torch time

“I’m not racist, I’d love this character even if they weren’t white”











Mom: Just leave the book at home.


Originally posted by awkwardnarnia

Headcanon that Luke and Obi Wan got the money to pay Han Solo by selling the moisture farm at bargain-basement prices in Anchorhead without telling anyone that it was totally torched, and by the time anyone find out they were well off planet. Luke now has a reputation as one of Tattooine’s most famous con men despite the fact that it was Obi Wan who ran the con.

in every world, in every realm, in every version of the story, neal and emma find their way to one another.

Imagine getting together with Chris.

A/N: Part 5 is here and I think I just died. OH MY GOD! As the writer, and as a reader- AHHHHHHHH! I’m sorry, I’m so calm right now. (No I am not, my heart) You can read the previous parts here: (Unexpected Reader - Part 1/Part 2/Part 3A/3B/Part 4A/4B) Please enjoy! X

Chris laid sprawled on his couch with furrowed brows, tapping his TV remote against his bare chest. It was 1:48AM and he had an early morning meeting tomorrow, but he was still wide awake. He couldn’t sleep because he had too much on his mind, like the fact that you were yet to read the letter he’d left- admitting his love for you- at your apartment. Since he left said letter at said apartment, with each hour that ticked by- he’d been texting your best friend asking if you’d read it. Each time, he’d get a text back from Ava telling him the same thing: “she’s not home yet.” It finally got to the ninth hour at 11:00PM that he stopped texting Ava and texted you instead, not to ask about the letter but to see if you were okay. Which brought forth the other thing that was keeping him up.

Chris had texted you to ask if you were okay, and you’d sent back a simple “perfect.” Now what was that suppose to mean? Were you perfect because your date with Sam went well? Were you perfect because you’d read his letter and was thinking about your answer? No, you couldn’t have read the letter already. You wouldn’t have just texted if you’d read it. He knew you and he knew you would’ve called if you’d read it, unless- you didn’t feel the same way, or had changed your mind about him since hearing about Scarlett and going on that date with Sam. He should’ve addressed that rumor the second it came out, talked to you about it instead of calling Scarlett and laughing about it. If he lost you because of it, it was his fault and his fault alone.

“What am I going to do, bud?” Chris asked Dodger, his best friend who was half asleep by his feet. “What am I going to do if I lose her?” Dodger looked up when Chris sat up and reached down to smooth his hand over his pup’s head. “She’s the one and I was too afraid to tell her that when I had the chance, and now-” He cut himself off with a huff, scratching Dodger’s head ever so gently. “I’m a real fucking idiot, aren’t I?”

“I’d say.”

Chris was so distracted that he didn’t even hear you come in from the back door; you’d a set of keys because he trusted you and occasionally needed you to come take care of Dodger for him. He jumped to his feet, feeling his heart in his throat. You were crying, but it was out of pure and utter joy as well as love for the man standing in front of you. His lips parted and he tried to speak, but no sound came forth. He’d play a thousand different scenarios in his head and ways to respond, but now that it was actually happening- he’d no clue what to say. He stepped over Dodger and started towards you, stopping when you took a step back. You held up the letter that you’d read four times in the cab ride over with the help of your iPhone’s torch. Each time you’d read it- you fell even harder for Chris; words you wanted to use to form a response danced in your mind. But now, as you stood in front of him, you couldn’t speak either. God, the two of you were made for each other.

“Y/N, I’m not dating Scarlett,” Chris finally spoke. Upon hearing those words leave his mouth, he wanted to slap himself. As important as that piece of information was, he wished his first words to you were “I love you.” Which was what he said next, drawing more happy tears from your eyes. “Please don’t cry,” he pleaded as he started towards you again, stopping when you held up a hand.

“I’m sorry, I just- I need a moment,” you told him and he nodded understandingly. “I um- This was-” you held up the letter, smiling. “It was a very Fan fic Chris thing to do,” you said and you both managed a light laugh. “How did you learn to write like that? Those first two paragraphs-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off, chuckling. “I don’t think we need to talk about my writing capabilities right this very second, do you?” He quizzed and you shook your head, swallowing. “You came here to tell me something,” he began as he slowly inched closer to you; step by step. “You came here to answer a question, to confess your true feelings.” You nodded slowly, feeling your heart on the verge of exploding. “So how about,” he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you towards him, “we get to that?”

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” you blurted out and grimaced at how awkward you were. Chris laughed, because how awkward you were was one of the things he loved about you. “I um…” You couldn’t believe how difficult it was to talk around a shirtless Chris; how his female co-stars managed was beyond you. His hands rubbing small, gentle circles into your sides weren’t helping your ability to speak coherently either. “Can you-” you put a hand on his chest to push him back; his heat radiated through your palm. “I just need some space so I can think.”

“I think we’ve done enough thinking, don’t you?” He returned to his original position, but this time a little closer and his grip a little tighter. “I’m done thinking and so are you,” he whispered as he dipped his head. With his lips inches from yours, his minty breath warm against your cheeks. “Do you love me?” He asked gently and you felt yourself nod as you got lost in his eyes; he smiled so wide, his pearly whites blinded you. “Do you want to kiss me?” He asked and got another breathless nod from you. “Good, because I love you and I want to kiss you too.”

The second his lips touched yours, everything fell into place. You realized that saying was a cliché you’d used many times before, in a quite a few of your stories, but not once had you truly understood or felt what you wrote. Not until now, not until you had Chris’ soft and supple lips pressed against yours. It was insane how good and how right it felt, and how many more clichés played through your mind. “He kissed you like your lips were the air that he needed to breathe”, and “he kissed you like there was no tomorrow”, and “his lips touched yours and sparks flew.” In that very moment, as his hands gently caressed your face while his lips worked against yours tenderly, attentively, and passionately- you lived through every romantic, breathtaking kiss scene you’d ever written. It felt like pure and utter magic- and yes, you realized that was yet another cliché but God, you didn’t care. You were happy because you were kissing the one you could, and had pictured forever with.

“Fuck,” Chris breathed when he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “Sorry,” he chuckled breathlessly and you shook your head, smiling. You could feel how flaming hot your cheeks were, as well as how wide your smile was; it was wider than it’d ever been. “I don’t mean to swear in your face, I just- that was fucking amazing. I mean- Fuck,” he cussed again, laughing. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Why don’t you do it again?” Your arms wrapped around his neck as you inched closer to his lips.

You didn’t have to ask him twice; he chuckled and kissed you again, moaning ever so softly when your hands found their way into his un-gelled hair. Now you weren’t a girl he wanted to rush things with because he respected you, but he was so swept up- in the passion, and the romance, and the very obvious lust in the air- that he couldn’t help himself. His hands reached under your thighs and he swiftly lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You knew what was happening and what would happen if you let it, and though you always promised your mom you wouldn’t rush into things- this was Chris and she’d always wished you’d end up with him after reading your series. Now that the opportunity had arise, surely she wouldn’t blame you for taking things a little faster than usual. It wasn’t like he was going to run out on you, the letter made it pretty damn clear he was here to stay.

He broke the kiss and smiled, carrying you as he started towards the stairs. He didn’t know who to thank for you, just every thread in the universe that brought the two of you together. You did the same thing, brushing his bearded cheek with your thumb.

“Does Ava know you’re not going to be there when she wakes up?” That question was his subtle was of asking for consent; he wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything you were uncomfortable with. He knew the hold he had on you, but he’d never use it to his advantage. Similarly, you knew the hold you had on him and you’d never use that to your advantage either.

“I think Ava will figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Chris bit back his growing smile, “I think she will too.”

Tags: @chrisevans-imagines @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @xoxomioxoxo @imaginesofdreams @ateliefloresdaprimavera @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @caitsymichelle13 @michellekeehlmello @letterstomyself21 @soymikael @faye22 @always-an-evans-addict @sammyrenae68 @brobrobreja @elizabeth-matsuoka @thegirlwiththeimpala @camerica96 @all-of-the-above11  @whenyourealizethisisntagoodname @yourtropegirl @smoothdogsgirl @createdbytinyaddiction @siofrataylor @dreamingintheimpalawithdean @imaginary-world-of-mine @wanderingkat77 @grantward3 @rileyloves5 @chrsmom302 @buckys-shield @mylittlefandomfanfictions @breezykpop @catch-me-im-a-falling-star @tabi-toast @ssweet-empowerment @hayleesteashoppe @chrixa @feelmyroarrrr @akidura79 @louisespecter @castellandiangelo @ccrossfire @assxmblesstuff @edward-lover18 @princessesnaddy @1d-niallerbieberforever @dxbrevgrey @bellastellaluna @christopher-or-steven @brokenwingsxix @yourenotrogers @im-a-fandom-slut @royalexperiment256 @palaiasaurus64 @mysteriouslyme81 @captainumeboshi @avengingalec @tacohead13 (Inbox me if you’d like to be added to the tag list)

Tags for those who didn’t ask, but follow the series (I know you didn’t ask, but I don’t want you to miss this part. I’m annoying, I know) @advorepayne @heyitsthatlouisdork @pegasusdragontiger @evanstanimagines

Literal conversation I had while reading AEITA.
  • Elias and Laia: *Meet for the first time*
  • Best friend: *Heart eyes* Awwwww! OMFG! I SHIP IT!
  • Me: I'm offended.
  • Best friend: What? Why?
  • Me: Because they aren't married yet.
  • Best friend: Dude they just met.
  • Me: And I'm still offended! What's your point!?

The very first superhero crossover, 1940.

Top: MLJ Comics house ad promoting the meeting of the the Shield and the Wizard, April 1940 cover date.
Middle: Pep Comics #4, May 1940 cover date.
Bottom: Top-Notch Comics #5, May 1940 cover date.

Why yes, their momentous meeting is a little underwhelming! Within months, though, Timely Comics—now known as Marvel Comics—would improve the art of the crossover considerably.

summer girls and winter girls

there are these girls
with flowing golden hair radiating against their vibrant auras on a sunset along the shore
and those girls,
with icicles in their stares who spoke sentences that leave you with a frostbite

there are summer girls and winter girls;

and she’s more of a summer girl;

i can see why you fell for her- the sun- and all the forest fires she’s started in the crevices of your paperheart, torches lighting up every time you hold her hand
of course who can forget the orange glow the world around gets every time her lips are against yours?
she’s the epitome of a perfect sky capturing all the gleam you’ve ever and never thought of

then comes the winter girl

a hundred and one warnings about her have been told
number one: she’s crystalline and soon you’ll be nothing but jagged cracks
number two:she’s not as pure as snow is
number three: you do not want to turn into a hypothermic misanthropy so run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run run

yet somehow underneath the layers of her icy composure lie delicate snowflake structures. you get a glimpse of what’s underneath the tip of the iceberg

and she proved the warnings wrong one at a time
it’s like you’re iceskating for the first time, tripping, but she’s there to catch you just in time. she’ll remind you of the giddiness of the snowball fights you had with your childhood friends all those decembers ago. being with her is as right as a warm cup of chocolate on the first snowfall
and you dwell in her chilling comfort once the sun vanishes, taking away your summer girl

but in the end,
you still choose to end up with your summer girl and the bronze sparkling moments
leaving the wintergirl caught up in her blizzards in reckless abandon , existence crumbling

and i understand why
for who would choose having no permanent residence over a fully furnished home?

but then i should have told you from the start,the secret:
you shan’t choose between those girls
or even turn them into something but just a plain casualty
because summer girls’ flames will engulf your whole being until you’re robbed of the capacity to blow out the candles
you’ll strike all the matches you can find just so the love will never turn lukewarm
and you’ll thaw the winter girl’s frozen soul even if it numbs you to the core

these girls, they’re powerful gypsies,
personifications of destructive illustrious love

the-capricious-one  asked:

another fantastic beasts prompt: boy does Tina have The Worst crush on Madam Picquery

Here’s the truth of the matter: Tina’s grandparents fled a pogrom. Not an anti-magic one – oh no, this was a good old fashioned cossack-led hunt, blood on snow, dogs howling to the moon, scrambling from houses in the dead of night, her grandmother’s father muttering and into the desert for forty years and Russia is a cruel, cold mother, a bear snarling at her leash. The Goldsteins know what it is to be hunted, to hide, to crawl on their bellies through dark woods while neighbours they thought they could trust mutter blood libel and yids and prepare the torches. So the first time Chase Rutherford II (or III?) says, with no trace of irony at all, that white male majs are the most maligned class in America Tina – Tina, very deliberately, does not hex him. Her hair is dark and tightly curled, she’s here on a scholarship, and for all their singsong of racism is for no-majs Ilvermoney is exactly the same as the world outside. She’s under no illusions: in Russia, wizards rode with the cossacks. Their worlds bleed together at the edges, even if MACUSA pretends that they don’t. 

She shows her teeth. From certain angles, you might misconstrue it as a smile. 

Seraphina is in her final year when Tina’s in her first. She’s the only black woman in the school. Your ancestors were slaves, mine built this land, says Chase to her face one day; Tina’s not sure what started the argument, only that a loose circle is gathering, expectant and hungering. She thinks of blood on snow, and elbows her way to the front. Your ancestors came over on ships, they didn’t even use wands. Kitchen magic. Tribal magic. You should be happy for the opportunity to learn with us civilized folks. You should be happy that we’re kinder than the no-majs. If you were in the South, you’d be – 

I’d be what? says Seraphina. 

It doesn’t matter. Just thank the good Lord each and every day that you’re a witch. No-majs are racist, gibbering monkeys

The crowd disperses. Tina’s chest clenches with bitter disappointment. You should have hexed him, she says, when she runs into Seraphina, later, in the bathroom. The bathrooms are not segregated, but the majority of pureblood girls will perform – loud – disinfectant charms when they see Seraphina leave a cubicle. We’re just being clean, Serrie.

How would that have helped? They already think that I’m irrational and wild. You heard what he called the magic my grandmother used. Kitchen magic. Mad. Tribal. Funny how he can denigrate something so – and fear it as well. 

Tina does not know what denigrate means, but she knows a little about keeping up appearances. Doesn’t it make you angry? To – to play their games? To hear them pretend that they’re so much better than no-majs – but they’re not, not at all. She gnaws her lower lip. Great-grandad told me that his sister locked herself and her children in the cellar, only one of her neighbours spelled open the door and – 

They’re just as bad. So I’ll play their games, says Seraphina, fixing her lipstick just so, teasing a strand of her hair over her face. And darling, I’ll win. We’ve got to be better than them. And we will, won’t we?

At that moment, Tina learns what it is to fall in blistering, eye-opening love.Yes. Yes, she says.