the red back book


I have a few copies of Morning Star, so I decided to paint one! I’ve never done something like this before but I’ve always wanted to try it. It was definitely something different for me since I never write in my books or even fold the pages, but I really like how it came out! It’s so sparkly too, the pics don’t do the sparkly-ness justice haha

Rosie had heard all of the stories about old mister Bilbo coming home with boxes and barrels of treasure. He had been gone so long everyone had assumed he was dead, but then he had ridden into town with gold in his pony’s saddlebags.

She dreamed about Sam coming home, a feather in his cap, gold tucked into the sensible pockets on his sensible pants. She dreamed about Sam coming home. They made jokes in the Green Dragon about young mad Mr. Baggins, just like his uncle old mad Mr. Baggins, who had run off with three gullible youngsters and gotten eaten by wolves.

Rosie watched her mother during the occupation, the ways she counted curly heads, the way she canned vegetables and fruits, salted meats, then bound them up in cloth and tucked them under each child’s bed, in the hollow in the tree down the road, buried out by Miller’s Pond. Rosie watched her father walk the edges of the property, like he was stomping his ownership into it. He kept his pitchfork sharp. He was preparing to fight for his home and her mother was giving them a way out.

Pippin and Merry came back taller; they would bump their foreheads on low doorways all their lives. Frodo came back wiser; he would feel lost on the wind until the day he stepped onto a creaking deck and let it sweep him away. Sam came back; he had grown, for all miles and hunger had worn him down to the quick.

When Sam came home, there was a feather in Pippin’s cap, a horn on Merry’s hip. All Sam had was a box of dirt with one large, smooth seed tucked inside. Even in Mordor, Sam had only been fighting for the Shire. He spent the rest of his life helping things grow.  

Let’s talk about Sam crying over rabbit stew, because a brace of coneys had been a spot of luck, once; because even then, even when he still had his pots and his pans, when Frodo had not yet snarled at him and told him to go– Mr. Frodo had still been gone too far by then to ever come back again.

Rosie, who did not cry easy, chopped onions so he would not be the only one with wet cheeks to scrub off. She asked him about herbs and spices, about stirring and cooking times, about what loaf would go best with it all. Sam said, “Rosemary, tarragon.” Part of him still rang against the greening metal of a copper pot dropped down a chasm and left somewhere on the edges of Mordor, but she saw him breathe deep and reach for thyme.  

When they brought Frodo a bowl in the little study that had once been Bilbo’s, Frodo warmed his hands in the steam and chuckled when he recognized the smell. Sam pressed his cheek into Rosie’s curls and remembered that not everything was lost.

Sam came back different, but Rosie had not stayed the same either.

Some nights Sam couldn’t sleep on the bed. He laid out with a blanket on the floor and apologized for it. She checked the locks three times, and didn’t trust them anyway. If men came to the door in the night, smashed through the window, set the house on fire– she knew three ways out. She knew the path she’d take through the forests and little hills, two good places to cross the water and three mediocre ones, how to gather and set snares and never have to come back.

She also knew that she would come back. Sam had gone out and met the world, but Rosie had stayed here and staked her claim.

Between helping with the reconstruction, clearing out abused hobbit holes, planting new trees, raising her children, and managing Bag End, Rosie took tea into Mr. Frodo’s little study and let him tell her about his story. 

Some days he sat up, waved his hands, talked about Moria like it was Mr. Bilbo telling hobbitlings about the three trolls. On others he muttered about language and conjugation, dialects of Elvish, and Rosie learned words for things she had never seen. One of her sons would be named for Frodo, and one of her daughters Elanor, for a flower that grew on the floor of a forest no hobbits but four had ever seen. 

He told her about Faramir and Boromir–their adventures, and their family trees to seven generations back. Rosie scattered her younger children over his study floor on those long afternoons, where they got cookie crumbs and sloppy paint all over the sheet she’d lain over his soft carpet. 

It was a late night, the kids abed, when he told her about Mordor, about Gollum and the eagles, and how Sam had not given up, even at the very end. She had come down to turn over some marinade in the pantry and found the study light on, Frodo bent over his desk and scribbling. “I have to get it all down,” he said, and smiled at her unhappily. “Too tired right now to be scared of it all.“ 

So she got some cocoa and a heavy quilt for each of them, and stayed to listen to him mutter and scratch out lines. “Frodo Nine-Fingered and Samwise the Brave,” he told her. “We talked about how we were going to be stories, one day.“ 

When Sam came down the hall in the morning, his wife’s curls were pooled on the desk beside Mr. Frodo’s, inked pages scattered under their cheeks and curled palms. Sam had watched Frodo earn each and every white hair on his head, and he was learning the stories still behind each tired crease and laugh line on Rosie’s face. Sam leaned against the door frame and watched them breathe, in and out, until the kids came shrieking down the hallway and woke them. 

The day Frodo gave him the Red Book and left, Sam cried on the shores of the sea and watched him go. Frodo had sat Rosie down that morning, over a breakfast of two eggs, thick bacon, hearty toast, a little salad– he had told Rosie he was leaving and Rosie had already known. 

There were still burned scars on the soft fertile ground of the Shire. Some of them would never grow over, no matter how many seeds they scattered and watered. Rosie still had emergency kits buried in the yard, tucked in hollow trees down the road, kept under her children’s beds. 

But there were strawberries growing in her window boxes, even if on the worst days she wasn’t sure if they’d be there to harvest them in springtime. On those days, Rosie padded down to the pantry and got out little glass jars of strawberry preserves. So many springs had come and gone, and so many would come again. There were some things you could carry with you. 

Drop your pots, drop your pans–lose weight, faith, a finger–forget the taste of strawberries. There were little white blossoms waiting in the window boxes of Bag End to turn into blushing red fruit. Sam had carried Frodo to the end of his journey, and Frodo had given her this home. The spring would come. 

Sam came back with salt crystallized on his hems and the edge of his jaw. He came back with a red book under one arm–no gold in his pockets, no gems, just his two hands tucked and curled in the warmth of them. 

Their children would read Frodo’s book as they grew (Bilbo’s book, too, and those few words that were their father’s). They would not understand, not all of it, not at first. They would eat strawberries in spring and dream of Fangorn, dare each other to brave the Old Forest on the edge of the Shire. They would climb all over Merry and Pippin’s tall frames and beg to go with them when they went to visit the kings of Gondor and Rohan. 

Rosie would eat strawberries in the spring. She would make jars and jars of jam to keep for long winters. She would keep kits of supplies, for emergencies, for invasions, for the children of hers who had wanderlust in their bare, woolly feet. 

On nights when she could not sleep–too cold, too stuffy, too old–she would pad out to Frodo’s old study and sit among the books and things. She would read about places she’d never seen, languages she’d never heard. She would write her own notes down about the Scouring– the first little resistances, and the final front lines. She would trace her fingers over loving maps of the Shire, tracing the ways out, the places to hide, the ways back. 

When she woke in the morning, her cheek on the old wood desk, a blanket would be draped around her shoulders and Sam would be asleep in an armchair, just close enough to reach out and touch. 

Professor Evans (1/?)

Summary: Professor Evans notices one of his student struggling so he has a meeting with them to find a solution. 

Pairings: Professor!Chris Evans x Reader 

Warnings: None, except reader feels like her best isn’t that good 

Word Count: 1k 

A/N: Chris Evans’s Esquire magizine photoshoot came out and broke the internet and made every fangirl imagine him as a teacher. So @chrisevansthedoritobastard wanted this and I volunteered, I present to you Professor. And the fic is based on this picture from the photoshoot (from Google) 👇🏻

Y/N argued with herself if she should see Professor Evans during his office hours, she wanted to but at the same time, she didn’t. Professor was a nice person, he wasn’t bitter like the others and he was understanding; if you couldn’t hand in a paper he would listen to why and help you out. Y/N thought she was doing well, always trying her best but after she got her paper back marked she realized that it wasn’t too good. Not only the mark was not expected but also the comment that Professor Evans left at the back;

Please come see me during my office hours

Right when class ended Y/N ran out, pretending not to see Professor Evans trying to catch her attention. The thing is if she didn’t go she would have to face him during the next class and Y/N hated confrontation. So here she was knocking softly on the Professor Evans office door. When Y/N heard a quiet ‘come in’, she took a deep breath and gave herself a mini pep talk and turned the knob. As she entered, she scanned the room looking for the professor; finding him lying on his couch prompted up by his left elbow, wearing his glasses. He was writing something and kept on going back to the red book he was holding in his left hand. There was no doubt that Professor Evans was attractive but she always reminded herself that it could never happen, that Professor would never risk this amazing job because of crushing on a student or even dating one.

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Perfect Strangers-Loki Laufeyson Imagine

Requested: No

Warnings: some fluff, mentions of bullying, pretty long in length 

Originally posted by marvelheroes

    Y/N Y/L/N was having another bad night, but this night was considerably worse than the others. Her entire eleven-year-old body was shaking uncontrollably, convulsing as though she had been possessed by a demon. Usually, she was able to close her eyes and focus on the darkness to calm herself down, but the events of that day had triggered her shaking. She could still hear their laughing and feel the weight of her own shame at her naivety.

   How could you be so stupid?

   “Stop,” Y/N whispered. “Just s-stop.”

   Her parents were fast asleep every time she had a bad night and this night was no different. Even if they were awake, they would only take her to another doctor who would tell them that there was nothing they could do about their daughter’s condition. Part of Y/N was thankful that they were fast asleep but the other part was depressed that no one could help her. 

    Suddenly, Y/N’s eyes snapped wide open and all she saw was a blinding light. It felt as though she was launching through space and time itself though she was positive she had not moved an inch from her bed. Then, just as suddenly as she saw that white light, it disappeared, and she was standing in a massive library. The bookcases reached the fifty foot ceiling and were packed with ancient-looking books that were either red, green, blue, or gray. The bookcases themselves were made of a strange wood that Y/N had never seen before. As she slowly crept across the ornate floor of the library, she had an eerie feeling that she wasn’t in Chicago anymore—-heck, maybe she wasn’t even in America.

    Y/N glanced around, feeling nervous and as though if someone came into the library, she would get in an awful lot of trouble. She rounded a corner of a bookcase when she caught a glimpse of someone. She gasped, retreated into the aisle before nervously peaking her head out. A few feet away, a pale boy with shoulder-length black hair was sitting in a gorgeous cerulean blue chair. He was wearing strange green and gold clothes that looked like something out of a Star Wars movie. His eyes were glued to the book in his hands and it was a rather large book.

     “If you are going to try to surprise me, Thor, you might as well give up now,” he said in a bored tone that was also layered with a bit of mischief.

     Y/N silently panicked as she realized that the boy knew that she was there. She started to retreat further when she guessed that it was no use if the boy knew she was there anyway. Besides, would a boy around her age wouldn’t get her in trouble, right? 

    But they’ve caused me trouble in other ways,she thought bitterly.

    Y/N slowly walked out of the aisle and stood with her arms at her sides. “It’s not Thor.”

    The boy immediately looked up from his book and seemed surprised at Y/N. “Who are you? Why are you dressed that way? Are you from a different realm?”

    “My name is Y/N and I’m just as confused as you are.” She took a hesitant step towards him. “What is this place?”

    “Y/N,” the boy repeated. “It sounds foreign.” 

    He set his book down and walked over to Y/N. She immediately felt herself shrinking away and silently chastised herself for it. The boy was taller than her by a couple of inches, but his quiet confidence made him seem like a giant.

    “Well, Y/N, you are in Asgard, the palace to be exact,” he said. “And I am Loki, son of Odin, the king of Asgard.” 

    “Asgard? I’ve never heard of it.”

     Loki raised his eyebrows in surprised. “Like I thought, you must be from another realm. How did you get here?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Well, that’s just perfect. You obviously got here some way.”

    “And I just told you I don’t know what that way is.” Y/N was beginning to feel annoyed and she did not like the way Loki was looking at her. “Look, all I know is I was lying in bed one minute and the next, I was here.”

   Loki nodded. “Interesting. Where are you from?”


   “What realm is that in?”

   “I don’t know? Illinois, the US, Earth?”

   Loki’s face filled with an expression of realization. “Ah, a Midgardian.” 


   “That’s the realm you are from, Midgard and this is Asgard.”
   “Okay, how do I go back home?”

   Just saying “home” made Y/N cringed a little bit because that was where everything had gone so horribly wrong. This action didn’t slip past Loki, who immediately felt concerned for her.

    “Why did you make that face?” Loki asked.

    “Nothing, it’s just…something bad happened there and I don’t…I don’t know if—”

    “If you want to go back.” Loki nodded thoughtfully, turned on his heel, and walked back to the sitting area. “You can tell me if you want, Y/N.”

    “But, I don’t know you.”

    “That makes it even more perfect. You will never see me again so even if the worst possible thing happened to you, I would never be able to hold it over you, or mock you for it,” Loki said, as he reclined in his original seat.

    The dark-haired boy did make a good point. If he made fun of her, Y/N would get a little upset since the wound was pretty fresh, but her classmates would be able to remind her about it for years to come. Plus, there was something trustworthy about Loki and she felt more relaxed around him. Y/N took a deep breath before joining him and sitting in the seat across from him.

     Y/N twiddled her thumbs and kept her eyes glued to them as she spoke. “I used to like this boy, Max, since we were little. He’s gorgeous, good at everything, and all the girls loved him and he never paid me any attention—-which I understood because I’m just a weird nerd. Today, I got a letter in my locker from Max asking me out and it told me that if I said yes, to go over to him at lunch and tell him so. I was super excited because I thought my dreams were coming true, but my best friend, Y/B/F/N, thought I should think about it but I thought they were just jealous.” Y/N sighed. “When lunch came around, I proudly walked up to his table with all the other jocks and popular girls and told him that I would love to go out with him. He looked at me as though I had three heads, burst out laughing, and said that he would never be caught dead with someone like me. Then, his whole table burst out laughing and so did the rest of the cafeteria.”

     Her body began to shake as she remembered the looks on everyone’s faces and allowed it to mingle with her current anger, frustration, and embarrassment. Then, she felt a cold hand on her wrist that made the shaking subside. She looked up and saw Loki kneeling in front of her, a sincere look in his eyes and his mouth pressed in a straight line.

    “Someone tricked you,” he said.

    “Alicia, the captain of the volleyball team. She’s always hated me and I should’ve known that she would’ve pulled something like this. I was stupid for thinking that the most popular guy in school would like me anyway.” Tears burned in Y/N’s eyes but she refused to let them fall.

    “Tricks are supposed to be fun, they shouldn’t hurt anyone like they hurt you. They will pay for what they have done, Y/N. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day, they will pay,” Loki said.

    The way he spoke, it sounded as though Loki had some sort of wrong done to him. Y/N guessed that by his passionate tone and sincere expression that he at one point did experience something like she had. Maybe it was that Thor character he’d mentioned earlier.

    “Maybe. Thanks for listening, anyway.”

    “Anytime, Y/N. Now, about you getting home, usually, I would say that you should go by way of the Bifrost, but it’s far too late for us to go there now. I think that it’s best for you to return home the same way you got here.”

    “But I’m not even sure how I got here.”

     Loki let go of Y/N’s wrist but continued leaning towards her. “I’ve read about Midgardians like you before, gifted people who can travel large distances with little to no effort. From what the books have said, I can assume that you’ve been holding yourself back, Y/N, and this is only a taste of what you’re capable of.”

     Y/N smiled a little at Loki’s words. “You’re really smart.”

     “I’ve heard.” Y/N thought she saw Loki’s cheeks tinge red. 

     “Did those books mention how ‘Midgardians like me’ go back home?”

     “You just need to relax, imagine the place you want to go to, and allow your power to build.”

      Y/N nodded and closed her eyes, picturing the tailored lawn outside of her apartment in Chicago. She thought of the screaming L as it ran past as well as Ariel and Jared Perkins arguing in front of their building. Slowly, her body began to tremble and she felt herself stiffen.

      “It’s alright, you’re all right,” Loki whispered.

      Though his voice was calm, Loki was a bit sad since even in the short time he knew Y/N, he liked her and wished that she could stay in Asgard. Y/N relaxed, allowing energy inside of her to rise within her, and saw a flash of light. She felt herself launching into space until she landed on her bed. She sat up, taking note of the J 14 posters plastered on her wall as well as the giant teddy bear that was always at the foot of her bed. She was home and felt pretty relieved, except for the fact that she knew that she would never see Loki again even though she hoped she would.

       Fifteen years later, Y/N was standing in the main control room of the SHIELD helicarrier with her fellow SHIELD agents, impatiently waiting for the Avengers to bring in Loki Laufeyson, Thor’s younger brother. He had wreaked havoc in Germany and took over the minds of several SHIELD agents, including Hawkeye. Therefore, Y/N was a little too excited that they had apprehended such a powerful Norse god on their first outing as a team not only because Loki had been up to no good but because she had never been able to forget the raven haired boy she met. For years, Y/N continued feeling a bit of affection for the mischievous god until he tried to take control of Earth. Immediately, Y/N was upset and couldn’t believe that she had once befriended such an evil person. She wanted to look him in the eye and demand to know just why he did what he did. It couldn’t be solely for power, there had to be another underlying motive.

      Finally, the doors to the helicarrier opened and Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow, the Hulk—in Bruce Banner form, and Thor walked in, the latter pulling a handcuffed Loki in tow. A crop of SHIELD agents had brought Clint and the men who’d also been under Loki’s control in about ten minutes before the Avengers came in with Loki. The god of mischief seemed rather pleased with himself as he eyed the SHIELD agents that stood in line with Y/N. When he saw Y/N, he paused, and stared at her even longer. There was a mix of surprise and devilishness in his eyes as Thor continued leading him over to the elevator that would take them to the prison area. Steve paused in front of the agents with Tony, Bruce, Natasha, and Fury.

    “Well, you did a good job out there, team,” Fury said. “There were no casualties and minimal damage in the extraction.”

   “Thank you, Fury,” Steve said.

    Fury nodded. “You’re dismissed. Agent Y/L/N, you’ll be joining us in the conference room.”

   “Yes, Sir.”

    Because of her powers, Y/N was considered a supporting member of the Avengers. Even though they had just formed, Fury thought that Y/N’s ability to travel between dimensions and simply transport herself to wherever she pleased would be useful. 

   Y/N trailed behind the rest of the Avengers as they walked to the conference room where a large TV screen showed a live broadcast of the prison area. Thor stood in front of the chamber that was made for Loki. It was made of some sort of chemical that Loki’s powers couldn’t penetrate and someone had to press a button in order for him to be released.

   Loki looked extremely smug as he stared down at his brother. “Look at us, together again, brother.”

   “We are not together, Loki. Why do you insist on tormenting the Midgardians and trying to rule Midgard?” Thor demanded.

   “As I said, Thor, they were made to be ruled.”

    His sickly smooth voice made goosebumps erupt all over Y/N’s body and she was glad her uniform covered her so well. She tried to remind herself of all the harm he had just done to her own realm to snap herself out of it.

   “We are to live in peace with them and the rest of the Nine Realms.” It was obvious Thor was becoming upset, which made Y/N nervous. “What do you want with the Tesseract, Loki? Tell me!”

    Loki smirked and walked as close to his brother as his bonds would allow him. “I will only speak to Y/N Y/L/N.”

    Thor’s expression went blank and Y/N could feel the mood in the conference room shift as well. She was surprised that Loki would want to speak with her and a little upset that he would try to do so as well. He hadn’t tried to reach out to her in years so why would he want to now?

    “Why would he want to speak with you?” Tony asked. “No offense.”

    “None taken,” Y/N said.

    “Why do you wish to speak to her?” Thor asked.

    “You don’t know your little Midgardian friend like I do, brother. The more time you waste trying to question me, the less time I have to speak to her.”

    Y/N gulped and looked at Fury. “Sir?”

    “Go down there, right now, Agent Y/L/N.”

    “Are you sure?” she asked.


     Y/N stood, feeling a bit numb, and moved as quickly as she could towards the nearest elevator. It moved far too quickly for her liking and she was on the prison level before she knew it. The door opened to tension so thick that someone could cut it and Y/N wished someone would. Thor turned to her as soon as the doors opened and met her in the middle of the room.

     “What is going on, Y/N?” Thor asked.

     “I…I don’t really know, Thor.”

     “You should leave us, brother, I can’t harm the girl from here,” Loki called.

     Thor shot a glare in Loki’s direction before looking down at Y/N. “I will be here immediately if you need me.”

    “Okay.” She pat Thor on one of his large muscular arms as he walked past her. When Thor was gone, she slowly walked over to Loki, hating the way he stared at her as she did.

    “It is so good to see you again, Y/N,” Loki said. 

    “I wish I could say the same.” 

    “Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” Loki teased.

    “We are hardly old friends,” Y/N hissed.

    Loki arched an eyebrow in surprise but maintained that stupid I-know-everything-and-have-tricks-up-my-sleeve expression on his face. “I must say, that hurts a little, Y/N.”
     Even though the rest of the Avengers and Fury were not in the room, she could feel their eyes boring down the back of her neck, judging her and questioning exactly how Y/N was connected the Norse god. Y/N swallowed thickly and tipped her chin up a bit.

     “Enough talk about the past, let’s talk about the present: what do you want with the Tesseract?”

     “It should be obvious, especially to you, Y/N.” 

     Y/N felt a distinct twinge in the pit of her stomach at his talking down to her. “I know that you want to take over Earth but exactly how was the Tesseract going to help you do that? You’re a god with several abilities but the Tesseract gives you some sort of advantage or you wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble to steal it.”

     Loki looked slightly impressed with Y/N’s analysis and even said as much. “Good job, you must make Nick Fury proud to have you as an agent. How exactly did you end up working for him and with my brother?” 

     “I am not the one being questioned here, you are, and you still haven’t answered me.”

      “The advantages of the Tesseract are far too many and too powerful for a Midgardian to understand, even you, so explaining to you its exact purpose in my plan would be pointless.” He smirked. “Your turn.”

       Y/N rolled her eyes, deciding that if she was going to get anywhere with him, she would have to comply with his wishes. “Fury recruited me out of college because I can teleport and travel between dimensions. I didn’t meet your brother until after your attack in New Mexico.”

       “Are you his friend now?”

       Loki seemed to spit the question at Y/N and it made her flinch a little. 

       “Yes, we’re close now.”

        Loki laughed humorlessly. “Of course, you are. Everyone who meets Thor turns out to be enraptured by him but no one can see who he truly is.”

       “Except you?”

       “That’s right, and you probably think I am a horrible person for everything I’ve done because of what he’s told you.”

        “No, I think you are a horrible person because of what you have done! Don’t act as though my friendship with Thor somehow betrays you when I haven’t seen you for fifteen years! If anything, Thor says that he misses you and wants an actual relationship with you but you aren’t letting that happen. You got yourself here so take some responsibility for it!”

         It wasn’t until Y/N calmed down that she realized the gravity of her words. Loki looked shocked that Y/N raised her voice at him and she was surprised a bit herself. However, Y/N didn’t really care because she had said the truth.

        “Have fun rotting down here,” she hissed before turning on her heel and marching into the elevator.

         When she got to the main floor, Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, and Natasha were waiting for her, all of them looked a mixture of upset and confused.

         “Lady Y/N, please explain how you know my brother,” Thor said. 

The Lady Professor and The Writer: Or, Still Working Hard

by: mldrgrl
rating: R
summary: Hank goes on a two week book tour and misses Stella

Hank was never very fond of book tours, less so as time passed.  It was the travel, mostly, not the signings or readings.  Those could still be fun.  But, the older he got, the more of a homebody he became.  Living out of hotels for weeks at a time could be fun for a few days, but not for weeks.  Being away from his things, away from his routine, away from Stella, held no appeal.

He fought with Charlie about it, but in the end, agreed to a two week tour around the states, hitting the major cities he was the most popular in.  LA, of course, New York, of course, Chicago, Atlanta, Phoenix, San Francisco, Denver, Seattle, Boston, Baltimore, St. Louis, Providence, and oddly enough, Omaha.  Not in that order.  One night in each city.  He would be on a plane every day for thirteen days.  

He finished the first week on the west coast and then began heading east.  He was mostly looking forward to the last three days on the journey because it would require the least travel time and energy.  Boston to Providence to New York.  He would spend an extra day in New York to see Becca, and then he would fly home.

By the time he made it to Boston and into the home stretch, he was so anxious to be finished, the Q&As and the signings were becoming one giant blur.  Then again, they were all the same, just the faces changed.  He could handle one in his sleep at this point, and it was a good thing too, because he felt like he was sleepwalking through it.  When he got home he was going to have to ask Charlie to review the offers again on his last book for film rights.  If any of them were decent enough, it could buy him some rest and relaxation for awhile.

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A Way with Words

This was written for @doctorroseprompts monthly theme “Soulmates September”.

Ten x Rose, Soulmates AU, ~2000 words

For fifteen years, John had to look at the words “my friend loves you” on his arm, wondering why his soulmate didn’t love him. But when he meets his soulmate at a book signing, he finally gets the context those words were meant in.


John absently sipped at his coffee as he continued to smile at the next person in line.

“Who’s it for?” he asked, flipping open the book with his pen ready.

“Amelia. Amelia Pond.”

“Amelia Pond,” he repeated as he scrawled the name, and then his own signature. Well, his nom de plume signature. Who in their right mind would name their child ‘The Doctor’?

When he’d first published his debut novel nearly five years ago, he’d never dreamed it would become an overnight sensation, and make him one of the most popular authors of the century. He’d never imagined people would enjoy his silly little collections of short stories about an alien from a far-off planet that owned a time and space ship and sailed around the universe, traveling and causing problems as often as he fixed them. The premise itself was quite ridiculous, but the fact that he’d taken his pseudonym from his main character’s name…

“It’s like Lemony Snicket,” he’d always explained during his book tours, and the public seemed to love it. Even now, five years later, his stats were only getting better with every new book he came out with.

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Little Blue Riding Newt

Based off of this gorgeous, adorable piece of art by @mamin-the-troll
and once the little doodles started coming, I just couldn’t resist writing it. So here it is, Little Blue Riding Newt, the smartest whatever-year-old that ever existed because I don’t know how to fucking write children. Please forgive that quirk.

Additionally, this is now evolving into a full story…so I guess more will be coming soon. XD HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? HOW DID THIS EVOLVE INTO A CHAPTERED THING, I DO NOT KNOW. 

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Good Girls Are Bad Girls (1/4)

Originally posted by guyattime

Author: Arfrona-and-Marvel

Word Count: 1223

Warnings: None

Pairings: Peter Parker x Reader

Type: Fluff

Note: There are four parts, tell me if you want to be tagged

Requested: Nahhh


I pull off the mask and stuff it into my bag before exiting the bathroom. I shuffle quietly down the halls of Midtown High, avoiding eye contact, but I hear something that makes my spidey-senses tingle.

It’s a faint squeak and a muffled cry. I follow the sounds of whimpering around the school until I turn a corner to see (Y/N) sitting near a tree with her head buried into a book. I watch her from afar to see her shoulders were shaking from crying or heavily breathing.

She was so into the book, it was obvious she had vivid feelings for it. I chuckle and look around to see if anyone could see me before turning my gaze back to her. I smile and look down, shuffling my feet back and forth.

Maybe I should talk to her.

I know the book she’s reading, and I know what part made her cry…

(I may or may not have seen her check it out and checked out the same book as well to read it…)

I take a deep breath and lift a leg to walk towards (Y/N) and I think of what I could say.

Oh, that book’s good. Isn’t it?

Oh! Hey Peter! Yeah, it is! Wanna talk about it?


Hey (Y/N), you okay?

Oh yeah, it’s just a (sniff) sad story.

Yeah, I just read it.

Really? What’d you think of it, Peter?

Oh, I thought it was really good, I hear there’s a movie coming out for it…

Maybe we should see it together!

How about a date then (Y-

I blush at that thought before realizing that I was only a few feet away from her. I freeze, absolutely unsure of what to say.

But it didn’t matter…

The bell rang.

I groan at this, capturing her attention.

She looks up from the book with red eyes and a shy smile.

I stare back at her, frozen in place and unsure what to say.

She mouths ‘Hi’, and gets up to pack her stuff.


She looks up, expecting words that I couldn’t get out of my mouth.

Since when could I not express my ideas into coherent words?


“What?” She asks, looking startled and rather hurt.

Did I say that out loud?

She nods slowly, not quite meeting my eyes. I want to kick myself.

“Wa-wait, (Y/N), I wasn’t calling you an idiot! I was calling myself an idiot… I’m sorry.”

She gives me a small smile and whispers,

“It’s fine.”

So softly that I could barely hear it, even with my Spidey-Senses.

What now, Peter?

She looks at me one last time, smiling before leaving for class.

“Wait, (Y/N), uh,”

She turns around and gives me a questioning look.

Think, Peter… Think!

“Would you, um… Want to be my partner for the Chemistry Project?”

Her eyes widen a little, and now I really want to kick myself.

“Or, um, if you already have a partner that’s uh, fine, I guess,” I answer quickly.

She smiles again, and my heart gets caught in my throat.

“Yeah, okay, Peter. That sounds great.”

She waves goodbye and, for the third time today, I stand frozen, watching her walk away.

I laugh a little.

I can’t believe I actually mustered enough courage to talk to her for that long…


I close my locker and swing my backpack over my shoulder as I scan the hallways, looking for (Y/N).

When I spot her, I see her gently placing books into her locker and retrieving a few notebooks to bring home.

I watch her as she brushes her hair out of her eyes and carefully closes her locker.

Everything she does is so… gentle and light. It’s mesmerizing, it’s just pleasing to watch.

I shake my head and look down, not wanting to seem like too much of a creep and make my way towards her.

When I get close enough, I clear my throat to get her attention and to hope my voice doesn’t crack.

She looks up and smiles, raising her eyebrows.

A sign meaning to say: “What’s up?”

“Um, I was wondering when you wanted to work on the project? I can give my address and number so we can meet up when you’re free. Actually we can walk to my place right now, if you want. I don’t have any homework and I don’t really have anything better to do. And I guess we can finish it now if we focused. If you want! I mean! And, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

I look down, cheeks burning with embarrassment…

“It’s um, fine. Peter. Um,”

she lets out a small laugh and my heart flutters. I look up and she continues.

“Can we start tomorrow? I didn’t tell my parents that I wasn’t going to be home today. If that’s okay with you.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine. That’s great. Um, here let me um,”

She understands and opens her locker to take out her notebook.

“Here, let me hold that for you,” I say, gesturing towards the books she was balancing on her hand.

She opens her mouth in protest but looks up at me before blushing and offering me the books.

I take them from her and hold them while watching her rip out a piece of paper and fold it before tearing it neatly in half.

Everything she does seems to be so perfectly coordinated, it’s driving me nuts.

She pulls out a pen from her back pocket and writes her number on to the paper.

I get so caught up watching her, I didn’t realize she had asked me a question.


“Oh, um, sorry, uh, what did you say?”

She asked me again,

“Peter, can I have your number and address?”

“Oh, uh right. Yeah, of course!.”

I told her my address and she wrote it down before taking her books back and giving me the slip of paper with her number on it.

“Um, (Y/N)? You forgot to give me your address.”

Her head shoots out from her locker for a second before she mutters,

“My, um, parents. They don’t like me having guys over…”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mea-”

“It’s fine, really, Peter,” she whispers, obviously wanting to end the topic.

She shuts her locker again and I notice she has a poster in it.

A Spiderman poster.

“You like Spiderman?”

She looks up at me, blushing furiously. (Y/N) fumbling with her lock.

“He’s sort of… really cool.”

“What about him is cool?”

She stops fumbling with her lock and looks at me. She smiles widely.

“He is just so brave! He saves people, he does his best to keep the city safe… And, he doesn’t do it in a boastful way! He’s just a guy who has amazing abilities and decided to use it to save people! It’s spectacular and selfless. Him, putting himself in danger to keep others out of danger… and,” she stops talking, noticing how much more vocal she was becoming and her utter fangirling.

“I- uh- I’m sorry. I really like him,” she says before blushing deeply and locking her locker.

She smiles at me quickly, muttering a thank you and sorry before turning around and walking away quickly, leaving me flabbergasted with my mouth open.


Part ¼

Part 2/4: x

Part ¾ : x

Part 4/4 : x

reply, message, send me an ask, reblog, if you want to be tagged in part 2,3, and 4.

Please give me feed back and here’s my masterlist: (x)

Also follow me on Snap Chat @arfronamarvel if you want updates on what I am writing and which request I am working on.

Please spam me with headcannon requests :)

On Jiang Wen’s Performances

More Jiang Wen goodness! The pioneering woman film auteur Xu Jinglei chose to cast Jiang Wen in her first two art house films: first in a secondary role in My Father and I (2003) and then as the male lead (opposite her own starring role) in Letter from an Unknown Woman (2004), shown below. 

While I was reading about Xu Jinglei, I came across this very positive (and, IMHO based on my viewings of the films mentioned, very apt) description of Jiang Wen. I had to share!

… Xu Jinglei also includes erotic elements into the film narratives through the performance of actors. Jiang Wen, who plays the role of the man with whom the girl is deeply and stealthily in love in Letter from an Unknown Woman, is himself a gifted and attained actor-director in contemporary China’s film circle. In his classic roles, such as “my grandpa” in the internationally awarded Chinese Fifth Generation director Zhang Yimou’s Red Sorghum (1988) and “crazy Qin” in the Fourth Generation film melodrama master Xie Jin’s Hibiscus Town (1986), Jiang Wen provides the full range of erotic desire and passion. Through his vivid, poignant and passionate acting, these film characters become rich emblems of emancipated individuality, personal freedom and liberated sexuality, which all had been curbed and muted during feudal and socialistic revolutionary times. Later, in his self-directed films In the Heat of the Sun (1995) and The Sun Also Rises (2007), Jiang Wen’s proclivity to evoke and exaggerate erogenous aspiration, in particular to merge it with revolutionary fervor, becomes more distinctive and unique. Because of his mastery of displaying the sensual yearnings in his performance, Jiang Wen fully stretches his role in Letter from an Unknown Woman, which, together with Xu Jinglei’s superb acting, leave an impressive “sexy” mark on the film.  

- from Contemporary Chinese Films and Celebrity Directors by Shenshen Cai

anonymous asked:

Can you do a fic about a first year hufflepuff who is aro/ace thinking they are broken and then found by Dumbledore, crying over a potions book.

TW: internalized aro/acephobia

They could fix it. They knew they could. They could find the spell that would make them understand why cooties had been so scary a few years ago. They could find the spell that would make them catch up to their friends in dating people for a day and starting to look more at the pictures of wix in the zines instead of the games. They could find something that would make sure they were interested in dating by next year, where the slightly older kids seemed to all be hooked up.

Their best bet was potions. They hadn’t heard of any spells that changed emotions. Only looks. And they needed something more. So potions would have to do. “Maybe a love spell?” they murmured to themselves. After flipping through nearly the whole book, their heart began to sink. There was nothing even like a love potion in their meager book meant for first years just learning how to brew.

No! There had to be something. They started flipping back through pages, trying to maybe find two potions they could merge together for the intended fix. Boil removal was useless. Maybe a forgetfulness potion could make them forget how they didn’t feel? Did that even make sense? Wideye potion - also useless unless they wanted to die from never ever sleeping. Herbicide potion. No, they weren’t a plant and they were also already broken. “No, no, no, no, no!” they shouted in dismay. Nothing would do. Nothing would fix them.

Before they knew it, their face was wet and they were staining pages on their textbook. Merlin, they were too old to be crying! “Stop it,” they choked out.

The denial nor the command would stop the tears, though.

And in the abandoned classroom, bent over their textbook to hide their face, is where Dumbledore saw the yellow-clad source of the noise. A sobbing first year. Nothing new for Dumbledore. You get many homesick kids at boarding school. You also get kids whose home education was lacking and are suddenly overwhelmed by their workload, bullying problems, and even simple misunderstandings causing tears. Dumbledore had been doing this for quite a long time now, though, and these tears seemed quite a bit more serious than homesickness or being overwhelmed by work.

“Well, this is a sad sight,” Dumbledore said, making his presence known. “One your age should not be troubled by concerns so harsh as you seem to be.”

A hiccup interrupted the sobs, as the startled first year looked up towards the intruder.

“Headmaster!” they said, scrambling to their feet in what Dumbledore imagined was meant to be either a display of strength or respect. They furiously wiped at their tears, trying to hide their perceived shameful actions from the professor in charge of the school.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. “You might be surprised to learn that I cry, as well. Sometimes I even sit down in anticipation of a good cry. It has a habit of making us feel better after having done it.” He offered a clean hanky to the Hufflepuff child.

“I- I wasn’t,” they said. “I was just…”

“Hm, doing some potions homework?” Dumbledore asked, nodding down at the book.

The child’s face went red as they tried to hide the book behind their back. “Umm -”

“Or perhaps some - ah, extra credit?” Dumbledore provided.

Perhaps Dumbledore’s reputation preceded him, or perhaps the young one just needed someone to take an interest.

“I’m… Well, there’s something wrong with me, you see,” they said, spitting out the word wrong as if just saying it would make things worse.

“Sick? Hurt? Could you not find the hospital wing?” Dumbledore asked.

“No… Something. Something inside of me.” Dumbledore waited patiently. “I think my friends are… they’re starting to like, like like other people. But I - I don’t think I do.”

“I thought you said there was something wrong with you,” Dumbledore prodded further. He knew they’d hit the crux of the problem, though.

“There is!” they exclaimed. 

“Because… you are different?”

“Because I’m wrong!”

“What makes you wrong?”

“I - I - well, I should…”

“Says who?” Dumbledore asked, peering over the top of his half-moon glasses.

“I…” The child’s face became thoughtful. “I just don’t want to be left out.”

Dumbledore smiled and reached out a hand to put on the first year’s shoulder. “There are many things in life that make us different. The way we look, the food we like, the clothes we prefer, the books we read, the spells we’re best at… Too many things to list, unless you want to be here all night.” The Hufflepuff snorted softly. “Unless something you like or are doing hurts someone else, there is nothing wrong with these differences. They’re what make us so interesting. There will be plenty of things in life that you like that your friends do not and vice versa. But you will know who is really your friends because they will accept you all the same. In fact, they might find your differences the most interesting parts of your friendship.”

“I never thought about it like that, I guess,” they replied softly, still internally debating.

“If you find yourself still upset over this, you should talk to Professor Sprout. I think you’ll find that she understands how you feel, and maybe you won’t feel so alone,” he said, knowing Pomona took great care in being a mentor to the young queer students of her house, knowing he might have just found one.

After a few moments of silence, the Hufflepuff finally looked Dumbledore in the eyes. “Thank you, Headmaster,” they said, their voice so young but their words genuine.

Dumbledore removed his hand from the shoulder. “Off you go, then. I suspect you do have some potions homework you were meant to be doing. If you hurry, perhaps you might catch your friends before they put their homework away so they can help you.”

With a panicked and slightly serious look, the child nodded and dashed off. Dumbledore shook his head in amusement and wandered back off down the hall, taking his time. One never knew what they might find on a walk.

~Hufflepuff Mod

Things I know to be True (Kim Yugyeom)

Originally posted by jypnior


Word Count: 1,428

Genre: Fluff


Hi, so I was watching a TED talk and this woman was talking about making a list of ten things you know to be true without thinking about and I decided to write about it, also at the request of a friend^^ I’m sorry if this was cheesy but I am a generally cheesy person so I apologize lol  also I’m shit at ending things sorry, I’m also not good at poetry and I wrote the poem at the end. Anywho, hope you enjoy it!

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iameightteen  asked:

Nessian 7 and 11

@iameightteen Sometimes books can be your worst enemy…or at least in the hands of an Illyrian who has a knack for reading aloud.

Awkward Moment Headcanon: Nesta never imagined that Cassian would find her small collection of romance novels. So when she walked into the House of Wind and there he was reading one of them she almost stumbled in the doorway. It didn’t help that he had to choose the book with a cover of an Illyrian male and a female in somewhat suggestive pose. Nesta tried to swipe the book back from him with her face flushed red in embarrassment, but Cassian merely laughed and began reading a passage aloud that involved the male going down on the female. Nesta attempted to take back the book with more force resulting in her tumbling into Cassian’s lap as he struggled to keep reading the passage as Nesta continued to grab for the book.

Both were breathless and panting in the chair as they fought. Even Cassian had trouble reading aloud to the point he wasn’t paying attention to just how loud he was talking.

That is until Rhysand, Amren, Azriel and Elain walked into the room to the sight of Nesta sprawled in Cassian’s lap and him reading about how “the female felt while being filled by her Illyrian lover’s hardened member.”

Nesta and Cassian froze when Rhysand began chuckling. The two then noticed their audience and to both of their horror Azriel ushered everyone else away from the door claiming that they shouldn’t interrupt this “invigorating story time”. Nesta and Cassian realized how it must look with both of them panting as Nesta straddled Cassian’s hips with her dress somehow having been raised just above her knees. They frantically tried to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like, but is was too late. 

Bonus: Rhysand now makes sure to set out copies of the latest erotic/romance novels randomly around the House of Wind while asking aloud for everyone to hear “Is this from your collection Nesta and Cassian steal it and you away for invigorating story time?”

Bathing/Showering Headcanon: Find it here!


I wonder what was so different about this casting decision, that means an iconic redheaded superhero is no longer a redhead, versus the blowup about Zendaya as Mary Jane??? 

I was going through all my unfinished and rejected text files (there’s… quite a few). So, instead of leaving them to collect dust on my computer, I decided hey, why the hell not. Think of these as the roughest of rough doodles. Doodles that might be missing hands. Or are all drawn in side-profile. Most of these are NOT finished.

kinda based on this thing here

If there was a world’s biggest douchebag award you’d be winning the motherfucking shit out of it. But you can’t stop staring at John’s boobs.

It’s awful. You’re awful.

Hate it, that you’re not better than this, that after a fucking decade of John being John your love twizzler still goes hello ladies at the sight of John’s chest and he’s not, they’re not, it’s just him, John, your best friend and your best bro and complete full package deal asshole and god damn it, he has the cutest frickin’ boobs. You’re scum, you’re horrible and you deserve so many pinecones up your fucking ass you can out-fart a Febreze.

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