Request: Peaky Blinders: I have an idea for a Peaky Blinders imagine. During the war, you were a nurse that had a close bond with Arthur, to the point to were he would fake some sort of illness or something like that just so he could see you and during some attack or something like that you got hurt and die in his arms, prompting the reason why he did everything like fighting and drinking and such. From: anonymous.
In the Mud in France - Arthur Shelby
-21 August 1914-
There was always a tent set up. A small white tent that consisted of one surgeon, two nurses, and as many supplies as they could move through France with them. They were in Alsace, all the frontier. Far away from the front lines of battle. The surgeon worked as quickly as he could, sewing up men that could be saved as more came through the curtains of the tent.
The desire to fall back asleep comes as easily as the urge to draw a breath. Clarke’s frequent presence in the commander’s quarters was an open secret known by the maids and ambassadors alike, though none would dare to speak out of such things after Lexa’s triumph against the false prophets that were felled just short of Polis, her strength and throne assured in the process.
“Heda,” the young handmaiden nodded at Lexa’s wave of dismissal and set the breakfast at the table by the foot of the bed. She dared to glance at the sprawling golden aureate hair and bare shoulder that slipped out from blankets adjacent, quickly averting her eyes.
“You are not required today.” Lexa reconfirmed, bleary eyed and yawning.
“Yes, Heda.” she quickly retreated and Lexa rolled her eyes in the knowledge of the quiet gossip that would come.
She stretched awake, arching the column of her spine and sighing into the relief that followed each loud pop. The blankets were quickly kicked off, though the amount of blankets she had in her possession decreased every night spent beside Clarke’s hoarding shape, hooking her hips around the furs and claiming them one by one.
Next was the trunk. A cumbersome wooden and steel box that came with her station, filled each morning with the most crucial documents for the days and weeks ahead, usually trade agreements and tithe papers. It sat on the table beside a breakfast of fruits and barley water, carried in every morning at the stroke of dawn ready for her appraisal over what was usually a short meal.
Today the trunk was mercifully light with just a few urgent requests for materials from Arkadia, rushing to build their first settlements in time for their first harsh winter. Easily remedied, Lexa mused as she flicked through the list, ripe persimmon between her fingers.
The sound of movement earned her full attention as she set down the papers and turned to face the foot of the bed, leaning against the table, smirking at the sight that greeted her. Clarke’s hand emerged from the blankets first, slapping and feeling out the vacant side of the blankets, sighing and earnest in her disappointment.
“Good morning, Wanheda.” Lexa cleared her throat and smirked, waiting for it.
warnings: descriptions of blood, death, gore, cannibalism, etc. the usual tokyo ghoul stuff.
“Are you the one who’s been causing trouble?” he asks, the question echoing to the opposite end of the alley where the intruder stands in repose. Quiet energy radiates from him in the form of the dragon mask he wears, silver as the moonlight currently illuminating its surface, black as the shadows that hide it. It’s a classic look, reminiscent of old paintings hung up in palace hallways, and curiously arrogant, acutely aware of its majesty if the chosen mythical creature is anything to go by.
It’s also profoundly boring, in Atsushi’s opinion, as it says nothing about its bearer and everything about what they’re trying to be. He’s met countless ghouls like this, small fry with illusions of grandeur daring to disrupt the semblance of peace he maintains in the ward, fragile enough as it is.
Makes him wish he could eat them, if only it didn’t taste so bad.
Harry Hart is an analyst for Kingsman, a handsome gentleman
with a habit of collecting dogs. His main dog is named Mr. Pickle, a small dog
who commands the other strays he pulls in from time to time.
Harry isn’t always completely there, that is to say that he
loses time. Sometimes he has trouble sleeping at night, and headaches come to
him frequently. His boss, Chester King, still sends him out to the field
though, as no one can get into the minds of criminals as well as Harry.
Especially when the Chesapeake Ripper, the latest serial killer, is active
But Harry feels himself slowly approaching a mental break.
Roxy Morton is his co-worker, a young woman working as consultant profiler for
Kingsman as well as a psychiatry professor.
“You need to see someone about this,” she says to him one
day. Harry had spaced out in the middle of his lecture, and she had walked in
on him scrambling to put his thoughts together. “I have a friend, he’s my age,
but you should know not to underestimate us.”
Title: Baby, It’s Cold Outside Fandom: Tokyo Ghoul Verse: None Pairing: KaneHide Warnings: AU, drunk Hide, ghoul!Kaneki, Fwee attempts fluff, unbeta’d Summary: There is no other word for the scene now, he thinks, frozen as he stares at disbelief at his front door, pried open with drunken finesse, blood staining his mouth, with a lapful of warm, nuzzling human.
A/N: Happy birthday, feverly! I’m sorry if it’s not as fluffy as it could be –I tried!
Loosely based off the prompt: tried breaking into my flat when they were drunk bc they thought it was theirs au [x]
It’s Filipino Food Monday in my house and I just finished cooking these Filipino home cooked staple dishes side by side.
Chicken Adobo in Coconut Sauce with Pineapple (chicken thigh fillet chunks braised in soy sauce, cane vinegar, worcestershire sauce, garlic, bay leaves, black pepper, pineapple chunks and coconut cream)
Tilapia Fish Paksiw (fish poached in white vinegar, water, olive oil, ginger, garlic, green Serrano chilies seasoned with black pepper and Himalayan pink salt)
And these are eaten with nothing else but fragrant boiled Jasmine rice.