying each others company. Remus tucking his feet under Sirius’ thighs as they’re sat on the couch reading books; Sirius making them cups of tea and each of them having their own designated mug; watching the sunrise together with Sirius standing behind Remus with his arms folded across his chest before they start to shiver and return to bed again.
- And finally: They stare into each other’s eyes. A lot. Even when it unnerves other people, because that’s the best way for them to communicate how they feel, and how to connect.

as long as I work here I’ll never fail to be baffled that we have borderline furry porn in the front window as a “draw” and yet me or my interns aren’t allowed to have crazy color hair or any non-ear piercings because it might “offend a client”

Jughead Jones x Fem!Reader- Phoenix

The fantastic beginning, which I have bolded and put in italics, was given to me by the fantastic @wearelondonbound. I loved it, and I loved writing this <3 I had fun with it, but it definitely was more plot based than anything else.

Third person used~! I’m not super comfortable with third person so let me know how it goes?

Warnings: Fighting, mild swearing, graphic violence. Beware before reading, this could be triggering and I care for all of you so please remember you and your self safety are worth a lot more than a fanfic. Don’t trigger yourselves to read it. Beware and stay safe <3 My inbox is always open if any of you need it

Words: 3666, this came out so much longer than expected. Oopsies

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It didn’t start with a whimper, with a stranger gliding into Jughead’s favourite diner, and therefore, his life. No, it started with a bang. It started with him catching her setting Jason Blossom’s blazer alight. Burnt out matches in bruised hands. It started as it ended, burning, and bright.

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He climbs the ridge at Earthrise, watches the stars fall over him. Endless jewels streak across the void, and in the distance the sapphire planet that is his home and his prison shines still, a beacon in the darkness.

He is not meant to be here. He is expected to advise, to direct, to send others to their infinite deaths. To remain locked away in the unfaded beauty of the azure, surrounded by reminders of fallen glory.

They address him only as Cayde. The do not add the “six,” the numerical proof of his multiple selves, the only record of the memory wipes. But when he speaks of himself, he includes the number. To leave it out would be a lie, and he is not a liar.

Sometimes he is afraid that he will forget again, that a seventh ring will pull him further from who he was - from who he might have been. He pats the cannon at his side, pulls his tattered cloak closer around his shoulders. The Death Card on his shoulder winks at him. The objects are familiar, soothing. They put proof to the memories. Some of them, at least.

He finds reminders of his past here on Luna, just as he does on Earth. When he watches the stars fall, he hears them whisper. He sees faces, long dead. Buildings, long since crumbled. And then they drain from him, through the layered sieves of his mind. 

The sparrow shrieks across the dust. Cayde-6 takes solace in the speed, in the immediacy of the physical world. The velocity brings clarity, and it makes his worries fade.

He dismounts at the lip of the pit. A long rifle is slung across his back; a rifle he has carried for as long as he has carried his cloak. He knows its worn grip and the curve of its trigger as well as he knows anything, but he leaves it with the sparrow and treads with heavy steps down the white-grey slope. His hand rests on his hip. His chin is high. 

They will be angry with him, as they always are. They will call him remiss in his duty, call him reckless, call him stupid.

He does not care.

The Thralls come in a shrieking wave, and he raises the cannon without stopping, without blinking, and he blows them away in a trance. His steps beat in time with the staccato bark of the chamber: one, two, three, four, five, six.

He reloads. He does not break his stride. More come, and more fall.

A face returns to him. A name. A woman. And then: nothing. She is ash, just as the Thralls are ash. 

He is angry.

The cylinder spins, metal burning. It clicks, and with his left hand he feeds its aching hunger, and he finds that he is running.

He reaches the tomb, he slides through the doorway, his cannon up and snarling at the Knights that await him. They fall to his fury and he runs deeper, his Ghost lighting the path in silence, his knives like teeth. Itching, itching.

He leaps without stopping, falls three stories onto the smooth stones that the Hive use to pave their tunnels. He lands, and the ring of dust that explodes around him reminds him of other rings. Perhaps that is what it looks like when he resets: an ejection of detritus, a new footprint atop old, malleable material.

The Light inside him screams, begs him for release, and he closes his eyes and raises his hand to the sky, so that the Traveler can see his anger, can see that he uses its power out of spite, and he feels the rush that tells him it is always watching.

The wizards howl, and he howls back, and the golden power wails at him to use it, to unleash the destruction upon which it feeds, to burn and burn and burn and burn. It craves death. 

Sometimes he wonders where he ends and the cannon begins.

He lifts the sights, a snarl on his lips - and then another face appears, and he stops short, wasted potential burning in his hand. 

This is where they took her. This is where she lost her Ghost. This is where they trapped her in their tunnels, where they murdered her friends, where they killed the woman that she once was.

This place is dead. It has been dead for millennia, the hollowed-out husk of a dead thing, now the home of other dead things. How strange, that he should come here to feel alive. 

How stupid. 

He laughs. The dust shivers. And as an ogre turns to face him, his Ghost returns him to the silence of the void.

He could kill for years. The hunger is quiet, but it will return. He will come here again. But now, with sapphire blue filling the screens of his jumpship, he wonders if there is a difference between the man he was and the man he has become. He wonders whether life lies in the past or in the future. He closes his eyes and he drifts, falling endlessly around the tomb-world. 

Happy ending

Originally posted by thinkingabouttheater

Ummm this is for @helplessforbroadway write-a-thon please note this is my first time doing something like this…Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

Soulmate Au: Hercules x reader

It was a typical Sunday morning in New York city The harsh sounds of sirens in the distance,the bunches of people exiting the subway, and the light smell of pastries in the bakery you worked at. As the crowd’s of business owners and young college students rushed in and out of the shop for a last minute breakfast. Once the rush was over and you could finally take a breather, unconsciously you let your fingertips graze your left wrist a tingling sensation flew through your body, written there in the most beautiful writing you have ever seen was your soulmate’s name “Hercules”.The person who was going to be the love of your life, you had yet to met him all of your friends had already met their heck even your little sister who was ten, all living there fairy tale endings yet here you are a twenty five year old new yorker struggling to pay rent for your two room apartment. You were drawn out of your thoughts by the familiar sound of ringing, you turned around to see a very well built man with a gray beanie on his head scanning the cannoli display, you could feel the blush creeping up your face.Then the man finally turned around staring at you with the stunning brown eyes, he quickly looked away was he blushing? Pushing away your thoughts you quickly asked the man what he would like, as you were ringing up his order he grabbed your left wrist “sir?” and the next thing that left his lips made you forget how to breathe “Y/N?”.

anonymous asked:

Headcanon: Luke still has the boat that he bought in season 7 and the couple still occasionally hops on it and spends their time there−even until now. It's almost Summer, and it's the perfect season to hop on it. Will you guys give this a little nudge?

“Luuuuuuuuuke?”

That voice Luke had heard before. It had come up occasionally over the years of living with Lorelai. By that voice, he instantly knew something was up, something, which would sound ridiculous to him, but was very important to Lorelai. It was her I-have-a-silly-request-you-will-probably-hate-that-is-why-I-am-extra-lovely-to-you-right-now-voice, which she used around him every now and then. He didn’t need to answer her to make her elaborate on her crazy idea. All he had to do was shoot her a look over his shoulder. His better-talk-fast-and-spill-the-beans-before-I-change-my-mind-look made the job just fine. They certainly had come up with a system, Luke thought to himself, as he listened to Lorelai’s rambling.

“As you know, we both have a day off from work tomorrow and I thought we could use our time differently than originally planned. Instead of sorting through the stuff in the garage, we could go to Bridgeport and take a day off on the boat of yours. I mean, you pay all this money for the harbor due and we shouldn’t waste it like that. We haven’t been on it in ages, and it’s supposed to be nice weather tomorrow. No rain, not cold, just fine for a trip on a boat. Besides, I have enough of this crazy town or this crazy house in general. I need some time away, some sort of holiday. A day on the seaside will act just fine for a little get-away. Hitting the ocean sounds way more fun than sorting through the old crap, which we will fight about. And where’s the good in that? I mean, yeah, making up is always great, but wouldn’t it be way better if we would spend a lovely day together, without fighting, just a little banter, which could also act as some verbal foreplay?”

Luke sighed deeply. Not because of Lorelai’s not so subtle comment, but about the fact that he forgot about the boat. Life got busy way too fast, and they hardly had a full day off together. Often these free days were spent with Rory and/or April, or some other town thing. And if they actually had a day off without any family or town obligations, one of them got a call, which made them run to save their business. With Lorelai working on the annex, that happened even more often now. Hence, why they had even less time for one another, and Luke didn’t like it one bit.

He could still recall the summertime Lorelai and he went to the boat every single free moment they could get their hands on. It was fun and exciting, and their little hideaway place from all the nosey townpeople. He could still remember the boat trip he made with April that same summer of 2007, and he was so grateful Lorelai had advised him to book a room every once in a while because, even though the new boat was larger than his father’s boat, it was, in the end, still a rather small boat without much room. Even though April had enjoyed the trip they never got the chance to redo it. Life was just always in the way, and the prospect of being on the same boat for a week or two or even longer seemed less pleasant to April as she got older. He still took her on the boat for a day or two, and she still very much enjoyed letting her thoughts drift off as she looked at the wide ocean.

All in all, he should use the boat more. Every time the receipt for that harbor due made it to the house, he was made painfully aware of how expensive it was to have a boat. And every time he paid that ridiculous amount of money, he thought about selling it too. It would save him a lot of money and a lot of hassle.

Sometimes, he thought about his father’s boat, which he sold to Kirk. He never asked him about it. Selling it to a crazy person like Kirk left still a sour taste behind, and he didn’t want to know what Kirk had done to it. Sometimes, however, he regretted selling it to him, especially when his dark day in November was around the corner. 

However, then he remembered how much time both his father and he had spent working on it without ever really finishing it. The new boat was a fresh start, part of a newer him, who did not hold onto things. Although he held onto everything, which concerned Lorelai. The engagement ring sitting right next to her wedding ring was proof to that. The horoscope in his wallet another one. Why he had changed his mind on a big item like the boat was still out of his mind.

It was a practical reason, he told himself. It was indeed, the old boat was small, nothing you could spend a day on without being at each other’s throat within minutes. It was more like a transportation boat than an I-can-spend-my-whole day-on-it-kind-of-boat. And Luke liked spending time on the boat. He enjoyed watching April letting her gaze drift across the ocean or read. The same applied to Lorelai sunbathing or reading while she had dipped her feet into the water from the boat’s edge. She would flash him a smile, which would melt his heart, totally content and even though she would be wearing sunglasses he would be able to see the sparkles in her eyes.

These little moments of joy were enough justification to still have a boat. It was reason enough to spend a day there instead of getting stuff done at the house. That boat was still one of his favorite get-away places, and a visit was long overdue.

“Let’s do it.”

On Every World

Title: On Every World
Fandom: Avengers Assemble
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~2200
Summary: Steve and Tony made their marriage official galactically.


“Here,” Peter said, and took the strange, long feathers out of Tony’s hands. The man tucked the feathers around Tony’s head, above and behind his ears, turning the black mass into a sensation of color. He bit his lip.

“And why, exactly, is this a thing here?”

“This planet is nothing but cliffs and ragged buttes that fall at least a mile or two down. Birds are considered most holy, able to travel freely between any crags. In marriage, you breach the gap that is just you and arrive in a new place, where there are two instead of one.”

“Oh.” Tony smiled softly. “That’s nice, actually.”

He could hear Peter rolling his eyes. “You are so far down the rabbit hole.”

Tony grinned outright. “You’re just jealous.”

“Not hardly.” Peter seemed to have finished with the feathers, because he finally pulled away from the back of his head and moved over to the table. Tony feared so much as moving his head, even though he knew the bottoms of the feathers had a strange sticky substance from the planet that would dissolve nicely, Peter assured him, in warm water. (Cold water, apparently, would turn the substance into something worse than glue.) “Get up. This one’s about clothes.”

Tony raised a brow and stood, stripping off his pants as he did. Peter glanced down, grinned, and looked away. “Aren’t you supposed to be married?”

“Apparently it’s not official here yet,” he said, and smirked. “But I am happily engaged, so I will thank you to look but not touch.”

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Sansukh Re-read Ch.5

“We are going home!” she cried in her ringing voice of diamond and mithril, and a mighty cheer rose up from every throat. Turning, Dís began to walk away from the worked-out mines and the crumbling halls of Belegost that had sheltered them in their poverty, and raised her face to the East. She did not look back. Wagons rumbled along in her wake as she began to march.

As much as I love Dain, can we take a minute to appreciate the awesomeness of Queen Dís, if she had taken the throne? It makes sense why she wouldn’t want to, that throne had cost the lives of her sons and brother, but it’s something I thought of after I finished reading The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings the first time. King Dain is just as awesome, though.

His reunion with Mizim, Gimrís and Gimli upon his arrival at Ered Luin had been nothing short of spectacular. Glóin had wrapped himself around his wife and held onto her tightly, burying his face in her pale hair. She put her hands either side of his head and drew it back, tracing the old scar over his brow with her thumb before kissing him deeply and gently. “Hello, you old bear,” she said softly, her hands slipping into his mane of wild red hair. “You’re late.”

“Jewel,” he said, and his eyes misted over. “More lovely than ever you are, Mizim, crown of my life, light of my heart.”

I wonder when Mizim started calling Glóin a bear. His nickname for her makes sense, since her name means jewel, but I wonder if it’s just something that she came up with randomly and liked, or if there’s a funny story behind the nickname. But also this, the two fo them reuniting? Adorable!

He took her hands and kissed them one after the other before turning to his children – and his mouth slowly formed the shape of an ‘O’.

Thorin privately thought his expression was hilarious. Frerin, of course, didn’t keep such things private. His brother keeled over backwards, laughing his head off.

I’m with Frerin. I probably wouldn’t have fallen over, but I’d have definitely been laughing.

Glóin had gawked for a moment longer before Gimrís was hurling herself at her 'adad and Gimli was doing likewise, and Glóin was buried beneath the bodies of two mostly-grown Dwarves and groaning.

“Oof! You are too heavy for me now, off with you!” he wheezed, and Thorin chuckled at the sight of the bristly and imposing old warrior spluttering and choking for breath.

Glóin survived trolls, goblins, orcs, spiders, stone giants, and elves, but it’s his kids that knock the breath out of him. I can’t help it, I laugh every time I read that.

Bombur’s reunion with his family had been far louder. Alrís didn’t even have a chance to greet her husband before a veritable horde of Dwarflings swarmed Bombur and Bofur, shouting at the top of their lungs. Bombur’s children buried themselves against his warm and hefty body, snuggling close, investigated his walking staff with curious and grubby fingers, pulled at 'Uncle Bofur’s’ hat and begged for a song and a sweet and a story. Bombur tried to kiss and tickle all of them at once, his seldom-heard booming laugh ringing out over the din. The oldest of the tribe patiently pulled the smaller ones away, and finally Alrís was able to give her husband a smacking kiss and show him the new baby, now two years old – a boy she had named Albur. He was a chubby, chuckling little thing with brown hair and eyes that danced like sunlight on water. Bombur gave the little one a whiskery buss on the top of the head, and then wrapped one arm around Alrís again and pulled her against him for another ringing kiss.

Everything about Bombur’s reunion with his family. Like, if I had to pick a family from Sansukh to visit, it would either be Orla and Dwalin’s or Bombur and Alrís’. Bombur’s love for his family is something I love about this interpretation of him (one of many things, really).

“What have you done to your leg?” she said breathlessly.

He shrugged. “Got poisoned. Don’t recommend it.”

“Poisoned, Daddy?” gasped one of his middle children, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Don’t get too close to orcs,” Bofur said succinctly, and a chorus of 'ooooh’s rose from the crowd of children.

“Hospital food,” Bombur said in disgust, and Alrís threw her head back and laughed and laughed.

Only Bombur could play off the fact that he got poisoned by talking about how horrible hospital food is. Another reason to love Bombur.

“That’s an Elf?” Gimli said, wrinkling his nose. “And here I thought they were supposed to be fair and glorious! Hmmph. They’re all stretched and faded.”

Bofur chuckled. “Don’t be fooled. They might look like skinny, insipid twigs, but they’re stronger than they appear and their eyesight is much better than ours in daylight. An Elf will put an arrow through your eye as soon as look at you.”

“No beards at all,” Gimli muttered under his breath, and shuddered.

But no, if Bofur remembers this and brings it up at some point to Legolas, I can see the both of them laughing about it and teasing Gimli who’s all embarrassed because he was just a kid then and it was the first time he’d seen elves.

“Is that a Hobbit?” whispered Gimrís to her brother.

“Again, no beard!” Gimli said, and shook his head in sympathy.

I love Gimli. 'Elf? No beard, not fair and glorious at all’, 'Hobbit? No beard at all, poor thing’.

“You should hear the ruckus down at the Green Dragon,” Bilbo was saying. “Poor old Odo is convinced it’s an invasion and has the whole pub in an uproar. Half of Brandy Hall – that’s the Brandybucks, by the way – want to come out and see for themselves. The other half want to sound the Horn-call of Buckland. The Bracegirdles are wringing their hands and fainting, the Grubbs are calling it none of our business, the Boffins are trying to organise a welcoming party, and the Tooks are giggling up their sleeves and egging everyone on indiscriminately.”

“And the Bagginses?” said Bombur, smiling.

Bilbo laughed gaily. “Are pretending they’ve never even heard of Dwarves, or dragons, or adventures, or rich mad cousins. Whenever someone brings it up they begin talking loudly about the weather or about pie-eating contests or Farmer Maggott’s dogs or some such. It’s terrifically funny.”

I love how the various groups of hobbits are reacting, especially the Tooks. And the fact that Bombur remembers enough about Bilbo’s family to know that his family would be the funniest group of the lot is amusing too.

“Here, Bilbo,” Bombur said into the ensuing silence. “You should meet my family! That’s Barís, my eldest, and over there’s Bomfur, Bolrur, and Bofrur, my terrible little trio of redheads, and the two big dark-haired lads there are Barum and Barur; then there’s Alfur and Alrur and Alfrís and Bomfrís tormenting that poor pony. Barum, stop that lot, would you, before the pony dies of nerves? And over there is my lovely wife Alrís, and our two littlest ones, Bibur and Albur.”

Alrís sketched a bow, her arms filled with squirming child. “At your service,” she called cheerfully.

Thorin was a little dizzy after all those names.

Bilbo seemed to have no trouble with such a crowd, and bowed to Alrís, smiling. “At yours and your family’s – although I may be a little pressed to accommodate so many. Good gracious me, Bombur! I’d think you were part-Hobbit!”

Changing the subject like a boss. Take notes, Bilbo. And Bilbo thinks the same thing I do, that Bombur and Alrís are part hobbit. Alrís being able to bow while still holding onto two squirming kids is cool, though. I love Thorin’s reaction to all of the names, though. I had the same reaction at first, I had to re-read that paragraph to make sure I’d gotten all of the names right.

Bilbo perked up. “Yes, yes, quite right! I brought a few little things for us to share, though now I hope they’ll stretch far enough…”

“We’ve seen how Hobbits eat,” said Glóin dryly. “I’m fairly sure we’ll do fine, laddie.”

“And just think, Bilbo! No washing up!” Bofur nudged him. Thorin wished everyone would stop touching the Hobbit.

Bilbo rolled his eyes theatrically. “Thank heavens!”

Now I’m imaginging 'Blunt the Knives’ only with dwarflings as well as four adult dwarves and dwarrowdams.

“Here now! First you have to meet my set,” said Glóin. “This is my lad Gimli, and my lass Gimrís. Over there tying down the cart is my darlin’ Mizim. Mizim, come here! Come meet our Burglar!”

“I’m a little busy, you daft old bugger,” she snapped, “in case you haven’t noticed!”

Glóin gave them a sheepish grin. “She’s the jewel o’ my life, she is.”

Have I mentioned how much I love Glóin and Mizim’s relationship? Because I do, so much.

“Doesn’t your face get cold?”

Bilbo burst into giggles.

Glóin tugged at his own beard to hide a smile. “Ah, Gimli m'boy, Hobbits don’t grow beards.”

“Oh, some do, but only those of Stoor families,” Bilbo said, still giggling. “Even then, it’s nothing for a Dwarf to boast of. I remember catching you all staring at me for the first couple of weeks when you thought I wasn’t watching. And for the record, not one of you is any good at being sneaky – well, except Nori, but the rest of you were not exactly subtle about it. Was it my poor naked chin, then?”

“That and your riding, laddie,” Glóin said, and then snorted at the Hobbit’s expression of half-amusement, half-exasperation.

“Were we that rude?” said Bofur, grinning.

“You barged into my house, pillaged my pantry, drafted me into an adventure and sang an extremely insulting song,” Bilbo said, poking Bofur in the side. “Staring was the politest thing any of you did!”

“Ah, my apologies?” mumbled Gimli, scratching at his head.

Poor Gimli, he’s so confused. Just let them bicker, they’ll sort themselves out and it’s a bit amusing to watch too.

“Here.” He pushed a bundle of papers into Bombur’s hands. “All my mother’s recipes. She was a Took, you know, and collected recipes from all over the Shire, all the way as far east as Midgewater.”

Bombur looked down with wide eyes at the crushed bundle and then pressed it protectively against his chest. “Bilbo!” he said, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Perfect gift for Bombur. He’s already been working on hobbit style recipes, now he’s got recipes to do even more of them. If he wasn’t already king of the marketplace, this would seal it.

He handed Bofur a strange configuration of sheepskin and dyed leather, with neat little stitches in the Shire-fashion around the edges. “It’s your hat, do you see,” Bilbo said, anxiously wringing his hands. “I bought the skins from the Proudfeet, and I had it copied by Bell Gamgee. Yours was such a wreck, after all, and I thought you might like to have a new one. I do hope I haven’t upset you?”

Bofur slowly opened up the folded brim of the new hat, dyed a handsome red-brown, and suddenly smiled. He pulled it onto his head, lifting his chin and tugging at the flaps. “What do you think, lads?”

“Oh, thank Mahal, I was going to burn the old one in his sleep,” said Bombur with relief.

Again, I love Bombur. Him, Dori, and Bifur are my favorite canonical dwarves.

Thorin growled under his breath. Would nobody stop touching the Hobbit?

Thorin, your married is showing.

“Glóin, this is for you.” Bilbo handed him a polished wooden box, its lid and sides carved with leaves and grapes. Glóin admired the carving for a moment, and Bilbo huffed. “Well, woodworking is probably the only Hobbit craft that you fellows might appreciate. Still, it’s not empty. Open it.”

Glóin cracked it open, and Gimli peered over his father’s shoulder to look inside. “Pipe-weed?”

“Not just any pipe-weed, my dear Dwarf. That is Longbottom Leaf. It’s the year of '32 – a very good year indeed!”

“My dear Hobbit!” Glóin said, and eyed the box with new appreciation. “I am deeply in your debt!”

Bilbo knows what Glóin likes.

“Now,” Bilbo said, straightening his coat, “the inks are for Ori, and the bottles are delicate, so be careful! These herbs are for Óin. So are these notes. I translated a couple of healing texts from the Elvish - and it was a lot of work, so don’t you dare throw them away! Ah, this is for Dori. It’s an embroidery pattern-book from my Aunt Hildigard, and some of those patterns are old enough to impress even Dori, I dare say. I hope he can get some use out of it.”

Bofur opened the little book and smiled down at the curling designs with their friendly motifs of flowers, leaves and vegetables. “Who knows? Perhaps Hobbit stitching will become the new exotic fashion. You could start a trend!”

“I fervently hope my trend-setting days are done, thank you very much,” said Bilbo dryly.

I love how Bilbo knows well enough to tell them to not throw away the notes just because they came from Elvish healing texts. He knows them all so well. And Dori and Ori’s presents are perfect for them both. Granted, dwarves seem to favor geometric shapes and designs, but hobbit stitching would be exotic and a new challenge for Dori to master.

“Now, this is for Nori, from one Burglar to another.”

Bombur’s forehead creased as he took in the candlesticks, the cheese-knife and the little silver gravy-boat. “What’s this?”

Bilbo rubbed a hand through his hair and smiled a trifle wickedly. “I discovered after I got back that it wasn’t only my frightful relatives who were a little too free with my belongings. A certain light-fingered chap had made off with a few small things on the night of the party. I thought he might like the rest of the set, with my compliments.”

Nori’s going to be so irritable! But he’ll also be a bit proud, probably. Bilbo learned his lessons well, he knew when Nori stole versus when Lobelia did.

“Did he faint?” asked Bombur, leaning forward eagerly.

A wheezing little sound of glee came from under Bofur’s hat.

Bilbo paused, and then he sighed. “Yes.”

This is one of my favorite bits in this chapter. Conkers is a bit higher on the list, but this? Especially Bilbo’s little 'nope’ and them all laughing again? I laugh every time I read it.

“An’ being Hobbit and all, it’d seem pretty special and out of the ordinary,” Bofur said, smoothing down his ruffled moustache. “Wonder if we could make a model Bag End?”

“Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no! If I have an entire generation of Dwarves trooping through my house, I will hunt you down and sting the pair of you!” Bilbo said sternly.

Bombur closed his mouth with a snap, but Bofur looked entirely too innocent to be believed.

Bifur’s going to love his toy, but I wouldn’t trust Bofur’s innocent look. That’s probably the same look that he had when he told Dwalin that he wouldn’t make a Dwalin warrior toy.

“Traditional Hobbit weaponry,” Bilbo said, a gleam in his eye. “I in particular have some skill at it. If you must know.”

“No,” said Bofur in disbelief.

“Not…?” said Glóin.

“Conkers?” Thorin said, utterly incredulous.

Traditional hobbit weaponry at it’s finest. Although I always wondered why, in canon, Bilbo never told the dwarves how good at throwing and aiming hobbits are. They would’ve taught him to use a bow, probably, he might have taken to it faster than he took to the sword…again, I need to stop before I give myself more ideas.

Bilbo leaned back, sighing with satisfaction and slapping his knees. “And that’s the game to me!”

“Are all Hobbits so good at throwing and aiming at things?” Bofur said, staring dismally at his halved horse-chestnut. He hadn’t won a single round.

Bilbo shrugged. “Bit of a hobby, really.”

Poor Bofur, you’ll get better with practice. Gimrís seems pretty good at the game, maybe she’ll help you out.

Many of the other Dwarves sent curious glances over to the Hobbit and his odd little game, his bare face and furry feet. Thorin bristled at their interest and barely restrained himself from barking at them to show their Burglar the proper respect.

Thorin, your married is showing again.

“Dís, daughter of Frís, I make known to you Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. He’s a Hobbit,” he added unnecessarily.

“I can see that, akhûnîth,” she said, her mithril-pure voice lilting with amusement, though her face barely moved. “Dís. At your service.”

Bilbo pulled himself upright and tried to look as dignified as a Hobbit can whilst holding a horse-chestnut painted bright yellow. “At yours and your family’s.”

Dís smiled at that, rather sadly. “You already have been.”

There was an awful silence, and then Bilbo burst out, “You look so much like him.”

She froze, and then she dropped her eyes.

This always kills me. If Thorin had lived, this meeting probably would have been a lot happier. As it is, Dís is meeting the little creature who left his comfortable home to help dwarves that he had never met before that night. It’d be worse if she knew how much Bilbo had loved Thorin, but I don’t think she knew that yet. But just…this whole bit right here is so sad and full of feels.

The young Dwarf shifted his weight between his feet for a moment, looking uncertain. Then he said, “Mister Baggins was showing us a Hobbit game, Aunt Dís.”

All heads turned to him, and he flushed as red as his hair, before ploughing on bravely. “It’s a mite tricky to get the hang of it, but I was starting to see how it was done. D'you want to try it?”

Bilbo can take notes from Gimli about how to change the subject, but Gimli needs to take notes from Bombur.

“Here,” said Glóin and handed Dís the red horse-chestnut, his hands gentle as he gave up his place. “Sit down, cousin. I’m going to see if I can find Bombur a chair.”

“Oh, don’t bother on my account!” Bombur protested, but tucked by his side, young Barís nodded vigorously. Bombur grunted and poked his daughter in the shoulder, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Your leg’s going to get all cramped sitting like that, Dad. Best to stretch it out.”

I love Barís. She’s not my favorite OC (that’s undoubtedly Orla), but she’s lovely, an amazing singer, apparently a good daughter and big sister, and she seems pretty witty too. There’s a lot to love about all of the OCs in this.

“Aunt Dís?” Gimli said softly, and she hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside her young cousin and patting his knee.

“Don’t fret about me, young one,” she said. “Time for your sister to watch her back.”

Where’s Nori when you need him? My money’s on Dís winning this round.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo sighed, straightening slightly and resting his head against his hand. “I should really trade in that 'lucky number’ title of mine, shouldn’t I? I had all the luck in the world, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Never is,” Bofur said in a voice that was nearly a whisper.

“You won’t need luck, I swear it,” Thorin vowed fiercely. “Mahal be my witness! You won’t need luck. You’ve got me.”

Thorin is 100x better than luck, apparently, because with his help, things end up mostly okay for Bilbo.