So my cat Lydia likes paper right. If I open my mail on my bed, she’s right there, walking on it, listening to it crinkle under her toes, and then laying right down. Even if I leave paper on the floor, on carpet or tile or hardwood, she’s there, curling up, standing on it, happy as can be.
And like many of my fellow fanfiction addicts, I don’t read a lot of print books, but I recently borrowed a novel that sounded a m a z i n g and I wanted to get it back to my coworker on Monday. It was going pretty well Saturday afternoon until
Every time I put this book down, whether open or closed or page up or down, she was there. Happy as can be. And so freaking cute that I didn’t want to move her, which meant I was not going to finish it.
So finally, in protest and so I could actually finish this book, I gave her another one
I forgot how Glorfindel just shows up in Fellowship and his only description is that he was shiny and had really great hair. He then proceeds to offer them all alcohol and let’s Frodo borrow his horse. What a guy.
more HP reread things: the shit you all knew was coming
the very first instance of Harry looking over at the Slytherin table to have a shufty of Draco Malfoy happens after the sorting, i.e. their VERY FIRST night of school. I cannot BELIEVE this. Harry looks over at the Bloody Baron and is like, “he’s sitting next to Malfoy! and Malfoy’s not happy about it! hahaha!!!” that’s the beginning of a puberty-long rabid obsession right there and I’m getting exceedingly misty.
it may also interest some of you to know that Harry then goes upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, goes to bed AND PROMPTLY STARTS DREAMING ABOUT MALFOY. they’ve only officially known each other for like four hours and Harry’s already having uncomfortable dreams about getting his head stuck in something and Malfoy laughing at him. this is day fucking one.
the first words out of Harry’s mouth when it’s announced that Gryffindor and Slytherin have flying lessons together are “typical. just what I always wanted. to make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.” WHY is that your FIRST THOUGHT when you find out you’re gonna be FLYING A BROOMSTICK? I’ll give you one clue.
“Harry hadn’t had a single letter since Hagrid’s note, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice, of course.” of course? of course??? it’s normal that this 11-year-old boy has nothing better to do at breakfast than stare across the great hall at someone he hates??? “Draco, can you pass the marmalade?” “silence, Goyle, Potter is cracking his boiled egg!”
Harry goes to meet Draco for a midnight wizard’s duel wearing his pyjamas and a dressing gown. Draco grasses Harry up rather than actually going, but can we all please take a moment to picture his face if he’d been there to witness Harry Potter turning up to this epic death match in tartan terrycloth? thanks for your time.
Aaah, the Lethifold! One of my favourite creatures from reading the book as a child. Thanks to @zinfandelli for suggesting it as a creature, I was psyched to draw Credence with one. (And of course I saw the official design on the bluray just as I was about to start colouring, and had to change up a bunch of stuff from my sketch haha) Art blog: questionartbox
“We both tried to grab at the last copy of that desired book at the same time and had a tug of war.” (from this post)
Sterek ficlet, T, ~1.6k words. Basically, I was going to just do a tiny little drabble as a warm-up for working on one of my WIPs, and then I was having too much fun with it to stop.
(Btw, if you couldn’t tell, I totally made up the book series in question. Any resemblance to any actual book is completely coincidental.)
It’s definitely some kind of torture that on the day the seventh and final Path of Wolves novel comes out, Stiles still has to go to school like it’s not the most important day of the year or anything.
And okay, so it’s not like anyone else in Beacon Hills has even heard of these books except Scott, and then only because Stiles can’t shut up about them, but still. Stiles spends the entire day practically vibrating out of his skin with the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken in a word any of his teachers has said today. The only reason he doesn’t try to make a break for it during lunch is that he can’t afford another detention on his record, and even so, he’s still sorely, sorely tempted to risk it. In the end, he has to get Lydia to hide his car keys from him.
(He was going to ask Scott to do it, but Scott would have caved as soon as Stiles started begging, and Stiles is definitely not above begging, so Lydia it is.)
The instant the final bell rings, though, Stiles is out of there, flying across the parking lot and gunning the Jeep. The bookstore probably only ordered a few copies, and if Stiles isn’t holding one of them by the time he leaves, somebody’s about to get murdered.
Not that he actually expects any competition, but it’s better not to let these things go to chance. He already messed up once by procrastinating on pre-ordering until they were sold out; he didn’t think it was possible for a Path of Wolves novel to be sold out. He was wrong, and now he’s paying for it by having to physically go to the bookstore to get it.
Either Stiles vastly overestimated how many copies the store was going to order, or else he vastly underestimated how many people in Beacon Hills read these books, because when he skids to a stop in front of the New Releases shelf, there’s only one copy left. One beautiful, perfect hardcover copy.
Lucky for him, one copy is enough.
Except that when he grabs ahold of it, someone else does, too.
For a long second, Stiles can’t even believe what he’s seeing. Another hand, on his book. Another hand that’s not letting go, even though Stiles has already clearly and unambiguously grabbed it by the spine and isn’t letting go, either.
Stiles turns his head incredulously to get a look at this usurper, and it’s Derek Hale. As in, made-of-muscles, leather-wearing lacrosse captain Derek Hale.
Until this moment, Stiles wasn’t even sure Derek could read, and now he’s trying to steal Stiles’ obscure eight-hundred-page fantasy novel. What.
@softkent ‘s 14 Days of Love fic-a-thon, day 6: ruined surprises!
It all started because Katya decided to have mercy on Eric and let him take morning classes this semester. WGSS120 was an amazing class, Professor Atley had the coolest stories about how postwar industrialization led to compulsive female domesticity, and his seatmate wasn’t the worst thing to see at 9:30 AM every Tuesday and Thursday. He would have almost been dreamy if he had the slightest knack for small talk. As it was, Eric didn’t even have a name to go on, just intent blue eyes and an ass that even the baggiest of shorts couldn’t mask.
One day, Eric decided to drop a hospitality bomb on the guy and see if he could coax a response out of him. They were both consistently early to class, so Eric budgeted ten minutes for a brief chat before class started and turned to Cute Guy with a winning smile on his face.
“So how about that reading, huh? I thought it was fascinating how cake mix became a prestige thing- everyone in my family bakes, and I don’t think we’ve used a box mix in forty years.”
“Yeah,” the guy said, “I think it had something to do with the scientific advancements they made in food preservation for the troops. Shelf stabilization wouldn’t have been nearly as achievable in earlier years.”
Miraculously, once you got onto a clear subject, Cute Guy was actually a decent conversationalist. Eric found himself losing track of time as they dissected last night’s chapters of Marling.
“And the American National Exhibition anecdote!” he giggled. “Who can even tell the difference between Russian and American Coke?”
“I bet it’s easier with all of the Soviet Union breathing down your back. ‘Da, cola of Mother Russia is vkusno!’”
“Nice accent,” Eric told Cute Guy.
“Really? Thanks, I’ll have to tell Geno. He’s always knocking my Russian. He’s, uh, a friend of my dad’s, and we both play hockey.”
“So that’s what your weird doodles are? Hockey plays?”
“Yeah, I’m captain of the hockey team here. We’re not half bad, if I say so myself.”
“Wow,” Eric enthused, “you must be a pretty good skater, then.”
“Yeah, I guess. I could teach you sometime, if you want. I’m Jack, by the way,’ Cute Guy said.