chiffon floor length

Arranged Love Pt.20 {epilogue} | Jungkook

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 14.5 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Epilogue

Summary: When you and Jungkook are forced into an arranged marriage for publicity, you never expected to find yourself falling for him - even if you know it’s wrong.

Word Count: 2,449

Genre: Fluff/angst

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anonymous asked:

Hi, gorgeous! I saw an ask from your blog from a long time ago, about witchy hairstyles, and I was wondering if you could suggest some witchy outfits? Thank you so much! You're a beautiful person with a beautiful blog, and thank you for all that you do.

oh my goodness!! i truly loved answering that ask, aha! coming up with pretty visuals and ideas is one of my favorite things to do; i’m so glad you asked. (and thank you endlessly! you’re a lovely soul, and i am so touched. :,) ♡

💫 witchy outfit ideas: 💫

- stevie nicks aes: a long, flowy maxi skirt in a sheer fabric, a lace, peasant, or velvet crop top, flat lace-up sandals, a choker (that matches the top), mala bead and hemp bracelets and necklaces, earrings with astrological symbolism on them

- studious goth: a collared dress paired with stockings and heels or combat boots, pearl earrings, a matching handbag, and a hair barrette or headband

- outdoorsy spirit: a soft sundress with a lovely silhouette, a large floppy hat, layered necklaces, and too many rings

- divination babe: a skater skirt in a deep color or covered in a star/moon speckled pattern + a color-coordinated top of any style, pointy ankle boots, an oversized infinity scarf, and crystal-pendant earrings

- i put a hex on you: dark skinny pants or cut-off shorts paired with boots or creepers, a tank or crop top with a flowy robe layered over, pentagram or ouija jewelry, and smoky eye makeup

- mermaid dreams: a chiffon skirt, either floor-length or short and pleated, a matching bustier or crop top, layered shell/mixed jewelry, gladiator sandals or shiny flats, lots of highlighter

(✿◠‿◠) ♡♡
Wakandan Adventures (5/13)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2,350

Summary: Bucky and Y/N go to the annual party thrown by the King of Wakanda. 

Warnings: *drum roll* the angst is coming. But only a tiny bit, you guys know I love my fluff. 

A/N: I love you all. 

Tags: @flightofthefantasies  @ipaintmelodies @gondorgirl01  @bucky-on-a-bike  @jarnesbrnes @pickledmoon @moody-fangirl@ladybrett9 @supernatural-harrypotter7 @i-saved-me @widowsfics @canumoveyourseatup-no @the-witching-hours12-3 @douleu-passion @goodnightwife @captainmomofoshosho @fangirloreo @lunaaaaax384 @notsoprettykitty 

“So what do you think?” Bucky asked as he did a 360 turn, lips curled up in a smirk.

“Wow, Buck. You clean up real nice” you smiled at him as you admired him from top to toe. He threw you a wink at your comment. He was wearing black from head to toe and the suit was perfectly tailored to his form. His hair was tied up in a messy bun and he had decided to keep his scruff, which you definitely weren’t going to compain about. He looked like an all-American dream and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at him. 

“It’s rude to stare,” he said, smirking from ear to ear when you looked up to meet his eyes.

“Stop looking so good then” you replied and he laughed at your boldness. There was a time where you would run away in embarrassment at being caught staring. You got up from the chair and opened the closet, slowly looking through the different dresses. Bucky came to stand behind you.

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Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace (A Sherlock Fanfic)


“Sherlock!” Molly exclaims with surprise, as if he were the last person on Earth she’d expected to see. Her breathing hitches as a light blush rises in her cheeks. “What are you doing in here?” She asks with an undeniable smile in her voice. She was alone, just as he’d thought, and frantically donning the last of her jewelry.

Sherlock grins with indisputable delight at how pleased she is by his presence, knowing the effect he had on her and loving it. “I wanted to see you,” he replies calmly, taking a step forward. “It is your big day after all.” Another step. “And you look beautiful Molly,” he adds with sincerity.

She did look truly stunning in her floor-length chiffon gown. The intricate lace bodice hugged her slim figure as far as her waist and from there layers of material cascaded down to the floor like a delicate waterfall.

A meek “thank you” is all Molly can manage in return to his compliment, embarrassed by Sherlock’s unnatural formality.

They gaze into one another’s eyes for a time, each of them unsure of what to say to the other.

“H- how’s your hand?” Molly asks suddenly, remembering he’d cut himself yesterday.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock assures her, touched and amused by her concern over such a trivial injury. “Healing up quite nicely thanks to your prompt medical attention.”

“That’s good.”

Sherlock looks around, desperately searching for something to say, because in reality, he wasn’t sure why he was even there in the first place. He’d just followed a vague instinct to seek out his friend. His pathologist. His Molly. “Look, Molly I just wanted to congratulate you,” he says offhandedly. “You deserve nothing but the best and I hope you’ll be very happy with the life you’ve chosen.” He didn’t mean that. He wanted her to be happy of course, but it was a statistical impossibility with that moron of a fiancé. 

Molly nods once and bites her lip shyly, looking down at the necklace in her hands.

Sherlock follows her gaze toward the delicate chain. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Oh, umm, yes that’d be lovely,” Molly agrees distractedly, handing him the piece of jewelry and turning around so he could put it on her.

She reaches up to push her hair aside, but Sherlock is already doing so. His large hands brush gently across the back of her neck, sending electric shivers coursing through Molly’s body. She swallows anxiously, her mouth suddenly very dry. Molly does her best to keep still as he reaches over her shoulder and drapes the piece of jewelry around her collar. She watches silently in the mirror as Sherlock strives to fasten the tiny silver clasp. He had that signature, meticulous look of laser-sharp focus in his eye, even when performing something so mundane. Molly’s heart pounds uncontrollably in her chest as a flood of familiar warmth spreads through her.

Sherlock notices, of course. She was practically quaking beneath him. However, he does his best to remain indifferent.

Molly suddenly feels very guilty, as if her body were betraying her on the most important day of her life. I’m marrying Tom, she reminds herself. Not Sherlock. Don’t do this. Don’t let him get to you…

“There you are,” Sherlock announces- breaking her train of thought. He glances upward and their eyes meet in the mirror as he admires her image. “Now you’re perfect.”

“Thanks,” she practically mouths, unable to produce a sound.

Sherlock places his hands on her shoulders proudly and bends down to kiss her cheek. Molly closes her eyes as his lips meet her skin, slowly leaning into his touch. The detective hesitates before pulling away, unsure what to make of her reaction. Molly opens her eyes and finds Sherlock looking down at her with an openness and curiosity she’d never seen before.

Instinctively and simultaneously, they lean in to each other and Molly twists around until their lips meet. It was a perfect kiss. Hesitant, but also desperate. Slow, but deep. Necessary, but forbidden.

Sherlock takes hold of Molly’s waist, pulling her into him securely. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed a woman. But it was the first time he’d kissed a woman he genuinely cared about, and it was surprisingly… pleasant. He loses himself in her enticing aroma as Molly reaches up and tugs at his hair with a tormented kind of need. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest, making him ache to please her. He wasn’t ready to let her go. If this was going to be their first and last kiss, then the detective was sure as hell going to make it a good one.

Sherlock twists them around and shoves Molly backwards, pinning her firmly against the nearest wall as his lips continue their assault. His tongue begins to explore, ever-so-reluctantly, and Molly involuntarily sighs, too far gone for logical thought to register. All she knew is that she needed him. She wanted him with all her heart.

Both desperate for breath, Sherlock finally leaves her mouth, trailing his lips gingerly along her jawbone and down her neck.

“Sherlock…” Molly exhales with concern, slowly coming out of her daze and realizing what they’d just done. However it was what the detective said next that sent her into a complete emotional tailspin.

“Don’t do this,” he begs solemnly. “Don’t marry Tom.”


honestly if it isnt a suit then i want harry in a fucking gown like go hard or go home i want him in a floor length chiffon and lace dress floating around the stage like a troubled forest nymph whilst singing about having my baby

Your Throne;

Originally posted by hebemino

Summary: Pretty much any sugar baby story if i’m gonna be honest. Jinwoo has been financially unstable since the start of uni so he decides to turn to the art that is sugaring.

Disclaimer: All the things that are mentioned in this are words of fiction aka it’s not real. I’ve literally just made this up and as always credits to @hebemino for the gif

Member: Jinwoo from WINNER  x fem reader

Rating: PG

Words: 1237

[masterlist] | [request]

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DEBUTANTES by Julie Murphy

I have waited for this day for too long now. Today, I am presented to the world for the very first time as a woman. Today is my coming out.

I stand for a moment in the empty room full of ornately decorated tables and gold chairs. The space at the bottom of the sweeping staircase is the dedicated stage and dance floor.

It’s where Thomas and I will dance for the first time after he escorts me and I am announced as a debutante. It’s a moment I’ve dreamt of for so long that I can’t tell if this is just another dream or reality.

Before going back upstairs where all the other debutantes prepare themselves, I watch as Thomas and Jackson turn onto the property, the tires of Thomas’s father’s mint 1964 Buick Skylark squealing. With the top down, I can hear them both hooting, like they’ve conquered an untamable beast. Boys will be boys.

“Julia?” I turn to find Frenchy hovering on the steps with her hair in curlers and in nothing but her undergarments and one of her father’s old button-up oxfords.

“They’re here,” I tell her. “It’s going to be perfect.”

Her lips spread into a thin smile. “I have no doubt.”

The dressing room is loud with frantic laughter and shrill voices. Frenchy and I share a dressing station. I watch, hypnotized as she pulls her curlers from her hair and each chestnut ringlet bounces into shape like an exclamation mark.

When she’s done, she stands behind me, her fingers polished with a quietly rebellious coral work their way through my hair. Effortlessly, she sweeps my strawberry blonde locks into a simple French twist.

She drapes a string of pearls around my neck, and I let my fingers brush them gently.

“She would have wanted you to have them.”

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I nod.

“Okay, girls!” calls Miss Penelope. “Time to get those dresses on.”

I help Frenchy into her gown first, a floating floor length chiffon dress with a jewel studded waistline. The bodice fits her perfectly and I can practically envision Jackson’s hungry gaze. “He’s going to love it,” I tell her.

Blush gathers in her chest as she grins knowingly.

“Your turn, Julia.”

I step into my white gown, the most important dress I’ll likely ever wear—second only to my wedding gown. My mother picked it out. It’s the kind of dress that commands your attention. A white brocade gown that sweeps the floor and cuts in on my waist. The sweetheart neckline is the good kind of tease. Well, according to my mother, and the soft chiffon off the shoulder sleeves flutter as I move, a nice reminder not to take myself so seriously.

Once we’re dressed, I take Frenchy’s hand as we sneak off down the hallway to where the escorts are.

“Frenchy! Julia! Where are you two running off to?” calls Miss Penelope.

“To wave at our mothers from the balcony,” I tell her.

“Well, be quick about it. Don’t let anyone else see you.”

Frenchy and I look to each other and giggle. “Yes, ma’am!”

Down the hallway, I duck my head into the sitting room that is currently serving as the holding pen for the suitors. I point a long finger at Thomas and Jackson, summoning them. The two of them look devilishly good in their tuxedos. Thomas’s raven hair is freshly cut and Jackson’s white blonde curls are the kind of thing girls go crazy for. Too bad for them. He’s all Frenchy’s.

I take Frenchy’s hand again as the door shuts quietly behind me, “Come on,” I tell her.

We dash down the hallway and up another set of stairs as the sitting room door swings open.

“I see you!” calls Thomas.

Their shiny dress shoes slap against the floor. “Ready or not, here we come,” says Jackson.

“We’re waiting,” says Frenchy in a sing-song voice.

“And we have been for quite some time,” I mutter.

Frenchy giggles as the boys take the stairs two at a time.

Thomas sees me first. He stops on the landing with his hand over his heart. “Christ. You look absolutely incredible.”

He takes the two steps toward me and sweeps me off my feet, swinging me in a circle.

Jackson does the same with Frenchy. He groans into her ear. “French, you’re killing me, doll.”

I take Thomas’s hand. “Follow us. We’ve got a few minutes before anyone comes looking.

I lead the four of us to an empty bedroom on the third floor. I wonder briefly about what wicked things have happened in this place, but I have no energy to pay mind to forgotten pasts.

A dark velvet canopy hangs over the richly decorated bed.

Frenchy and I perch on the edge and I squeeze her hand quickly. Today, we become women.

Thomas and Jackson saunter toward us, and I know it’s crazy and maybe even sickening to some, but I’m so glad not to be doing this alone.

Thomas hooks a thumb behind my ear and pulls me toward him, our lips colliding. It’s hard for me to see what Jackson and Frenchy are up to, but I can hear them. Kissing, giggling, and moaning. My sweet Thomas rucks up my skirt and separates my knees with his hips.

I’ve dreamt of this moment for so long. This exact moment.

I pull back and cough three times as he continues to kiss down my neck. Over my pearls. Over her pearls. And onto my chest.

My dreams become reality as I plunge an unexpected knife into his gut.

He grunts and groans, and the noises he makes aren’t so different from how he sounded a moment ago. Sex and death have more in common than I anticipated.

Beside me Frenchy stands as Jackson’s body hits the antique oriental carpet with a dull thud. Blood pools around him, saturating the carpet. Jackson rolls over onto his side, attempting to crawl away, but Frenchy straddles him before he can get very far.

Thomas still stands before me and I stab indiscriminately.

“What are you doing?” he sputters, blood and drool dripping from his lips.

He pushes me back against the bed, holding his gut with one hand and my throat with the other.

“This is for Greta,” I tell him.

He searches my face frantically. “Julia, I didn’t hurt Greta. I didn’t touch her. I don’t know what sick fucks did, but it wasn’t me and Jackson I swear.” He stumbles forward, restraining my knife-bearing arm.

I gasp for air as he presses down on my windpipe. I wonder for a moment if he’s telling the truth and if Frenchy and I are somehow wrong. But that can’t be. I know for certain. He and Jackson took Greta from us. They used her body and hung her from a tree. They left her strung up there naked. On her own parent’s property. They did that to her and they left her there to die. The coroner said her neck didn’t even snap, so she suffocated to death slowly. Like I am now.

Our wonderful Greta. The missing point in our trinity. Our best friend who we must now survive without.

My vision goes foggy just as he yells, Frenchy pulling him off of me.

It takes me a moment to come to, but when I do, I find Thomas and Frenchy wrestling on the ground beside Jackson’s limp body.

With my knife, I stab him in the shoulder, giving Frenchy a moment to de-entangle herself from him. And then again in the gut.

Blood pours from his mouth, as he says, “She begged.” He spits in my face.

And that’s all I need to hear. I rear my arm back and drive my knife deep into his chest.

Life flutters in his eyes, and then he’s gone.

It was to fast, I think. He should have suffered even more.

“We gotta go!” says Frenchy, her chest heaving and her once white dress splattered with blood.

I look down to find myself in the same state. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and force my brain to remember The Plan.

Digging into Thomas’s pockets, I find his father’s keys.

Frenchy grabs the small getaway bag we’d left behind the nightstand and the two of us race down the servant’s stairs and out to where all the cars are parked.

I hear my mother’s voice. She can’t see me and she’s not calling to me. But I can hear her somewhere outside chattering with someone. Small talk bubbles from her freely, and I only wish I could say goodbye. She’ll look back on this moment and always wonder exactly where she was and at what point it was too late.

Frenchy jumps into the passenger seat of Thomas’s father’s car as I slide in behind the wheel. I pull my dress up so my feet can find the pedals.

As we turn the corner out of the property, the tires squeal like they had earlier today. Once we hit the highway, Frenchy takes my hand and she doesn’t let go. There’s no going back. Not ever.

Today, we became women, because Greta never will.

You've got to be kidding me


AUTHOR: beautifulxxbeca

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine meeting Tom Hiddleston and the two of you fall head over heels in love with each other. During downtime, he takes you to camping in New Zealand and the two of you talk about various of things as you always do. One night, you’re laying by the fire cuddled up, facing each other. He jokingly teases you about being a fan of his and you ask him even though you think he is great in his other projects, why is he so damn good as Loki? He grins that villainy smile you adore so much and asks if you can keep a secret. When you nod, he leans in closely and tells you because he really is the God of Mischief. You laugh, finding it as a joke…until his casual clothes disappear; replaced by his green, black, and gold Loki-esque clothes. You stop laughing, realizing he isn’t kidding. You stare at him until it hits you: the God of Mischief plays Tom Hiddleston who plays the God of Mischief…


NOTES/WARNINGS: hope you enjoy :) xx

Chapter 1

I first met Tom at a party which was strange for me. I normally hate parties.

I was sat on one of the side tables; fiddling with my glass out of sheer boredom. It was some kind of excuse for a big group of actresses and actors to gather; boasting about they’re achievements. Or at least that’s how I saw it.

I made the fatal mistake of telling people that I was not only a plus one, but daughter to the glamorous Estelle Diamond. Not too long after that I had countless snobby actors and actresses come up to me. They bragged about themselves; probably trying to make themselves sound better than my mother. Get multiple Oscar nominations five years running, oh and a heart of gold; then perhaps you’ll beat her. I had just wanted to run, but that would have been rude; not to mention I did have to wait for my mother.

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Time for a story - Stupid dress

Oliver looked around nervously, eying up the room and the many people in it, all the while nodding politely at the man in front of him who was talking about his problem with the neighbor’s dog and how Oliver would hopefully take care of that once he would have become mayor. Oliver was barely listening, though. To be in a room with so many people made him restless because there were just too many possible dangers.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Oliver couldn’t remember when exactly had been the last time he had been that nervous because he was surrounded by other people, but it felt like years ago. He felt his thumb rubbing against the tips of the other fingers on own accord, and he couldn’t stop the movement even when he tried. To run for mayor, a terribly dangerous position in Starling City, was not exactly something that helped him relax.

What did he normally do when he felt like this, Oliver wondered. Still nodding to whatever he was told, Oliver thought back to other times when he had felt like this. What had he done when had felt nervous? He remembered that alcohol had only made it worse. Spending all his time observing the room and the people in it hadn’t allowed him to have even one single talk which was why people had thought he was impolite. None of it had helped, but something must have relaxed him, he thought just when his thumb brushed the wedding band on his left hand, and immediately Oliver knew the answer to the question.

Felicity. She was who had always made him relax. Whenever he had felt nervous or restless, he had looked at her, and he had felt his heartbeat slowing down and the worries slowly vanishing from his mind and soul. And then she had looked back at him, and she had smiled comfortingly because of course she had known what was bothering her, and no matter if he had or hadn’t smiled back, Felicity had approached him and had taken his hand and kissed him gently.

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